Five-year-old Jack has never been outside of the small room where his mother has been held captive for seven years, and he has never spoken to another human being other than Ma, who makes sure he is hidden in the wardrobe during the nightly visits of her captor to her bed. Although they have a television, Jack believes that the people and things he sees on TV aren’t real like him and Ma. Even the person he calls Old Nick does not seem quite real to him, and he cannot imagine Outside at all. The individual things in his world (Room, Wall, Ceiling, Bed, Table, Spider, Toilet, Eggsnake, etc.) are the only things that matter. Jack’s Ma has somehow managed to structure their lives to include reading, cooking, cleaning, exercising, playing, and talking.  It is as if Jack spent his formative years in complete isolation, like Genie or the Wild Boy of Aveyron; but unlike them, Jack had his mother to talk to him, read to him, tell him stories, and teach him, with the result that not only does Jack have language–his language is very sophisticated for his age.

Jack and Ma do almost everything together, with what little they are allowed. It is enough for Jack, but not for his mother, who, of course, must still submit to the sexual predator who keeps them locked up in this soundproofed shed in his back yard. After Old Nick cuts the power to the shed for three long, freezing days, she decides she cannot wait any longer to act, and she plans a daring escape, using Jack as her tool. (That particular chapter made me so anxious I raced through it to find out what happened and then had to go back and reread it for the details!)

The last part of the book describes Jack’s gradual adjustment to life Outside. This part is very compelling. Never having known the wider world outside Room, Jack longs to return to the one place he really felt safe. When he finally does go back, he finds it different from how he remembered it, but he also finds closure.

Written in the language of a very precocious child, Room is accessible to high intermediate and advanced English language learners.

It’s pretty ironic to be reading this particular book as an eBook, because it is about the discovery in postwar Sarajevo and restoration of a medieval Haggadah (Passover prayer book) and is all about the physical book: binding, pages, tiny little bits of detritus stuck therein… But my Nook has been crashing tonight, really irritating (only a month old after all!), so I have to take a break and read an actual book.

(a few days later) Eventually, the Nook starting behaving again, so I was able to finish the book. It’s an intriguing idea: an expert conservator of medieval books and manuscripts (Australian Dr. Hanna Heath) examines the  500-year-old Sarajevo Haggadah which has turned up after being lost for many years. As the war in Bosnia is ending, Hanna travels to Sarajevo to examine and restore the ancient codex, which is unusual not only for its extreme age but also because it is lavishly illustrated–a rarity in Jewish manuscripts. She collects some tiny fragments (a bit of insect wing, a hair, a stain, some salt) and observes that there is a place for clasps, but no clasps), and sets off to consult several learned colleagues to try to figure out what they can tell her about where the book has been. They speculate, but they can never know how these things came to be in the book. However, Brooks can invent some plausible stories! Between the chapters describing Hanna’s work and life, we travel back in time as Brooks weaves fictional stories of how the artifacts got into the book. Our glimpses of the book’s history go farther and farther back in time, first to 20th century Sarajevo, then to 17th century Venice and finally 15th century Spain, where we meet the artist who created the illuminated illustrations.  It takes a novelist with poetic license to tell the story of the Sarajevo Haggadah.

Although parts of the book seem contrived, it is an enjoyable read and despite the fictionalization, an interesting journey into Jewish and European history.

Running away and joining the circus may be a cliché, but Sara Gruen puts a twist on it and spins a tale that is really hard to put down. The runner is Jacob Jankowski, whose world collapses around him just as he is about to sit for his final exams in veterinary medicine at Cornell. With no family and all of his plans for the future wrecked, Jacob hops a train only to discover that it is carrying a second-rate circus. Happy to have an (almost) veterinarian on board, they let him stay. Over the next few months, Jacob learns the ropes of circus life, falls in love, and encounters great goodness and great evil.  The story is told in flash-backs by the 90- (or 93-) year-old Jacob, who can’t stand what his life has become in a nursing home, on a day when a small circus opens just down the street.

