Rory's World War Two books

Part of my original vision in tackling this list of books was to approach it in units, as opposed to books completely separate from each other. But as much as that was my goal, up till recently, I seemed to just be picking out the books that drew my attention.

As I was looking through my list of books that I want to read, that includes books not on Rory's list, I decided it was time to do one of these units. There are still a few more to read at this point, but I wanted to write my thoughts so far before I dive into the next books.

From Rory's list, I have recently read Night, by Elie Wiesel and The Bielski Brothers: The True Story of Three Men Who Defied the Nazis, Saved 1,200 Jews and Built a Village in the Forest by Peter Duffy. I also read In the Garden of Beasts: Love, Terror and an American Family in Hitler's Berlin by Erik Larson. This book is not on Rory's list, but another book by Larson is, and my enjoyment of that book is what got his Berlin book on my list of books that I want to read.

All of these are non-fiction accounts of life during the time of the Nazi's and the extreme persecution of the Jews. Wiesel's book is his own memoir as a Jew who survived, and is the most powerful of the group, but all of them paint a bleak picture of that slice of history.

Larson's book mostly struck me in terms of politics, and how ready the German citizens were to welcome Hitler's rise to power, even as he was strongly against certain groups. They were drawn to his promises of a better Germany, a brighter future and a way to fix the things they saw wrong in their country, and he convinced them that his way would do that. It was also really interesting to see how some people did see, and did try to prevent travesties before they happened, but the population's and government's general naivety that it wasn't possible for things to get too bad stopped anything real from being prevented.

Wiesel and Duffy's book showed on a very personal, real level the magnitude of the Holocaust. From the account in the camp to the few Jews who survived in the forests, you still walk away feeling that there should have been so many more.

The Bielski book has much more hope than the Wiesel one, but it is hard to celebrate the saving of 1,200 Jews in a book that describes the thousands upon thousands executed with no reason except for their ancestry. I did enjoy the mental image of the village, working together, everyone contributing something, keeping at least a portion of the Jews safe. The few non-Jewish people who helped the brothers also were a good reminder that not all the civilians in the area around the Jews turned heartless blind eyes to their struggling.

The Song of Names, as a fictional account of a couple of boys who lived through the times, was in interesting break, and what I found most appealing about it was seeing a Jew who didn't personally suffer needing to come to terms with the sufferings of his people. Very interesting fast read with an ending I didn't see coming.

Another non-Rory book I read in this "unit" was The Zookeeper's Wife which I loved as well. Most interesting in her story was the moment where she told someone she would not be giving over a necklace (I think), and even with language barriers, she was able to get her point across, and he listened.

My biggest take-away of this whole unit was that fear of others is nothing new, and that there are always people who are going to try to deal with their fears with violence. But at the same time, there will always be citizens who can look past the fear to the individuals, and know that you don't have to write off a complete group of people because of the actions of some of the individuals. This applies to Muslims, blacks, gays, police and any other group that will come under attack in my lifetime.

Please, learn the lessons of the past, and give people a chance to be viewed for this own choices, not the malicious choices of their group.

Gone With the Wind

There are a few shows that I have watched from start to finish (more than once). To name a few- Friends, The Office (American version), How I Met your Mother, Scrubs, and there are probably more.

The endings of these series, and by ending, I mean the writers know it is the end of a series that has been going on for years, are hard. By hard, I mean it takes me some time to absorb that the end has actually happened, and I have to walk away from characters I feel like I have related to and been in their lives for so long.

Some of the above named series did a great job with while taking away characters who I felt were friends, giving me a happy existence for them. I could close the chapter in their lives that I got to watch with the knowledge (fictitious as it was) that their lives were going on happily, away from me. One of the above I was less happy with, and anyone who has seen all of those knows which one it is.

I finished Gone with the Wind today. I had seen the movie, long ago, and forgotten most of it, and I loved it. I read it significantly faster than I expected to, and loved knowing the behind the scenes thoughts and emotions that the movie could not portray as much as they tried.

If you haven't read the book or seen the movie, and are reading this post, you should stop here. There will be spoilers below (about the book and the shows above too), and honestly, they are both so epic, both so much a part of culture, even if you didn't know it, you are probably missing references to the movie all over the place. The story and the characters are vivid and real, complete with flaws (for the most part).

