Clara fell down on the playground after school today. Lucky for her she’s got a pretty awesome older brother who picked her up and dusted her off.

DPP pics from past years (2006-11 lost to the ether), 2012, 2013, 2014, 2015, 2016

Simon has become the popcorn maker and the hot chocolate maker in our house. Today he made both, and we’re about to settle in to watch an episode of the Great British Baking Show. Bring it on, cold, blustery day.

DPP pics from past years: (2006-11 lost to the ether), 2012, 2013, 2014, 2015, 2016

We all enjoyed our hot chocolate (Italian soda/steamer/apple cider)–Uno date. We probably spent more time picking out drinks than playing Uno (and we had to keep it low-key because there were a lot of people studying), but now that the kids have decided what they’re going to order the next three times, I think we’ll have to do it again.

DPP pics from past years: (2006-11 lost to the ether), 2012, 2013, 2014, 2015, 2016

Every knight needs a spear. Sir Ian whittled his own. (Also, he was having trouble getting the trajectory right, and when I showed him this photo he said, “Oh! That’s why!” I don’t know what correction he thought to make, but I think we might have a future javelin thrower or mechanical engineer in the making.)

DPP pics from past years: (2006–11 lost to the ether), 2012, 2013, 2014, 2015, 2016

As I do every year during the December Photo Project, this morning I got sucked down the (wonderful, life-affirming, nostalgic) rabbit hole of DPP pics from years gone by. With Clara in kindergarten this year (and therefore all the kids in school), my weekdays look really different. (This is decidedly mixed–I enjoy the new rhythm but definitely miss my kids.) Seeing/remembering my pic from last year’s December 1 made me extra achey, and so I was correspondingly extra eager to pick the kids up from school today. Although I don’t usually photograph it, Clara running full-speed to greet me after school (knocking me over like a Great Dane if I’m not paying attention) is pretty typical, and it hasn’t gotten old yet.

DPP pics from past years: (2006-11 lost to the ether), 2012, 2013, 2014, 2015, 2016

I read a lot this month. A lot. And while I’m glad I got to read as much as I did, this end-of-the-month recap overwhelms me a little. I’m afraid most of what I have this month is the general feeling of “liked it” or “didn’t.” I’m going to try something different next month (and going forward if it works well). I will be posting these short reviews on my Instagram account (mrsopusreads) and then compiling them here as well.

***

Eleanor Oliphant Is Completely Fine, by Gail Honeyman. I liked this quirky protagonist quite a bit. Eleanor is structured (perhaps an understatement), socially awkward, and isolated, lonely probably without fully realizing it. In some ways her transformation (both physical and emotional) over the course of the book could be the stuff of a s0-basic-as-to-be-generic butterfly-coming-out-of-her-cocoon story, but for some reason I do think it avoids being bland. I feel like I will sooner rather than later forget the details of why I liked this book so much, but the good feeling of having liked it will cause me to recommend it anyway.

Sing, Unburied, Sing, by Jesmyn Ward. If I wanted to finish this one (and I did), I had to read it faster than I would have liked to (to get it back to the library on time). The story is told from two different points of view–that of Jojo, a thirteen-year-old boy, and that of his mother, Leonie.  These two, along with Jojo’s toddler sister, Kayla, and a friend of Leonie’s, take a road trip to pick up Jojo and Kayla’s father when he is released from prison. It is fitting that the plot is simple; the characters and relationships are anything but. (That’s a convoluted way of saying this is a character-driven novel.) The writing in this book is to be savored, and I kick myself for not being able to. I will be seeking out more Jesmyn Ward for sure.

On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft, by Stephen King. I have been meaning to pick this up for a long time, as so many people have raved about it. It’s part memoir and part nuts-and-bolts of writing. Perhaps I simply wasn’t in the right headspace for it, or perhaps I’m not the right audience. I liked it fine, but it didn’t blow me away. (Important note, though, I’m finding that’s how I feel about a majority of books I read this month, so it could legitimately be just me or even just me today.) I do find myself wanting to read more Stephen King, though, so there’s that. (Apart from this one, I have only read 11-22-63–loved it!)

A Thousand Mornings: Poems, by Mary Oliver. Poetry is not my go-to genre. I don’t love it; I don’t dread it. I did find this collection an enjoyable way to pass an evening.

