Catching Air, by Sarah Pekkanen

This was the second Pekkanen book I've read to date, and I'm sure it won't be my last.  That said, however, I'm glad this wasn't the first one I cracked open, or I might not have moved any further.  There were so many different elements to this story, but I don't think they successfully meshed together for a cohesive novel.

In the very first chapter, we're introduced to Dawn, an orphaned adult with low self-esteem who gets herself mixed up with a Romeo who turns out to be a crook.  Our next introduction is to Kira and Peter - what some might call a typical married couple - getting by, but not yet grasping that brass ring. Finally, there's Peter's brother, Rand, and his wife, Alyssa.  They're the hippie bunch in the group - the free-spirited type who pick up and move whenever the mood strikes them.

Rand, who isn't exactly on the greatest terms with his brother, calls Peter with the bright idea of becoming partners in a run-down Bed & Breakfast in Vermont.  Yeah, because a young professional couple in Florida with no hotel/inn experience would *jump* at that opportunity.  Whatever...

Now, remember the girl we met at the beginning...Dawn?  Well, she shows up again and somehow finds her way to this newly opened and operating B & B (surprise, surprise!).  Can you see my point?  There's no logic here - none of these pieces really fit together.

Of course, drama abounds - should Peter and Kira have kids?  Can Rand and Alyssa HAVE kids?  And Dawn is running from her bad boy Casanova.  Sounds like a soap opera, doesn't it?  A silly, 1970's afternoon soap opera.  Granted, those things have their place.  However, my reading time is too precious to be wasted on it.

In very general terms, Catching Air is about starting over, second chances, life renewal, yada, yada, yada (anyone watch Seinfeld?).  That premise may sound promising.  Sadly, though, it fails to deliver.  What I found instead was a bunch of unsympathetic, downright unlikable characters who I tired of very quickly.  I'll say one thing for this book,  though....it certainly has an appropriate title.  One thing it's full of...is air.

The Girl You Left Behind, by Jojo Moyes

Well, I'm a bit rusty at this, to say the least.  Hopefully, I'll still be able to string together a sentence or two.  Time will tell...

I was beginning to wonder if I would ever find my way back here, writing about what I love - books.  I found a few that were inspiring, almost getting me back to the keyboard (Delicious, by Ruth Reichl comes to mind).  But it was a book by the uber-talented Jojo Moyes that finally succeeded, and sucked me back in.  I first discovered Ms. Moyes when I picked up Me Before You, a book that somehow fell into the romance category (a genre I don't particularly care for). I suppose some would categorize The Girl You Left Behind as the same.  A small disclaimer, however.  It is my firm belief that 'romance' novels need to be segregated into two categories:

- cheesy Fabio-laced sex romps;
- beautifully written tales with a love story deeply embedded within.

Guess which one this book falls into?

The Girl You Left Behind tells the story of Sophie Lefevre, struggling to get through her day-to-day life in France while World War I rages.  Her artist husband, Edouard, is off fighting the good fight, when German officers infiltrate the family hotel, leaving Sophie no other choice than to serve them dinner each night.  Soon enough, the Kommandant decides he'd like a little more than the grub being served in bowls, and Sophie faces some difficult decisions.  Just when all seems utterly hopeless, you turn the page (literally), and, nearly a century later, we meet Liv Halston, a young woman left a widow much too soon, by her dearly departed, David. 

Liv is just learning how to live without David, meeting men and friends (not necessarily in that order).  One friend in particular, Mo, is a memorable character that you'll likely either love or hate.  If you're an oddball like me, however, you'll probably feel a little of both.  Regardless, I wanted more.  In fact, if I were forced to find fault with Liv's story, it would be that it didn't include enough Mo, a woman who refers to a bad date as that 'Worst variety of species...the Divorced Toxic Bachelor.'  During one pseudo therapy session, she instructs Liv on the healing powers of sticking toothpicks into the bellies of clay voodoo dolls.  I love this girl.  But, I digress...