For those of you still reading, I am assuming that you either know the ending or don't care if you know the ending. Here is my rant- I want my stories to end happy.

Especially when I have invested so much time and effort into a story as sweeping and covering as long as Gone With the Wind does, I want my investment to pay off.  I don't mind that you have to have Ross and Rachel separate more than together over the decade of the show, I'm just happy that they end up together. Have all the drama you want in the J.D. and Elliot story, they end together. Pam and Jim were fun to watch even as the writers showed the stress of the relationship of the last season, but at least they ended happy.

I can handle the tragedies Scarlett went through, especially since they were historical. No problem killing off characters either- adds drama, realism and shoot, if I can make it through Game of Thrones I can handle Gone with the Wind. I think everyone knows the line Rhett says to Scarlett at the end, but gosh, I so wanted it to end happy.

Those two have had so much drama and problems in their lives... I really wanted a good resolution for them. To be clear- the ending is well written, as is the whole novel, but it is a tragic ending. Obviously, to have Rhett and Scarlett happy together would have been my ideal ending, but I would have settled for Ashley and Scarlett to make it work too, for him to see that he really loved Scarlett, and for her to finally understand him, and it to still be a version of a happy ending. But no. Everyone realizes their true loves too late, Rhett is "over her" to use a modern phrase, and she is left all alone when she finally realizes that she cares about a lot of people. I just feel unresolved, and I don't like it.

Now, those of you who want to come back with a "but life is tragic" kind of line, I don't disagree. I have read enough news stories to know that far, far, far too many people have to live through tragedies. But reading is an escape. Especially a novel. Especially a romance novel (for though historical, it is hard to argue the current of romance throughout the book). I firmly believe that a romance novel should end with two happy characters!

Even if Scarlett eventually wins him back, and I wish her all the luck in the world, my bone to pick is with Margaret Mitchell. Why leave your characters separate instead of giving them a romantic finish worthy of them? Sigh.

My other main take-away from this was that I find myself frequently too similar to Scarlett. Thankfully, not in the hankering after someone who is not my husband way, but in my headstrong determination to get what I want. Though, at the resolution of the book, my lesson is not that I need to ignore that side of me, because like Scarlett, there are things you can only achieve if you set your sights to do so. But instead, I was reminded to find a balance between my pursuits and the people in my life who I love, and make sure that they both have a good portion of my time and attention.

Don Quixote

This book has definitely set some new records for me. I started reading Don Quixote in my enthusiasm for this new goal of reading through Rory's books.  That was April of 2015. Now we are in March of 2016 and I just finished it.

It had been a book that I was interested in, and had actually purchased from Barnes and Noble from a previous "I'm going to read classics" stage. But this book is intense. My copy has 891 pages, with little words.

Added to my trouble with this book is that unlike modern novels, for most of it there wasn't a huge draw to the story. It really had nothing hooking that made me desperate to read it, but was comprised of lots of little vignettes, sometimes funny, usually interesting, but not too connected to other parts.

For my own sanity, it wasn't the only book I was reading. I read a bunch of other books throughout the course of the year, but continued to force myself to keep putting some time into this super classic, determined to finish it.

As 2016 rolled around, and I still wasn't done, I decided to make a final push to get this book finished. I have never even come close to taking a year to read a book, even thousand page books, and I wasn't about to not finish this one in a year. So, I downloaded the audiobook, and started listening to it.

Not only did it really help it get read while I did dishes, folded laundry or drove somewhere (without the kids in the car, I don't think they could handle this book), but it helped me understand it better, and gave an amazing voice and depth to the characters which I hadn't picked up on my own. 

The funny thing is that once I finished, I decided it deserved four out of five stars. Sure, it isn't hooking, but there were a lot of great things about it.

The friendship of the two main characters is genuine, and is proven time and again through the rough trials they go through together. When Quixote isn't being crazy, he has really good advice and wisdom, which I literally wrote down to remember later- it was that good.

My favorite is, "Always remember who you are, and endeavor to know yourself... pride yourself on performing worthy actions."

Even though he does ridiculous dumb things, when people started to give him flak for it, he immediately can go into "wisdom mode" and talk about how his illusions only lead him to try to travel the world searching for good to do, and how that isn't a bad thing.