In the Time of the Butterflies, by Julia Alvarez. The premise of this intrigued me–it is the (true) story of four sisters who were active in speaking out against the oppressive Trujillo dictatorship in the Dominican Republic.  Known as las Mariposas, the Butterflies, three of the four sisters were killed in an “accident” while one survives to tell their story. Honestly, I wanted to like this book better than I did. It was told from several different points of view (each of the four sisters in turn), and some worked better than others. I think  somehow this fictionalized version lost (at least for me) the intensity of the lives that led to these women becoming mythic heroes. I would love to read a non-fiction account of these sisters, though.

Jane Eyre, by Charlotte Brontë. Ah, I loved this book. This was my first reading of it, and all the while I kept thinking, “No wonder so many people love this book. No wonder this is a classic.” I did know the big twist, and that may have dimmed my experience ever so slightly, simply because I was waiting, waiting, waiting for it, wondering when it would be revealed. (As a side note, I read the Penguin Classics edition with the cover art by fashion designer Ruben Toledo, and it reminded me how much it really does please me–and probably enhances the reading experience–to find a lovely edition of a book.)

Velocity, by Dean Koontz. I got in my head that I wanted to read a book whose author’s name on the cover was bigger than the title. This was a (fittingly) fast read. In terms of pace and content (though not point of view), it reminded me of the kind of tv shows Jason and I often watch (lately we’ve been on an Elementary kick, but Castle  before it was horrible was similar). I wasn’t super impressed by the reveal, but it was a satisfying read for what I expected from it. I wouldn’t rule out reading more Dean Koontz, but I probably won’t seek him out either.

The Widow of Wall Street, by Randy Susan Meyers. I picked this book up from the library because I couldn’t stop thinking about its gorgeous cover. What do I say about this book? I liked it well enough to finish it for sure, but it won’t be particularly memorable. Perhaps the jacket copy gave away too much–Phoebe marries her high school boyfriend, Jake, and they live a glitzy life, but later Jake goes to prison for his Ponzi scheme and her world unravels. So, I mean Jake was just as much a money-loving, self-centered dirtbag as you would expect, and, well, that’s the story. I am not quiet about the fact that celebrities’ lives interest me only for a short while before they bore me; I don’t have much attention span for the super-rich (or their downfall) either, I guess. Even so, I fall more on the “yeah, go ahead and read it” side than the “skip it” side–either is a fine choice, I think.

The Hate U Give, by Angie Thomas. This is the story of a young teenage girl who was in the car when her childhood best friend was fatally shot by a police officer.  This book is way too current and way too infuriating and heartbreaking and raw to say that I liked reading it.

With the Kids

Betsy–Tacy, by Lucy Maud Lovelace. We picked this classic up at the library book sale, and I read it to Clara. We both liked it. Since I didn’t read this one in my own childhood, I didn’t necessarily have an affection for it, I don’t know that I would have finished it on my own, but as a read-aloud for a five-year-old it was terrific. (Also, it thrills me when Clara refers to it weeks later in random situations.)

May B., by Caroline Starr Rose. I can’t stop recommending this one. I picked it up and started reading it while I was volunteering in the kids’ school library and afterwards drove straight to the public library to check it out. It is written in verse and is the story of May, a pioneer girl in Kansas who is sent to live and work with another family for a few months. Slight spoiler (but not really), she is abandoned in the soddy and has to figure out how to survive by herself with the oncoming winter (since her parents aren’t set to fetch her until Christmas). It is beautiful and intriguing and I can’t stop thinking about it. I described it to Simon, and he said “that sounds like my kind of book,” so now he’s reading it too. Highly, highly recommended.

Audio

Rabbit Cake, by Annie Hartnett. I heard about this on the podcast From the Front Porch, where it was recommended as a good audio book because you could really “hear” the eleven-year-old protagonist’s voice. A blurb for the audio book said, “fans of Maria Semple’s Where’d You Go Bernadette?  and Celeste Ng’s Everything I Never Told You will delight in [this book].” I did in fact like both of those books very much, and although those two books don’t have much to do with each other, I think it’s pretty accurate that this has elements of both. Although Elvis is eleven, this doesn’t really strike me as a YA novel (which is neither here nor there but a good thing in this case). I do like the way the story unfolds precisely because it is told from a younger person’s point of view; much of the humor and insight comes because of the things she doesn’t yet understand and/or her age-appropriately-immature thought patterns.