Gruen meticulously researched her subject and incorporates several of the true anecdotes she came upon into her story, such as a lemonade-stealing elephant and a menagerie stampede. The story pulls the reader along, but the ending strains the imagination, in my view.

Of course I have read Jane Eyre several times. I can’t remember when I first read it, but I must have been quite young, probably not yet in college, because after four years of analyzing Russian literature for my BA, I barely touched fiction (other than whodunits) for probably 15 years. I do remember going back periodically to re-read my favorite parts, and I listened to the audiobook a few years ago, startled to discover what a feminist Jane was. Now that I have my Nook, I am taking advantage of the free classics B&N offers, and this was the first I downloaded.

I first read the article about Charlotte Bronte that precedes the novel; that was interesting.  And I took full advantage of the dictionary to look up words I never bothered to look up before, as well as the notes included in the book (problem with the Nook: sometimes the note is not visible on the page, and after “turning” to the following page of notes, it’s not always possible to return to my place in the novel. Then I have to try to remember approximately where I was when I left it to read the note. It’s really annoying!), to better understand some of the archaic vocabulary and literary and Biblical references. I normally never stop to look up words when reading (exception: The Name of the Rose by Umberto Eco, which required a dictionary and annotations!), but the Nook makes it easy. Unfortunately, some of the weirder words (e.g. dialect, here and in Precious Bane) are not in the dictionary.  I suppose they would only be found in the OED, and maybe not even there!)

Anyway, I enjoyed every page.  The hideous treatment that Jane received as a child in the Reed household reminded me of Harry Potter’s treatment at the hands of the Dursleys (it’s so exaggerated!). The beginning of the Lowood years are even worse (talk about jumping from the frying pan in to the fire!). When life gets better there, Bronte skips 8-10 years (good treatment being boring, I suppose) until Jane is 19 years old and goes off to seek her fortune at Thornfield.

I think it is kind of hard to believe that no one spilled the beans about Mr. Rochester’s West Indian marriage or the lunatic in the attic. (And how did Grace Poole ever go to sleep in the same room with her? It would seem to be a rather dangerous thing to do.) Also, Mr. Rochester’s pretending to court Blanche Ingram to make Jane jealous seems a bit far-fetched.  Jane’s flight and her reluctance to beg (and the disdain of the townspeople she approached) were quite believable, though.  The character of St. John Rivers seemed almost Asperger-like.  I feel sorry for the “heathens” he went to convert; I am sure he would never take no for an answer! The telepathic “Jane! Jane! Jane!” and Jane’s subsequent return to Thornfield and Mr Rochester (favorite parts) were satisfying as always. I don’t think I will ever get tired of this book!

I finally bought myself an e-reader (a Nook) last week, and the first book I downloaded (for the whopping price of $0.99) was Precious Bane.  I had already listened to the audiobook twice; it was one of those books I discovered on the audiobook shelves of the Quince Orchard Library here in Montgomery County MD.  (I found it pretty discouraging to look for a particular audiobook; much better to browse the shelves and just pick something that looked good.)  I loved the book the first time I heard it. Then I borrowed it again and enjoyed it just as much the second time. So it looked like a good first download for the Nook.

Precious Bane is the first-person narrative of Prudence (Prue) Sarn of Sarn, in Shropshire, around the turn of the 19th century. Prue has a harelip, and it dictates much about her life, such as how others relate to her (many suspecting her to be a witch) and what her future holds (no marriage). Prue is one of those heroines you can’t help but like because she is so good and at the same time, so real.