Moyes masterfully links the lives of Sophie and Liv when we discover that the portrait of a young girl, which hangs on the wall in the Halston's uber-modern home, is none other than the young Frenchwoman herself.  When a court battle over the painting's rightful ownership breaks out, the facts surrounding Sophie, and her difficult choices, are slowly revealed.

This was a beautifully written tale of love, life, and survival.  My only complaint is one that seems to hold true for any story that falls into the 'R' category, and that is predictability.  You'll be able to see some of this stuff coming a hundred pages in advance.  But, in this case, force yourself not to skip ahead.  As the saying goes, it's not the destination that counts.  It's the journey.  And Ms. Moyes takes us on a lovely, memorable one.

The Bookstore, by Deborah Meyler

As an avid reader, whenever I see a book title encompassing one of those magical literary terms, such as novel, manuscript, journal, or bookstore, it automatically scores an initial star in my rating.  It wouldn't matter if the pages within those covers were about thermoplastic polyurethane or indigenous Pygmy groups in the Congo - my inner geek is still doing a little dance of joy.  Couple that with a cover photo of a stack of fat, juicy books, and SQUEEE...this little piggy is going to market.  Such is the story with The Bookstore, by Deborah Meyler.

True to my previous statement, I knew I wanted to read this book before I even had an inkling what it was about.  If it has a bookstore in it, it's for me!  Well, it turns out that the bookstore in question here is The Owl, a fictional imitation of those cramped, yet invaluable, little pieces of real estate that make New York City what it is.  It's here that we meet owner George, employees Luke and Bruce, and a colorful cast of extras, including the homeless, the famous, and the just plain nuts.  (a la the real NYC!). The central character, however, is prim and proper Esme, a British import visiting the United States to study art history at Columbia University.    
Somehow or other, Esme finds herself romantically involved with (externally) handsome Mitchell van Leuven.  With a name like Van Looooooooo-ven, I'm sure you can already guess that he hails from a hoity-toity moneyed family, complete with a home in the Hamptons and judgmental airs.  (To put it in highfalutin literary terminology...yucky snooty-snoots.)  While still scratching my head over how the author could present such a mismatched couple, I read on to discover that Esme is pregnant.  And, just as she's about to share the news with Mr. Wonderful, he dumps her.  So begins her journey toward independence and self-sufficiency, resulting in her job at the aforementioned Owl bookstore.  Or that's the way it SHOULD have gone.

Ms. Meyler had a golden opportunity to present her readers with a wicked strong heroine you could root for.  Instead, however, she went down that all-too-common road of wimpy females who will put up with anything to keep a man (the aforementioned moronic Mitchell).  I lost any sympathy I may have previously held for poor little Esme, as she traded in her morals, beliefs, and self respect for that loser over and over, and over again.  It was immensely frustrating.  For God's sake, my 9 year old niece would know enough to cut her losses and walk away already.

I enjoyed some of the quirky peripheral characters, and the moments spent in The Owl were charming.  But, ultimately, I got more frustration than enjoyment from this one.  This was a middle of the road effort, at best.  After all, a book title can only compensate for so much.  I may have to temper my expectations before tackling A Novel Bookstore, by Laurence Cosse.

In the Pleasure Groove: Love, Death, and Duran Duran

Being a female teeny bopper in the glorious years that comprised the 1980’s, it was a rite of passage to swoon over the boys in Duran Duran.  While I’m guilty of such activities myself, I’m proud to state that my participation was somewhat limited.  Their sound was always a bit too modern, their look too glam.  (Nick Rhodes STILL wears more make-up than any woman I know!)  But, the gossip hound in me is still intrigued by any book that promises to give the reader an inside glimpse of life in the spotlight.  