Gorge: My Journey Up Kilimanjaro at 300 Pounds, by Kara Richardson Whitely (read by the author). I believe I first heard of this one on the What Should I Read Next? podcast. I listened to this one. Despite being a journey, and up a mountain at that, I’m not sure I really registered much movement (in terms of what in fiction would be called character development). She climbed the mountain, she’d done it before once and she’d failed before once. This third time was trying to recapture some of the success and accomplishment of her previous completed attempt and erase the feelings of failure from the failed attempt. In the end, I don’t think there was a really profound lesson or mountaintop experience. And that’s fine. (Honestly, if you read this book and find that I missed the poignant lesson in it all, I will believe you but stand by my non-registering of it.) Sometimes climbing a mountain is just climbing a mountain. I did enjoy following along her thoughts and fears and self-doubt (and overcoming or at least facing the latter two) for the few days it took me to listen, but on the whole the book didn’t really elicit much of any reaction from me.

Dear Fahrenheit 451: A Librarian’s Love Letters and Break-Up Notes to the Books in Her Life, by Annie Spence. I heard about this one on a podcast (WSIRN, probably). It hit the spot. I mean, I really love to listen to people talk about books. Oh yes, I remember the podcast was WSIRN, and I know that because I remember Anne Bogel saying that this definitely does not pass the “read out loud to your grandmother” test. True. The author is snarky and quite funny. I laughed a lot. I did wish that I had the hard copy in front of me because the last quarter of the book or so is a bunch of lists of books. Since this felt somewhat like listening to a podcast, I kept thinking I need to read the show notes.

Adnan’s Story: The Search for Truth and Justice after Serial, by Rabia Chaudry (read by the author). It seemed only appropriate to listen to this as an audio book. I have been captivated by this story since Serial. (And these brief thoughts assume that you are familiar with that podcast.) I’m not sure if this would be as compelling if you had not listened to Serial, but she does tell the whole story, so I think you wouldn’t be lost. However, if you did listen and still want more of the story, I’d definitely recommend this.

American Fire: Love, Arson, and Life in a Vanishing Land, by Monica Hesse. This was recommended by the From the Front Porch podcast as a modern comp for In Cold Blood (true confession: although I do tend to like the true crime genre, I have never read In Cold Blood. I will think about remedying that). The premise is that eighty fires were set by an arsonist in a five-month period in a rural Virginia county. The book follows the story from the point of view of both law enforcement and the arsonists and also offers some commentary on the (declining) economy and culture of the area. This is definitely more along the lines of an extended This American Life episode than a mystery. It kept my interest throughout, and I would recommend it.

Who Thought This Was a Good Idea? And Other Questions You Should Have Answers to When You Work at the White House, by Alyssa Mastromonoco (read by the author). Sigh. Remember how I said I wasn’t going to read any more celebrity memoirs? This one was kind of sneaky. I thought I could get away with it because I was not familiar with the author and for a good part of the book I thought maybe I’d make an exception because I did enjoy the glimpses of the people I did recognize while keeping it mostly among those I didn’t. I kept getting the West Wing meets Mindy Kahling vibe (and the author is IRL friends with Mindy Kahling). In the end, though, it swung to too much of the latter and not enough of the former for me to be truly interested. (And on a side note, not a fair criticism of the book: it was very deliberately organized by topic and not chronologically–the author specifically spelled out her rationale for this. Obviously, that’s a fine choice, and perhaps if I had been reading instead of listening it may have played better for me. Listening to this as an audiobook, I was often confused since it jumps around in time so much. Neither here nor there, but just another reason this book wasn’t my favorite.)

Goodbye for Now, by Laurie Frankel. Last month I read another book by this author and knew five or ten pages in that I would be tracking down more. The premise of this one is that Sam, a computer programmer who works for an online dating site, creates an algorithm so effective that the company loses money because when people find the love of their lives on the first try, they don’t need to keep coming back. Because of this, he gets fired but not before he uses the algorithm to find his own soul mate, Meredith. Early in the dating relationship, Meredith’s grandmother dies, and Sam accidentally/on purpose creates an algorithm that simulates e-mail and video chats to allow Meredith to have one last conversation with her grandmother. They go on to create a business based on helping people through their grief, and of course there are all kinds of unforeseen quirks and consequences. I am so taken with Frankel’s writing, the way she creates characters and especially her ability to complexify (yep) an idea in such fascinating ways. Although I did cry (but not for the reason I expected I might) and although this book is predicated on death as part of life, this was a light (but not fluffy, maybe in the sense of uplifting?) read. Loved it. 