The book is written in Shropshire dialect, so a reader must guess at a lot of the meanings of words in context (a mere is a pond or lake; hiver-hover is apparently something like dilly-dally; etc.) and recognize different spellings and pronunciations of other words (wrostle for wrestle, summat for something, munna for mustn’t, etc.). I never did figure out what leasing meant in the context I found it here. But no matter. The dialect is just one of the charms of the story of Prue Sarn. The reader will consider the situation of people with disabilities (perhaps that is the wrong word for Prue’s harelip, which doesn’t seem to impede her eating, drinking, or speaking, and certainly not working; but it was certainly a social handicap for her), the “sport” of bull-baiting, the daily lives of people  and animals living in rural Shropshire at that time, relationships between the local gentry and the farmers and between men and women.  The description of the grain harvest (“love-carriage”) is so vivid that you feel as if you were right there, participating in the work and the festivities. The characters are varied and real: not only Prue, but her mother and her brother Gideon, driven by his desire for wealth and position; beautiful Jancis Beguildy and her father, the would-be wizard; simple Tivvy, the Sexton’s daughter; the horrible Mister Grimble and Mister Huglet; the courageous, kind and handsome weaver, Kester Woodseaves.

Even on the third read, it was hard to put the book down. It has everything you could ask for in a novel: joy, grief, crime, courage,  hate, and love. I’m trying not to spoil it for anyone who hasn’t read it yet, so I won’t be more specific than that. Suffice it to say that it has become one of my favorite books.

I like mysteries, and I was aware of the Cat Who… series but had never read any of them (despite a deep appreciation for cats). This one was given to me last winter by French friends who knew of my love of the books of Georges Simenon.

I have to admit I do not see what all the fuss is about. First of all, nothing ever happens–nothing of interest. Somebody dies, and then somebody else dies, and then somebody else and a dog die, but there didn’t seem to be anything particularly mysterious about of these deaths. The main character, Jim Qwilleran, goes about his daily routine writing, inviting people to eat, drink, and schmooze, and feeding or reading to his cats. He has no job and no need of one, except writing (he writes a weekly newspaper column and has already published several books–but not the kind that would support anyone in any kind of style.

New characters kept popping up until the end of the book. I couldn’t keep them straight in my mind and did not care enough about who they were to bother. I kept asking myself, would this be more interesting if I were reading it in English? Because in French, it doesn’t do anything for me. I had to force myself to keep reading. I finished it tonight with a sigh of relief. Finally! On to something better.

If anyone can explain why this series is so popular, I would be glad to hear you out.

I am not a great aficionado of science fiction (although I do love fantasy); perhaps the only sci fi novel I really love is Out of the Silent Planet, by C. S. Lewis (who also wrote the Chronicles of Narnia); I didn’t even care much for the sequels. But Ender’s Game came highly recommended by my cousin Phil, and although it took me several years to get around to reading it, I finally did.

When the story begins, Ender (Andrew Wiggin) is a mere six years old. He lives on a future Earth that has been attacked twice by the extraterrestrial “buggers”, huge, intelligent insect-like beings which are assumed to be planning a third attack with the aim of wiping out humanity so they can take over the earth. Because he is gifted in various ways, Ender is taken from his family (his parents, his beloved sister, and his monster brother) and sent to Battle School, where he deals with bullies and learns to fight in zero gravity. He spends five or six years there and then is abruptly transferred to Command School, where he is taught by an old man who beat the buggers off when he was young. This man tells Ender that he will continue his training to defeat the evil buggers. However, the training is not what it seems.

The reader cannot help but like and admire Ender, who is both brave and kind. His worst fear is that he is a natural killer, like his brother Peter. But we know that he is at heart a gentle genius.

I am not sure I would want to read other books in the series, but I did enjoy this one, and it provides a lot of food for thought.

This is the story of two seventh-grade Kentucky girls. Catherine lives in an upper middle class neighborhood in Lexington and attends a private academy; Ivy June lives with her grandparents outside of a mining community near Hazard. One spring, the girls participate in an exchange program. First Ivy June spends two weeks with Catherine in Lexington; two weeks later, Catherine travels to Thunder Creek to stay with Ivy June for two weeks.