There were scenes that had me cracking up laughing, which is really impressive considering that it is a book hundreds of years old, not the modern humor at all.

As hard as it was to get through, as long as it took me to get through, it is hard for me to say that everyone should read this book. But at the same time, I can say that I am glad that I read it. It might not be as high as a "go read this book" but it definitely wasn't a dislike either.

For the record, I do think it is worth noting that listening to the Yale (go Rory) lectures on itunes U really helped me understand the backstory more, and caught things that I missed just reading through.

Detours, Rabbit Trails, and Walking off the Path

I'm still determined to at some point, not a set date, but a general goal, get through all of the books that Rory was seen reading on the show. But after much wavering, I have decided to allow myself detours.

My original purpose was to open my eyes to new authors and the classics that I hadn't read yet, and get myself out of my little fantasy / past favorite authors rut. I was only reading things that I knew about already, so it was a good exercise for me to get out of my comfort zone and experience a whole new flavor of books.

It has been overall widely successful, and I now have a few authors who I enjoyed their books so much, it made me want to read more of them, but I kept denying myself, because they weren't on "the list." I added them to my to- read list, and decided I would read more of them far in the future, after my full list is complete. I reasoned with myself that I have so many books to get through to achieve my goal that reading books off the list is too much of a detriment to my goal.

I have changed my mind. Reading is for pleasure, my escape, my hobby. I set off on this journey to accomplish a weighty goal, but also to find new books, and more enjoyment in my reading than I was when I was randomly picking fantasy books and hoping for the best. Why wait years to read more of an author I enjoyed? I discovered a gem, an author whose writing filled my want for books that draw me in and envelope me completely in the story. She is a prolific author, and only two of her books made the list, so I have decided to take a detour.

Her name is Ann Patchett, and the first book of hers I read was Bel Canto (amazing book). Second I read Truth and Beauty, which I will write about later, and how it finished a trilogy of sorts with Autobiography of a Face, which was one of the first Gilmore book list books I read. Truth and Beauty, among other things, talks about her journey to become a writer, and her first book, and it made me want to read it, and as the book continued, it solidified my desire to break off my path, and take a Patchett detour.

With that decision, it opened the flood gates to me deciding to also read more books by other authors that I enjoyed on this journey so far. So it appears that my August/September reading will be a detour, rabbit trail, off the path kind of months, and I am looking forward to it.

Too Full of Passion

I have a theory about passionate poets. I think there is such a thing of too much passion, as I continue to learn of more and more authors who end up committing suicide, even while they have gained fame for their beautiful poetry.

There are two authors who I read in close proximity to each other on purpose, as they were friends, and one wrote a tribute to the other. The two authors were Anne Sexton and Sylvia Plath. They both struggled with depression throughout their lives, were in and out of mental hospitals and ended up committing suicide successfully, after previously attempting and failing.

One of Anne Sexton's poems, which I read in The Complete Poems of Anne Sexton is written after Plath's suicide. You would have expected it to be focused on her sadness that her friend did this act, or something touching. Instead it was a poem of jealousy, that Plath had done it without her, and left her having to continue living while she had ended it all.
My goodreads review was

 Dark, many depressing poems, but beautifully written and there were some that really touched my heart.

Both Sexton's poems and The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath earned a 3 star rating in my opinion. They were hard to read, partially for their depressing nature, and partially for boredom at parts. Honestly, I had to force myself to get through Plath's journals (and I didn't read the appendix) and I didn't finish Sexton's poems (but gave myself a pass as far as the Gilmore Challenge was concerned after I looked it up, and found that Rory was not seen reading Anne Sexton, but mocked a silly pledge by asking if it was written by Sexton, so since I read some of her poems, I passed). But with that said, they were definitely quotable and there are portions that I will remember and savor.

My review for Plath

There were moments of brilliance in this book, quotes that were inspiring or powerful in their vulnerability, but to get to those moments I had a lot of less interesting sections to get through.

I did not read all of the appendixes, but there were some interesting parts there as well.

Would I recommend reading it? Not sure. Or perhaps yes, but give yourself permission to scan the parts that don't interest you.

I most enjoyed the first section, before her first attempt. At times, I felt almost like I was invading her privacy and throughout I admired her writing skill. 