The Curse of Chalion, by Lois McMaster Bujold. Jason has been telling me for a while that I would like this fantasy novel, and he was right (he always does a very good job of vetting things and knowing which ones I will like and which ones I should pass on, whether movies, television shows, or books). This is a great story with likable characters. It definitely has elements of fantasy novel–medieval setting, kingdoms at war, political intrigue and betrayals, magic, and of course the eponymous curse, but I think my liking it so much has more to do with the characters and plot than with the genre-specific elements, if that makes sense.

Destiny of the Republic: A Tale of Madness, Medicine, and the Murder of a President, by Candace Millard (narrated by Paul Michael). I listened to this one as an audiobook. I was completely caught up in the story of James Garfield’s presidency and assassination. I was frustrated to the point of tears at how he suffered for months after he was shot because of the prevailing (non)wisdom of medicine at the time–antiseptic techniques were just becoming known and not widely accepted in the United States at the time. This one is well written and engaging.

The War That Saved My Life, by Kimberly Brubaker Bradley. I feel like I heard about this one from several sources, but I finally picked it up because it came so highly recommended by my kids’ elementary school librarian. It is the story of Ada, a ten-year-old girl with a club foot, who leaves London with her younger brother Jamie when the children were evacuated from London in World War II. Ada and Jamie are taken in by Susan Smith, a single woman who never wanted children and who is grieving a loss of her own. Although the overall story arc may be somewhat predictable, I was so struck by the descriptions of how painful it was for Ada, who had never known anything but abuse, to be treated with kindness. This story and these characters will stick with me for a long time. (A sequel did just come out this past month as well. I’m not sure whether I want to read it or not. I’m satisfied with the ending of this book and, as with many sequels, am kind of nervous about messing with that.)

Glass Houses, by Louise Penny. This was one of my favorites in the Inspector Gamache series. Can I leave it at that?

Interpreter of Maladies, by Jhumpa Lahiri. This short story collection was our book club pick for the month. I loved it. These stories are so well written and such a good example of the genre. One of the many ways that Lahiri is masterful is that she knows just where to stop the story–these stories each left me wanting just a little more but also glad that they weren’t too neatly wrapped up. The collection as a whole is melancholy and quiet. I loved it. Oh wait, I already said that.

In the Woods, by Tana French. This is the first in the Dublin Murder Squad series; I had previously read the second but skipped this one because I had heard (or read?) that this one was too creepy. I don’t know, I think I actually liked this one better than the second (though it’s hard to say because I liked them both very much but loved neither). I enjoyed the relationship between the two protagonists and was less interested in the murder they were investigating. (I will also say that I was unsatisfied with the ending to the point that I wonder if I missed something.) These are definitely more gritty than, say, Louise Penny’s novels, which is not a bad thing. I personally need to take gritty in very small doses, but I will read more Tana French in the future.

A Letter of Mary, by Laurie R. King (narrated by Jenny Sterlin). I really liked the first two books in this series about Mary Russell and Sherlock Holmes, but unless someone can convince me that this one was an exception, I’m probably done with the series. I don’t know if it is because I listened to this as an audiobook, but the pacing of this one was so different. I literally fell asleep once and missed a half hour or so and didn’t even care. I was regularly bored, didn’t quite buy the central mystery (and definitely didn’t buy the twist), rolled my eyes at a literary illusion I maybe should have loved, and got really angry at this female author for allowing her (married but undercover) protagonist to actually apologize for spurning the unwanted advances of her employer. So disappointing.

The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo, by Taylor Jenkins Reid. I read a book by this author earlier in the year, and while that one did turn me around in the end, I wasn’t necessarily looking to read another (chick lit really isn’t my genre, and this did nothing to change my mind). I will say that Reid can really write, which is why I did finish the book even when I could tell a third of the way in or so that this book wasn’t for me. As it turns out the “glamorous and scandalous” life of a classic film star, even a fictional one, begins to bore me pretty quickly. And I have a very low tolerance for unlikeable characters, especially when they are protagonists. I don’t recommend this one.