In addition to the third-person narrative, Naylor lets the girls tell their stories through the diaries they are required to keep for the exchange program (printed in two different manuscript-like fonts).  Both girls are basically good people, smart and unprejudiced; but there are those in both communities ready to pre-judge the outsiders. Despite this, Catherine and Ivy June become friends; but their friendship is tested during Catherine’s visit to Ivy June as each faces a crisis of her own.

Although not as good as the Alice series, this is a simple story, well told. Girls from about ten up should like it.

In America, we think that the dinosaurs were wiped out by an asteroid that hit the earth somewhere in Mexico 65 million years ago, changing the climate and making it impossible for the great beasts to survive.  Vincent Courtillot and his colleagues have a different scenario: yes, there was an asteroid, but in what is now western India around Bombay, there were also massive volcanic eruptions lasting perhaps a hundred thousand years. This series of eruptions, which produced the Deccan Traps (a thick layer of basaltic rock resembling steps, or “traps” in several Scandinavian languages), also coincided with the demise of the dinosaurs. But as Courtillot explains, it is just one of seven gigantic trap-forming series of eruptions, all of which correspond in time to a mass extinction of species marking the boundary between two geological eras. (There are other traps, but these do not correspond to major species die-offs.) Courtillot shows the reader that while an asteroid may have contributed to the extinction of the dinosaurs, they were probably already under intense pressure from climate changes resulting from the ongoing eruptions halfway around the world from where the asteroid hit.

I am proud to say that Vincent Courtillot is a friend of mine; I have known him for forty years.  When he first told me about his idea that volcanoes did in the dinosaurs, Walter and Luis Alvarez had not yet found the crater that seems to have convinced everyone on this side of the Atlantic, at least, that their asteroid theory was correct.  I remember thinking, when they did find it, that he must have been disappointed to find that his theory had turned out not to be true.  Ha! not at all.  He remains convinced that the eruptions that produced the traps were responsible not only for the disappearance of the dinosaurs but for the disappearance of millions of species that formerly lived on the Earth.  With meticulous care, he  builds his case, one piece of evidence at a time.

Although I am not a scientist and could not follow all of the explanations in the book, it is a book written for a general audience; it carefully introduces each new concept to the non-expert, as well it must, as the science of the traps is truly an interdisciplinary endeavor, requiring the expertise of geologists, paleontologists, physicists, chemists, engineers, oceanic and atmospheric scientists, mathematicians and computer scientists. (The author is himself a geophysicist specializing in paleomagnetism.)

Reading this book reminded me of what a dynamic thing science is. You may think things have been pinned down, but another discovery can always open the way to a new path of inquiry.  It is always a good idea to keep an open mind.

I first encountered the concept of micro-lending, and the name of its inventor, Mohammed Yunus, when teaching a semi-intensive English course at the University of Maryland years ago. There was a chapter about it in our textbook, Quest 3.  I was fascinated. It made so much sense: giving impoverished women a way to escape poverty by lending them tiny amounts of money to start or grow a business.  Yunus and his Grameen Bank (or Village Bank, in Bengali) usually lent money only to women; they discovered that men tended to be irresponsible and did not use the money well; they did not use it to grow a business or take care of the family.  To supplement the chapter, I found videos about micro-lending programs in other countries too.  I thought that Yunus should win the Nobel Prize for economics. He didn’t, but he did win the Nobel Peace Prize (in 2006). (I still think it should have been the economics prize.)

So when I discovered that he had written an autobiography, Banker to the Poor, I had to read it. (Coincidentally, it happens to have been the first audiobook which I successfully downloaded from my local public library and listened to on my iPod.) And I did like it; it was interesting to read about how Yunus grew up, how he came up with the idea for microfinance and tried it out.  I did not find the book to be particularly well-written; it seemed kind of self-serving at times. But hey! He’s an economist, not a writer.  He’s someone who has changed the world for a lot of very, very poor people. Read the book.