They were clearly full of emotions, and lived lives full of passion, but in the end, they couldn't handle it. It reminds me of the people who remember everything, and don't really function well because our brains weren't designed to remember everything, we function better letting some of it go. I wonder if the same is true of the great writers who end up committing suicide, that they are such a fountain of passion that they can't handle experiencing life's emotions to such a powerful extent.

Do I recommend them? I don't know. There are such intense, powerful quotes and emotions throughout, more than I quote below, they might just be worth it. But it is so dark, depressing and hard to get through. Would you walk through a forest at night full of dangerous beasts if I told you that in the middle there was a beautiful clearing with the most amazing scenic view? If the darkness and the danger is worth it, then read them, if it isn't worth the journey, then skip it. 

Best Sylvia Plath Quotes:

From Sylvia Plath's mother, "If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain or bitter... For always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself." I really liked this reminder to try to be your personal best, not compared to anyone else.

""I can never be all the people I want and live all the lives I want... I want to live and feel all the shades, tones and variations of mental and physical experience possible in my life."

Slyvia Plath about her husband, "he lives people, that's what he does. Very few people do this anymore. It's too risky...it is much easier to be somebody else or nobody at all."

"..."the present is forever, and forever is always shifting, flowing, melting. This second is life. " "Tonight I am ugly. I have lost all faith in my ability to attract males.""

The best explanation of her thoughts about suicide are found in her journal entry about the baby bird they eventually euthanized: "Suffering is tyrannous... Composed, perfect and beautiful in death. I wonder if she thought of herself as the baby bird when she decided to end her life..."

Most powerful Anne Sexton poems:

Courage It is in the small things we see it. The child's first step, as awesome as an earthquake. The first time you rode a bike, wallowing up the sidewalk. The first spanking when your heart went on a journey all alone. When they called you crybaby or poor or fatty or crazy and made you into an alien, you drank their acid and concealed it. Later, if you faced the death of bombs and bullets you did not do it with a banner, you did it with only a hat to comver your heart. You did not fondle the weakness inside you though it was there. Your courage was a small coal that you kept swallowing. If your buddy saved you and died himself in so doing, then his courage was not courage, it was love; love as simple as shaving soap. Later, if you have endured a great despair, then you did it alone, getting a transfusion from the fire, picking the scabs off your heart, then wringing it out like a sock. Next, my kinsman, you powdered your sorrow, you gave it a back rub and then you covered it with a blanket and after it had slept a while it woke to the wings of the roses and was transformed. Later, when you face old age and its natural conclusion your courage will still be shown in the little ways, each spring will be a sword you'll sharpen, those you love will live in a fever of love, and you'll bargain with the calendar and at the last moment when death opens the back door you'll put on your carpet slippers and stride out.