Oh, what a month! For those who may not have heard the story, I spent a great majority of my time in September (visiting) in the hospital. A short version is this*: on September 11, a Monday, my dad had a heart catheterization that showed he had 90 percent blockage in his main left artery and four other places of 80 to 90 percent blockage; he was taken by ambulance to UNMC in Omaha (now called Nebraska Medicine). He had a quadruple bypass that Wednesday. Meanwhile, my mom had been having episodes of near syncope (blacking out) since August 9 (I remember because it was my birthday when she had the first one). The episodes had at first been weeks and then several days apart, but the week that my dad was having heart surgery, she began to have episodes once a day and they were becoming (even more) alarming. As my dad was leaving the ICU on Thursday, I took my mom to the ER and she was admitted later that night. Friday was a full day of tests in which they ruled out, or as much as they could, a neurological cause. Friday as we were getting ready for bed (I was sleeping in the chair in her room), she had another episode. Since she was on the heart monitor, they could see that she had ventricular standstill, which means the top of her heart kept pumping but the bottom said, “Nah,” in this case for sixteen seconds. We had cardiologists in her room until midnight that night, but at that time they thought they could delay putting in a pacemaker until Monday. But at 6:30 on Saturday morning, we were awakened by a surgeon that said this was an emergency, and he put in a pacemaker that morning. (We had decided to let my dad sleep the night before, and I hadn’t even gotten a chance to update him on what they had found before they wheeled her away.) So my parents spent Saturday night both recovering from heart surgeries on the same floor of the hospital, their rooms on the same side but opposite ends of a long hallway. Even after forty-seven years of marriage, I think they took the whole doing-everything-together  to a ridiculous extreme. Then! to top it all off, my dad came home on a Tuesday (my mom had been dismissed on Sunday) but had shortness of breath and what seemed like anxiety attacks all week. He was readmitted the following Sunday with blood clots in his legs and lungs and then was finally discharged again Saturday. *This short version leaves out all the people who cared for my parents, who saved their lives with sharp thinking and skill, who prayed for us and cared for us in meals and childcare and encouragement; it leaves out all the instances of providence–I mean, I know it’s a wild story, but it’s even wilder in the details; it leaves out all the feels, and you better believe I had ALL the feels; and it leaves out how incredibly grateful I am that in spite of the intensity of this month the end of the story is that both of my parents are living, recovering. It could have been so different.

With all of the time I spent in waiting rooms and hospital rooms in September, you might think I would have had an extraordinary reading month. I assumed I would. I did not. I’m okay with that.

This Is How It Always Is, by Laurie Frankel. This book absolutely took my breath away. It is the story of a family, and it is beautiful and complicated and heartwarming and heartbreaking and all the things.  I have been typing and deleting for a long while here, and just thinking about this book, these characters, makes me want to cry and read it again and talk to everyone about it. So maybe just read it. The thing I love about Frankel’s writing is that her characters are so fully developed–they ask hard questions and have conflicting feelings and live in the unresolved. I just finished another of her books (Goodbye for Now), and I am absolutely awed by her ability to take a situation and explore all the ins and outs and questions and doubts without it ever becoming boring or absurd or manipulative. Through these characters (that I totally fell in love with), she articulates and so aptly describes so many emotions and things that just wouldn’t have occurred to me but that I’m richer for thinking/feeling about.

The New City Catechism: 52 Questions and Answers for Our Hearts and Minds. We are learning this catechism as a family. The kids particularly love the songs (questions and short answers) available in the children’s mode on the app.

Murder on the Orient Express, by Agatha Christie. I picked this up to read before I see the new movie version coming out (already out?). It was a delightful read. I liked it better than the only other Agatha Christie I had read (And Then There Were None), and I suspect it will not be my last Hercule Poirot novel.

Reading People: How Seeing the World through the Lens of Personality Changes Everything, by Anne Bogel. I, of course, heard of this book through the author’s excellent podcast, What Should I Read Next? This book is not what I was expecting, and I’m not sure this was the author/podcaster’s fault, but I have talked to two other people who thought the same thing I did. I (we) thought that Reading People would be about people who read. Alas, no. It is about how to read people, an overview of personality tests and how to use them to improve self understanding and relationships. I was about four chapters into the book before I realized what the title actually meant. This was not the right book for me at this time since I’m a little personality tested out after the last couple of months loving the enneagram. This doesn’t mean it was a bad book; I just don’t have much of an opinion and don’t want to damn it with faint praise.