     

So, I’ve already told you that I’m not the biggest D2 fan.  In addition to this, I always got the distinct impression that JT, in particular, was a moronic digme.  I suppose the vast majority of ‘rock stars’ have elements of that, but he seems to have more than his share.  In interviews – including those given during Duran’s heyday - I always thought he came across as an immature, smarmy schmuck.  Judging by some of the things he writes in this book, it doesn’t seem that he’s changed much. 

There’s nothing even remotely likable about this guy – there’s nothing to him.  He’s all air.  And, when I say ‘air,’ I don’t mean to insinuate stupidity.  Instead, I just think there’s no depth to his character (certainly none on display here).  And, every time I thought he was starting to scratch the surface of something, I’d turn the page and he’d be on to something completely different.  When he spoke about becoming a dad, I thought – here we go.  I’m sure I’ll see a more human side to him.  And, I did…for about 3 paragraphs.  I think the book would’ve done better to cover fewer topics, but delve deeper into the ones that remained.  Instead, I didn’t feel like I was given a true idea of who he is, beyond the arrogant mess I already envisioned. 

There were the obligatory chapters:  his stint in rehab; the numerous women he loved, left, and forgot about; the name dropping.  But, there’s no originality – nothing that sets him apart from any other rock star featured in a 60-second VH1 clip. 

I also have to take issue with the pictures included in the book.  It was really nice that a photo was included at the beginning of each chapter (in addition to the obligatory insert) – a really nice touch.  HOWEVER, it would’ve been nicer if I had known who I was looking at.  In one of the more bizarre traits of this autobiography, NONE of the people in the pictures are identified.  It was *so* annoying to read about someone, and then have to guess if that was the one pictured or not.  Yep – ball, dropped.

      

Alas, now we come to the reason why I have never been a real John Taylor fan.  He’s a brat.  I formed that opinion approximately 30 years ago, and it stands true today.  Duran Duran was a phenomenon, without a doubt.   There were screaming girls, sold out concerts, the whole nine yards.  But, JT writes as if they were as big as the Beatles.  I think someone needs to remind him of just how quickly their balloon deflated.  Sure, they’re still together (for the most part), and put out the occasional new song.  But, when was the last time they were able to fill a stadium?  Or even an average size basketball arena?  If you want to talk like the big boys, you have to produce like the big boys.  They certainly can’t be lumped into the same category as artists such as U2, the Stones, or Springsteen (who seems to be a frequent victim of Taylor’s tantrums.)  

Much as he’d probably hate to admit it, his personal fame has far more to do with his pretty face than any talent he believes himself to have.

John Taylor is a legend in his own mind, but certainly not in mine.

Goodnight June, by Sarah Jio

Sarah Jio is an author who seemingly appeared out of nowhere...the current 'it' girl of contemporary women's fiction.  I remember playing a book swap game on Paperback Swap (yes, I'm a geek; I already confessed to this), and I was given a choice of several different Jio books.  Who was this Jio person, and how could she have all these titles available without me being aware of her?

Well, I now own about 4 Jio novels, which are sitting on my bookshelves, waiting for their turn at bat.  The first one I cracked open was Morning Glory, my opinion of which could be evidenced by the absence of a review.  I wasn't bowled over.  In short, I thought it was sappy and predictable.  But, I detected something in there - some unrealized potential for a great story.  So, I decided to give Ms. Jio another shot.   Enter Goodnight June.  And yes, the title is a play on that famous children's book, Goodnight Moon.  Which brings me to a small confession...

I didn't grow up with Goodnight Moon.  I never read Goodnight Moon.  Actually, I never even HEARD of Goodnight Moon until I was in my 30's.  (Okay, go ahead now and pick your jaw up off the floor.  I'll wait.  All better now?  Good.)  My point in mentioning this is that the title of this book didn't hold any special appeal to me, as it seems to for so many others.  I think there's a whole list of folks dying to get their hands on this sucker, if only for reasons of nostalgia.   I picked it up mostly because it's a bestseller.