From my facebook post, "Disclaimer: I am going to share two other deeply moving Anne Sexton poems... but they aren't happy or uplifting, but sobering. They are beautiful and they are powerful. One is even highly controversial. I am not intending to be controversial, but share the poems that impact me, because I think others might appreciate them too. If you don't want to read the rest of this post. Don't. :-D I also post them as a contrast. An unwanted pregnancy typically goes one of the following two ways. I feel that Anne Sexton shows that both are tragic in their own ways. " The Abortion by Anne Sexton Somebody who should have been born is gone. Just as the earth puckered its mouth, each bud puffing out from its knot, I changed my shoes, and then drove south. Up past the Blue Mountains, where Pennsylvania humps on endlessly, wearing, like a crayoned cat, its green hair, its roads sunken in like a gray washboard; where, in truth, the ground cracks evilly, a dark socket from which the coal has poured, Somebody who should have been born is gone. the grass as bristly and stout as chives, and me wondering when the ground would break, and me wondering how anything fragile survives; up in Pennsylvania, I met a little man, not Rumpelstiltskin, at all, at all... he took the fullness that love began. Returning north, even the sky grew thin like a high window looking nowhere. The road was as flat as a sheet of tin. Somebody who should have been born is gone. Yes, woman, such logic will lead to loss without death. Or say what you meant, you coward...this baby that I bleed. (The following poem is about giving a baby up for adoption in the 60's where keeping it wasn't really an option) Unknown Girl in the Maternity Ward By Anne Sexton Child, the current of your breath is six days long. You lie, a small knuckle on my white bed; lie, fisted like a snail, so small and strong at my breast. Your lips are animals; you are fed with love. At first hunger is not wrong. The nurses nod their caps; you are shepherded down starch halls with the other unnested throng in wheeling baskets. You tip like a cup; your head moving to my touch. You sense the way we belong. But this is an institution bed. You will not know me very long. The doctors are enamel. They want to know the facts. They guess about the man who left me, some pendulum soul, going the way men go and leave you full of child. But our case history stays blank. All I did was let you grow. Now we are here for all the ward to see. They thought I was strange, although I never spoke a word. I burst empty of you, letting you learn how the air is so. The doctors chart the riddle they ask of me and I turn my head away. I do not know. Yours is the only face I recognize. Bone at my bone, you drink my answers in. Six times a day I prize your need, the animals of your lips, your skin growing warm and plump. I see your eyes lifting their tents. They are blue stones, they begin to outgrow their moss. You blink in surprise and I wonder what you can see, my funny kin, as you trouble my silence. I am a shelter of lies. Should I learn to speak again, or hopeless in such sanity will I touch some face I recognize? Down the hall the baskets start back. My arms fit you like a sleeve, they hold catkins of your willows, the wild bee farms of your nerves, each muscle and fold of your first days. Your old man’s face disarms the nurses. But the doctors return to scold me. I speak. It is you my silence harms. I should have known; I should have told them something to write down. My voice alarms my throat. “Name of father—none.” I hold you and name you bastard in my arms. And now that’s that. There is nothing more that I can say or lose. Others have traded life before and could not speak. I tighten to refuse your owling eyes, my fragile visitor. I touch your cheeks, like flowers. You bruise against me. We unlearn. I am a shore rocking you off. You break from me. I choose your only way, my small inheritor and hand you off, trembling the selves we lose. Go child, who is my sin and nothing more.

This next one is a tragedy. It is a tragedy that there are moms and sons who actually act this out, day after day, and my prayers are with the kids, and I hope the parents get caught, and stopped, but it was written so beautifully, I know it is one that will resound with me for a long time.

Tommy is three and when he's bad
his mother dances with him.
She puts on the record,
'Red Roses for a Blue Lady'
and throws him across the room.
Mind you,
she never laid a hand on him.
He gets red roses in different places,
the head, that time he was as sleepy as a river,
the back, that time he was a broken scarecrow,
the arm like a diamond had bitten it,
the leg, twisted like a licorice stick,
all the dance they did together,
Blue Lady and Tommy.
You fell, she said, just remember you fell.
I fell, is all he told the doctors
in the big hospital. A nice lady came
and asked him questions but because
he didn't want to be sent away he said, I fell.
He never said anything else although he could talk fine.
He never told about the music
or how she'd sing and shout
holding him up and throwing him.

He pretends he is her ball.
He tries to fold up and bounce
but he squashes like fruit.
For he loves Blue Lady and the spots
of red roses he gives her