The Warmth of Other Suns: The Epic Story of America’s Great Migration,  by Isabel Wilkerson. This is the book I toted around with me to six floors of UNMC and read in five and fifteen minute spurts for three weeks. It. is. excellent. It tells the story of almost six million black citizens who moved from the South to northern and western cities in search of a better life. This migration spanned decades–from 1915 to 1970. Wilkerson tells the story through three main people, but she includes details and stories from hundreds of personal interviews. The stories are brutal and infuriating and heartbreaking, but there is beauty and strength and dignity along the way as well. All the stars.

Emily of New Moon, by L. M. Montgomery. This was our book club selection for the month, and it was just okay. I think I probably would have enjoyed it more as a twelve-year-old girl than I did as an adult. It had its moments, but I don’t think it will be particularly memorable.

I had such high hopes that the stack of books I snapped a photo of near the beginning of the month would match the list of books I finished this month. Alas, close but not quite. Also, I’m just going to admit that I would rather be reading right now (I am in the middle of a book that is so, so good, but as it is September 1, it’ll go on the September list).

One True Loves, by Taylor Jenkins Reid. The plot of this book has been described as like that Tom Hanks movie with the volleyball…I’m blanking…except the first love comes back before the wedding. Emma is married to her high school sweetheart, but on their first anniversary, he goes missing and is presumed dead. She falls in love again, and just as she is about to marry, her husband shows up alive, and everyone’s life is thrown into uncertainty. (Castaway is the movie!) So what I learned about myself with this book is that I used to be a sucker for this plot, but it’s a little like high school movies with a makeover and a prom: they still do hold some nostalgic appeal, but they are not really my bread-and-butter genre for enjoyment any more. In many ways this book was better than I expected it to be. I did actually buy both relationships both before and after the disappearance/reappearance. Although ultimately the resolution was probably predictable, I bought into the complications enough to believe that there was not one inevitable end. All in all, a good summer read. (I did also just remember that this book was too long and bogged down occasionally with weirdly mundane details–like driving: he looked both ways, eased into traffic, checked his rearview mirror blah blah blah. But that was not my overall impression once I got rolling with the story.)

The Lost City of Z: A Tale of Deadly Obsession in the Amazon, by David Grann. This book is exactly the kind of nonfiction/history book I love. It tells a larger story about the exploration of the Amazon through many smaller stories–in this case an explorer who went missing (not the first to go missing in the Amazon, but perhaps the most surprising as he seemed to be the most prepared/likely to succeed) and then dozens, maybe hundreds, of people who subsequently went missing trying to unravel the mystery of his disappearance (and also to find the Lost City he was searching for in the first place). It’s intriguing and mysterious and pretty suspenseful all through (though you have to figure the journalist who wrote the book survived his own journey into the Amazon, you know, since he wrote the book and all). The book is fairly lengthy (400 pages), but it reads like an adventure story.

To Bless the Space Between Us: A Book of Blessings, by John O’Donohue. This beautiful book was given to me a couple of years ago for my birthday, and I try to read it each year during my birthday month. Everything about it refreshed my spirit this year–the gentleness of the writing, the beauty of the reflections (not just the blessings themselves but also O’Donohue’s thoughts about the nature and purpose of blessings), the focus on eternity. This book is such a contrast to the screaming, combative rhetoric that we are assaulted with every day with social media and any sort of news or current events intake. Reading this book, I felt like I could breathe.

Salt, Fat, Acid, Heat: Mastering the Elements of Good Cooking, Samin Nosrat. This book will go on my Christmas list. I can’t say that I’ve ever read a cookbook cover to cover before this, but the first half was more like a (conversational and engaging) textbook for a cooking class. The idea is that if you understand the elements of cooking (salt, fat, acid, heat), you will  be able to troubleshoot and improvise and all-around up your cooking game. I am thoroughly fascinated by talking about cooking. I don’t know that I will ever want to memorize and master the elements, but I do enjoy cooking and I love to talk about it/think about it/visit a deeper understanding once in a while. We did get to try several of the recipes (all good), but the reason I would like to own this book is simply to have as reference.