Goodnight June tells the story of a hard-edged NYC banker named June Andersen, who inherits her great Aunt Ruby's cozy Seattle bookstore, Bluebird Books.  Although she has many fond childhood memories of the store (and her aunt), the plan is to get in and get out.  That is, pack it up and liquidate it, in as little time as possible.  But, as you may have expected, those plans are derailed when she starts to sift through the boxes of her childhood.

While taking that journey down memory lane, June stumbles across a series of letters between Aunt Ruby and Margaret Wise Brown, author of the aforementioned Goodnight Moon.  The letters depict a deeply-forged friendship between the ladies, as well as some insight into how the famous children's classic came to be.

One of the main themes in the book is the importance of familial relationships - specifically, the incomparable bond shared by sisters.  Sadly, the common sisterly thread shared by the three central female characters in this story is one of estrangement.  Although the issue between June and her sister is probably easily figured out by any casual fiction reader, it still plays prominently in the book.

Of course, there's also the obligatory love interest thrown in, something I'm generally not a fan of.  I'm not sure why authors think that women's fiction simply *must* have that tall, dark, and handsome element.  In my opinion, I think it only serves to cheapen the tale the author was trying to tell.  There was so much meat of a different nature here that it simply wasn't necessary to throw in a bit of Mr. Right.  It reeks too much of that sappiness I previously attributed to a different Jio book.  Thankfully though, it wasn't a case of overkill, capable of ruining the book's appeal, and I found myself thoroughly enjoying it.  In fact, I may even need to pick up one of those other Jio books soon.  We'll see.

Save the Date, by Jen Doll

This is going to be a tricky one to write. So, let's put it off for a minute, shall we? This is where I'll tell you that I'm obligated to disclose the fact that I didn't purchase this book. Instead, I won it through a Goodreads giveaway. 

Well, crap, that didn't last long, did it? 

When I read the little blurb describing the contents of this book, I was under the false impression that what I would be getting was various wedding stories from hell, similar to what Concierge Confidential is to hotels, and Retail Hell is to, well, retail. That's not exactly the story here, though admittedly that was my own fault. I should have paid closer attention, and read the synopsis all the way through. While there were a few chapters about different destination weddings, drunk bridal parties, etc., for the most part, this read like a Jen Doll autobiography. That's not necessarily a bad thing, but it was somewhat disappointing, when I was anticipating getting a few cheap laughs. But, again, I'll take most of the blame for that. In my own defense, however, the title is somewhat misleading, don't ya think? 

I mean no personal offense to Ms. Doll, but there's really nothing extraordinary about the experiences she writes of. Add to that the fact that her delivery lacks a certain spark. The book read more like a research paper, and less like an amusing memoir. In fact, as I was nearing its midpoint, I was downright bored, and eagerly anticipated the buzz of my clothes dryer so I could escape to folding clothes. (There's something wrong with that, I think.)

A more apt description of Save the Date would describe it as Ms. Doll's journey toward relationship contentment, interspersed throughout with various nuptials all over the world. Seriously - nice and dry, just like that. Instead, the word 'hilarious' is tossed around in the description, and I'm still looking for that particular passage. While I may have smiled occasionally, there was certainly no hilarity involved. Also, one of my major problems with the book is that every time I found myself rooting for a coupling to be successful, I would read on to the next chapter, only to discover that she had moved on to the next guy. 

My overall impression is that she was aiming to cover this autobiographical nuptial ground in an amusing way, a la Jen Lancaster, but it just falls flat. While the girl can certainly write, she lacks that snarkiness that Ms. Lancaster wears so well. I don't think you can fake that - you either have it, or you don't. And, I'm sure you can guess which category I'm filing Ms. Doll in.

As I stated previously, my disappointment probably stems more from my misplaced expectations than with any fault in the book. Although, I still think the word 'hilarious' should be stricken from the record. Just sayin'...