Direct from facebook: I posted my favorite part of a poem from Anne Sexton, one of the many things I am reading as part of my Rory Gilmore Challenge. I know sometimes long poetry keeps people away, so originally I only posted part of it, the best part. At the end of this post, I will put the whole poem, because I imagine she would not want it only posted in part only. The idea is so simple, and so deep, and so profound, it truly spoke to me the way you hear that poetry is supposed to do. Basically, the world is an imperfect place, full of bad things, and we long to protect our child from every danger big and small. We want them to have all of their best dreams come true and none of their bad ones... but we can't. We have no power to make that happen. What we can promise is love. Love for them through the heart ache, through the tragedies, through everything that we wish we could shield them from. THE FORTRESS while taking a nap with Linda Under the pink quilted covers I hold the pulse that counts your blood. I think the woods outdoors are half asleep, left over from summer like a stack of books after a flood, left over like those promises I never keep. On the right, the scrub pine tree waits like a fruit store holding up bunches of tufted broccoli. We watch the wind from our square bed. I press down my index finger -- half in jest, half in dread -- on the brown mole under your left eye, inherited from my right cheek: a spot of danger where a bewitched worm ate its way through our soul in search of beauty. My child, since July the leaves have been fed secretly from a pool of beet-red dye. And sometimes they are battle green with trunks as wet as hunters' boots, smacked hard by the wind, clean as oilskins. No, the wind's not off the ocean. Yes, it cried in your room like a wolf and your pony tail hurt you. That was a long time ago. The wind rolled the tide like a dying woman. She wouldn't sleep, she rolled there all night, grunting and sighing. Darling, life is not in my hands; life with its terrible changes will take you, bombs or glands, your own child at your breast, your own house on your own land. Outside the bittersweet turns orange. Before she died, my mother and I picked those fat branches, finding orange nipples on the gray wire strands. We weeded the forest, curing trees like cripples. Your feet thump-thump against my back and you whisper to yourself. Child, what are you wishing? What pact are you making? What mouse runs between your eyes? What ark can I fill for you when the world goes wild? The woods are underwater, their weeds are shaking in the tide; birches like zebra fish flash by in a pack. Child, I cannot promise that you will get your wish. I cannot promise very much. I give you the images I know. Lie still with me and watch. A pheasant moves by like a seal, pulled through the mulch by his thick white collar. He's on show like a clown. He drags a beige feather that he removed, one time, from an old lady's hat. We laugh and we touch. I promise you love. Time will not take away that. Anne Sexton

A Tale of Two Cities

Is it heretical to rate a Dickens book anything less than a 5? Sadly, as much as I eventually enjoyed the story, I found it to be very wordy, slow at times, and confusing at times. But overall I liked the character development and found the last third of the book to be exciting and fully interesting. Worth a read, not just for historical/ cultural value.

That is what I wrote on goodreads, and I think it does a good job of summarizing my thoughts about the book. Overall, I decided it was worth a 4.

When I told my husband I had never read A Tale of Two Cities he was surprised. It is that much of a classic, one that everyone has heard of, and one that is expected to be in the vernacular of a well read person. Yet, it was never one of my assigned high school books, and I think that most classics are in danger of never being unless they are forced reading. You don't usually tell your friends to read a classic like you do Hunger Games, you aren't typically going to read it either before or after a big blockbuster film, because if they are going to be made into movies, most of them already have been.

Yet, I was completely in the dark about this book, except for the first line, "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times." I didn't even know that it was about the French Revolution, until we got to that point in the book! Even the blurb on the back cover, which I read about halfway through the book, was a spoiler for me.

I started listening to it as an audiobook on itunesU, which is a great app by the way, in that there are many classics available to listen to for free, as well as lectures about a diverse and large number of topics. For the first portion of the book, I was content to listen to it slowly, and whenever I happened to have a good time to listen. Then it got more exciting, and I started listening to it more at home, purposely seeking out times to listen. Then it got to a point where listening wasn't good enough (which frequently happens to me with audiobooks) and I happened to own the book (thanks to my husband's high school book collection), so I learned the conclusion of the book partly by reading and partly by listening.

As I said in my short review, I did come to enjoy the characters, and especially how they were shaped and changed over the course of the book. But no matter how much I got drawn into the story, no matter how much I found myself enjoying the characters, I couldn't rate it a five.

There were complete paragraphs that I would have edited out, and as much as Dickens is a renowned author, I felt that he was confusing at times. Even as someone who loves to read, and went up to AP English in high school, I found myself having to go online to have portions of the story explained to me.

Overall, I would say, prepare yourself for confusion, and excessively wordy paragraphs, but also for an adventure of a story (once the revolution starts), and joining the large portion of the population who have already read this famous story.

The Polysyllabic Spree

This book was a short read, both in length and in the time it took me to finish (caused by someone putting it on hold after me, and me only noticing that the day before it was due, so I basically read the whole thing in one night).

I probably would have enjoyed it more as a monthly column (which it originally was) instead of a one night read. Lots of book recommendations from it, but most of all I liked the connection I felt with a fellow book lover.

Nick Hornsby, the author, does a great job of talking about how he buys more books than he reads, reads books he doesn't end up liking (though he can't give the titles of those books) and then shares what books he did love and recommends for the month. I totally related with him being stuck in a classic for an extended period of time and not being able to read other things.

 I recommend this book if you are a book lover, just to read someone with a kindred soul, or if you are looking for some book recommendations.