The Passage, by Justin Cronin. Hoo boy, this was a long one. I mean, it started off really well. I just couldn’t sustain interest for 766 pages. I did finish it, but it was a slog for at least half of that. Apparently, it did get a lot of attention. And it’s a good post-apocalyptic suspense novel if you like that sort of thing. It’s not my go-to genre, but I’d recommend Station Eleven (which I actually liked a whole lot) or even The Book of Strange New Things (both of which this one reminded me of for different reasons, though Station Eleven is a more obvious connection) before this one. And if you can unravel that sentence, good on you!

The Road Back to You: An Enneagram Journey to Self-Discovery, by Ian Morgan Cron and Suzanne Stabile. After the clunker of a book I read last month on the Enneagram, I still had some time before our book club to give the Enneagram another shot. If you’ve talked to me in person over the last month, I apologize for boring you YET AGAIN. But if you’ve talked to me, you probably know that I first thought I was a 2, then became convinced I was a 4, but (surprise!) even more recently, I’m thinking I am actually a 6. I can’t seem to stop talking about the Enneagram–I am on what you might call a kick. I don’t know how long it will last, but in the meantime, I really am finding it helpful, especially in our marriage and in other relationships. So this book was much more accessible and useful. It gives an overview and some insight on how to know what your number is, but the best thing about it is that it is full of stories–anecdotes–that help illustrate these concepts with real people. A friend also pointed me to a podcast (with the authors of this book) that was by far the most helpful explanation of this whole thing (even though I still didn’t get my number right until later): The Liturgists Podcast (episode 37).

Wolf Hollow, by Lauren Wolk. This book is such a gem. It’s heroine is a young girl (I think she’s maybe 11), and I think so often having a young protagonist lands the book in the YA category. I read a few reviews that thought that this was miscategorized as YA since it deals with some pretty heavy subject matter (set in or just after WW2 and the antagonist is a brutal bully). I can see the point, that just because the main character is young doesn’t mean it is appropriate for middle grades. On the other hand, I do think young readers can handle hard topics. In any case, the writing is lovely, the characters are complex, the story is compelling (and somehow never went over the top for me, even though it does take some pretty dramatic turns). The book is sad and real and full of heart. I loved it.

The Little French Bistro, by Nina George. I went back and forth on how much I liked and/or cared about this book, and in the end it won me over. I think some of the plot points could have been boring in their predictability (woman unhappy with her life sets out somewhat accidentally and finds a new one and along the way meets a bunch of quirky characters that sometime parallel and often contrast her experiences all leading to a happy ending for all). But it was (much) better than that. I don’t have many deep thoughts about this book, but it’s solidly in the I-liked-it-and-I’m-glad-I-read-it column.

We were out of town for almost half of July, and I got almost zero reading time on any of our adventures. (This reminds me that I should also try and post some pics from said adventures.) Still, with the inclusion of a couple of books that were started earlier and a couple more that were either super short or super fast (or both), I managed to knock out a good number of books this month. I am learning a lot about my reading habits and preferences this year as I have been keeping track. I have decided to cut two kinds books out of my life: this won’t be a surprise if you’ve been following along with my review blurbs this year. :)

Encyclopedia of an Ordinary Life, by Amy Krouse Rosenthal. This book was exactly up my alley. In fact, if I were ever to write a book (no plans), this is the only format that I think would ever work for me. It is a collection of random memories and thoughts, often in list form–organized alphabetically, of course. In many places the book reminds me of when I was a kid and would pretend that my life and thoughts were being recorded for broadcast (Truman Show style). I mean, there are so many thoughts in here–quirky fleeting and/or recurring thoughts–that would never make it into a traditional memoir but that are just so thoroughly delightful in their ordinariness. The subtitle (tagline?) is “I have not survived against all odds. I have not lived to tell. I have not witnessed the extraordinary. This is my story.” I loved the creative format and even found it potentially inspiring for future projects. This book probably isn’t for everyone, but it really resonated with me, like someone else was in my head–a template for how but not what happens in my pretty little head.

The Paper Magician, by Charlie N. Holberg. When I pull up Goodreads there is sometimes a quote (by I forget whom) that says something like “I have without fail enjoyed the books I have read while I’m convalescing.” I am the opposite. This book is not getting a fair shake because I was getting sick while I was reading it and the whole experience is tainted. I think I might have liked this book as a summer read–light, not terribly profound but creative and entertaining.