Sous Chef, by Michael Gibney

While most people would say I’m an average cook, at best, I willingly (and happily) admit to being addicted to all things food.  Whether it’s a shiny new cookbook with lots of pretty pictures, Bobby Flay grilling meat on a New York City terrace, or a dirty down reality show with wannabes mouthing off to their so-called mentor, I’m fascinated by the culinary arts.  So, when I heard about this new book, Sous Chef, that promises an in-depth look at a 24 hour period in the manic life of – imagine that – a sous chef, I was all in.  I also won my copy from a giveaway on Goodreads.com – winner, winner, chicken dinner! 

As per the blurb on the back of the book, the author, Mr. Gibney, started making his mark on the culinary world as a teen, achieving the position of sous chef at only 22.  One has to believe he knows what he’s talking about.  Unfortunately, at times, I think he’s the ONLY one who knows what he’s talking about.  Allow me to explain…

On the very first page of the first chapter, entitled ‘Morning,’ items such as bains-marie, proofing boxes, and immersion circulator are mentioned.  Excuse me, what?  Mi no comprende.  Let this serve as the first warning that this book may not be for the average Food Network fan.  The kitchen jargon continues from page to page, leaving me clueless on more than one occasion.  Granted, I’m not always the crunchiest cookie, but it’s almost as if the author was trying too hard to showcase his expertise, while forgetting that not every reader has spent a significant amount of time in a professional kitchen. 

If you’re looking for the juicy stuff, there’s a good dose of that, as well.  There’s flirting, drinking, and subsequently puking, but it’s certainly not the main theme of the book, thankfully.  In all, there was a nice balance between the back-breaking reality of the non-celebrity chef, and the everyday drama that unfolds in the life of anyone attempting to balance a demanding job with a home life. 

Overall, I enjoyed the book, though I didn’t love it.  It was certainly a quick read, but that has more to do with its limited pages (185) than with any avid interest.  If anything, it was a little on the dry side, and…while I hate to say this…I felt almost like the author was boasting throughout.  I mean, I get it – chefs work hard.  But, so do teachers.  So do police officers.  So do secretaries.  You get my drift.  You’re preaching to the choir here, Mr. Gibney – MOST people work hard.  Unfortunately, though, the vast majority of us aren’t lucky enough to work hard at something we’re passionate about.  In that respect, you’re a very lucky guy.  Not so lucky are those of us who needed a dictionary to understand half of what you were talking about.

Happiness, thy name is Rainbow Rowell

When you love to read, there are few things as exciting as finding a great new author.  Even better is when you discover that they're really only new to you, and they actually have a few other books you can scoop up right away.  Such is the story of my love affair with Rainbow Rowell.  In the span of approximately one week, I read three of her books - the only three I'm aware of.  (If there are more, please, please, PLEASE let me know!)  Since I've already professed my undying love for Ms. Rowell, I'll keep these individual reviews on the short side.

Let's see - my first exposure came with Fangirl, a story about a girl (Cather) who's obsessed with the well-known Simon Snow book series (*cough* Harry Potter ripoff *cough*), and writes an uber popular fan fiction story about its main characters.  [Sidebar:  Did you KNOW about this fan fiction stuff?  Holy crap - if the internet was around during the time of New Kids on the Block, I probably never would've left my computer.  I'm aging myself, I know.  But, still...awesome stuff, this fan fiction.]  As Cather heads off to face the next chapter of her life in college, she struggles with the changing relationship she shares with her twin sister, Wren, while exploring that wonderful, crazy, demented thing known as first love.  Throw in the usual family drama (an absent mother, a mentally unstable father) and you have something that sounds pretty ordinary.  But, these characters are anything BUT ordinary.  They're humorous, annoying, lovable, irritating, and all those other adjectives that describe your everyday John (or Jane) Q. Public.  In other words, they're enormously human, which makes them enormously endearing.  I miss them all immensely.

Before I even finished reading Fangirl, I went on Amazon.com and ordered myself a copy of Eleanor & Park.  This is another coming of age story involving two misfits named - big surprise - Eleanor and Park. Eleanor appears to be going through normal growing pains - not the skinniest chick on the block, her hair is a
bit unruly, and her clothes seem...er...unique.  As the story progresses, you'll see that there are reasons for her personal style choices.  Park, on the other hand, seems a little more middle of the road.  While he's not part of the exclusive 'in' crowd, he's not the class loser, either.  Somewhere over the course of the daily bus ride to school, the two manage to connect over comic books and new age music.  It took awhile for me to become completely sucked into this tale.  For one thing, I thought it went from zero to sixty a little too quickly.  Somewhere around page 150 or so, however, I started to become a little puddle of goo, realizing that I was in *love* with these two people.  I'm simply in awe of any author who can make me able to relate to a couple of teenagers as if I were back in high school myself.  Score another point for Ms. Rowell.

This brings me to the third, and final, book in my new-favorite-author triumvirate.  While the two previously mentioned books were of the YA genre, The Attachments falls into the adult category.  Surprisingly enough, this old broad far preferred the books aimed at the young'uns.  The Attachments tells the story of Lincoln, an IT guy whose main function at work is to monitor (read: spy) the many emails sent by his co-workers during the day, with the goal being to limit its unwarranted use.  Forwarded a joke?  One warning.  Let an f-bomb fly?  Another warning.  You get the gist.  Anywho,
during his nightly fishing expedition, he comes across a conversation between Jennifer and Beth, who discuss just about every aspect of their lives via computer.  Before you know it, reading their conversation becomes Lincoln's favorite part of the day, not least because Beth has the hots for the new IT guy .  You can see where this one is going, and I think that was part of the problem for me.  It was just too predictable.  There were cute scenarios thrown in here & there, as well as a few quirky characters (who wouldn't love vending machine-filling Doris?), but I just wasn't bowled over.  Don't get me wrong - I enjoyed it.  A lot, in fact.  But, when compared to its two step-siblings, this Rowell concoction just doesn't live up to the hype.  Maybe I just enjoyed being back in high school/college too much.  Hmm...

  

A short explanation

Forgive me readers, for I have sinned.  It has been one long month since I've updated my blog.  Yes, I hang my head in shame.  I am a bad, bad, bad, bad blogger.  That said, I've come to a conclusion.  That is, if this blogging thing is going to be successful - in any way - then I need to lighten up a little bit.  I stress over this.  I stress over writing, I stress over reading, I stress over not writing/reading enough.  I stress...period.  And, it needs to stop.

I started this blog because I love books.  I love everything about them - the way the pages feel between my fingers; the way they smell when you fan the pages back and forth; the heft of a scrummy 900 page tome.  In short, this was supposed to be *fun.*  And, it's not turning out that way.  

For that sad truth, I can blame no one but myself.  To remedy the situation, I'm going to make a conscious effort to post more often, but with less content (if that makes any sense).  Sometimes I read a book, and I absolutely fall in love with it.  I can't wait to come here and share it (even if only 4 or 5 people see it).  But, that doesn't necessarily mean I can sit down and write 1,000+ words about the author's use of metaphors or the beautiful imagery hidden within the muddled dialogue.  Things like that send shivers down my spine, and bring on flashbacks from Ms. Carlson's 12th grade English class.  So very, very wrong.  Aside from the fact that Ms. Carlson was eternally high on something, she had a way of turning good books bad, and that's not a nice thing.  

The bottom line is that I want to put less pressure on myself.  If I can't get out a full review on a book, so be it.  Maybe I'll simply write a line or two, stating whether I liked the book or not.  That's okay, isn't it?  I won't be breaking any blogger code, right?  I know it would certainly alleviate some of the guilty load I've been carting around.  One can hope, anyway.