The Magnolia Story, by Chip and Joanna Gaines. Ok, so, celebrity memoirs is one of the categories of books that I am giving up on. I like Fixer Upper a lot. I like Chip and Joanna as they are portrayed on the HG show and how they seem to actually be in real life. I thought the book was kind of like watching an episode of the show–sweet, inspiring (in another life). The book didn’t (as some other celebrity memoirs have) make me like the Gainses any less. But the thing is I just. don’t. care. Meh. Seriously, I got kind of bored even writing up this five-sentence review. Done.

My Life in France, by Julia Child. For whatever reason, this book doesn’t count as a celebrity memoir. This was our book club pick this month, and I was glad to finally have read it after having it on my list for years. I knew a little about Julia Child from watching clips of her PBS show and, well, because she’s a household name. I was caught up and often amused by her personality and take on the world–so different from mine. I was intrigued by her descriptions of food (chicken that just tastes so “chicken-y”) and of France (one town her husband, Paul, described as “bouillabaisse of a city”). I wish I had gotten the edition with photographs to read, but even without photos, I finished this 400-page book with ease.

The Listening Life, by Adam S. McHugh. This was our book discussion group pick for the summer. A group of women from church met over six weeks to discuss. I really liked this book. I feared that maybe it would be full of obvious stuff, that I would get the gist by reading chapter titles. There was some of that, but there were also some profound insights that hopefully have changed me. The subtitle “Embracing Attentiveness in a World of Distraction” is a concept that, fittingly, is worthy of giving ongoing attention to, and I believe I will be returning to many of the thoughts and nuggets from our group’s discussion.

Some Writer: The Story of E. B. White, by Melissa Sweet. This is another book that was just right for me. It’s found in the children’s biography section. The illustrations are multimedia collages, and both the story and artwork are engaging and delightful. I want to read (or in some cases re-read) everything by E. B. White, and I also want to seek out other books by Melissa Sweet.

A Monstrous Regiment of Women, by Laurie R. King. This was the second in a (I think pretty well-known) series. I read The Beekeeper’s Apprentice quite a while ago and have been meaning to continue. I really enjoy this reimagining of Sherlock Holmes. In this series Mary Russell is Holmes’s apprentice and the focus is her (not him). This was a good mystery–probably not memorable to me in the longterm, but I definitely enjoy this world and will continue with other books in the series.

The Rosie Project, by Graeme Samson. This one won me over. The story of a geneticist with Asperberger’s who goes about finding a wife in a rigid scientific manner but is predictably upended by real life, I was afraid the formula would define the book. And, yeah, it was predictable, but it was also surprisingly charming. I liked it.

Raven Black, by Ann Cleeves. I picked this up because someone else was reading it and said that the television series based on it is really good. I haven’t had a chance yet to check out Shetland, but I will. (I hear the adaptation is pretty loose, but I’m guessing from the description that it won’t bother me and that I’ll like it. I’m not a purist in such matters.) I read a review that said this is a thriller, not a mystery, and I think that’s the perfect description. There is a murder to be solved, but it’s not like the author drops so many clues that you are trying to figure it out. That said, it’s not a bunch of misdirects either–all to say, I was engaged and found the ending satisfying, surprising but not shocking because it was well-supported. Another book I liked.

The Enneagram, by Karen Webb. Ok, so my book club is trying something different this month. We are talking about the topic of the Enneagram and each seeking out our own book to find out more about it. I took a few online tests and talked to a friend (all point to 2). This book is not my favorite and I’ll be seeking another book out to learn more. It seems like this is meant to be an introduction, but without the other information I’ve read, I’d be (even more) lost. Side note: we Jason is apparently a 5, and we read an online description of how 2s and 5s relate that had us howling at its accuracy. I am truly interested in finding out more, but this book just didn’t do it for me.

**Oh! And the other type of book I’m giving up on is harder to boil down: no more thriller-type books where the premise intrigues me but I can tell by reviews and/or slight spoilers that it’s going to push all my hate-it buttons. For example, I made the mistake of reading I Found You, by Lisa Jewell, but I have since dodged this bullet by passing on Do Not Become Alarmed, by Maile Maloy. I’ll do a little more soul searching and try to articulate more precisely what I mean by this kind of book, if only for my own sake.