NOV - Five Quarters of the Orange

November review for Eclectic Reader's Challenge 2015: Five Quarters of the Orange by Joanne Harris, 2001. [Fiction for Foodies category]

I love Joanne Harris, and Chocolat has long been one of my favorite food books, so it made sense to return to her for this category, fiction for foodies. Five Quarters of the Orange is at its heart a story of mothers and daughters, with Framboise Simon representing both aspects at turns throughout her narrative. Framboise is the young girl bristling against her hard mother in German-occupied France, as well as the weathered old woman who desperately tries to be a different kind of mother for her own daughters. Like her mother, she harbors a secret, but she ultimately has to decide whether she will let it hold her back or if it will define her in its keeping. Though we are her readers, her assumed confidantes, we are as much held at arm's length as the rest of the world is, in terms of knowing the secrets inside of Framboise's guarded heart. The tale Harris weaves is an intricate attempt to know those secrets, all the while understanding the woman and the mother who made her that way.

As a novel in the "fiction for foodies" vein, Five Quarters performs admirably, as anything by Joanne Harris is wont to do. There is an undercurrent of food running throughout the story, from the recipe book Framboise inherits that contains her mother's secrets and her recipes to the little cafe Framboise opens upon her return to Las Laveuses as a different woman. She writes of her mother's book, "My mother marked the events of her life with recipes, dishes of her own invention or interpretations of old favorites. Food was her nostalgia, her celebration, its nurture and preparation the sole outlet for her creativity" (pg 4). There is a sensuality to all her prose about food, a way the dishes seem like a part of the family, and this even extends to Mirabelle (Framboise's mother)'s naming choices. She describes her own name and that of her siblings, the older sister Reine-Claude and the older brother Cassis:

"My mother had a passion for all fruit except oranges, which she refused to allow in the house. She named each one of us, on a seeming whim, after a fruit and a recipe--Cassis, for her thick black-currant cake, Framboise, her raspberry liqueur, and Reinette after the reine-claude greengages that grew against the south wall of the house, thick as grapes, syrupy with wasps in midsummer." (p8)

It is never made clear, because we do not receive much insight from Mirabelle herself, what exactly her feelings behind her children's names are, nor what exactly stimulated the seemingly baseless hatred for oranges that Framboise uses so slyly in that summer of her ninth year. The simplest line to draw would be that they were Mirabelle's favorite fruits, and she bestowed their names upon the fruits of her own labor so that they may share her love. But Mirabelle is a cryptic woman, even when we are allowed access to her thoughts, via her recipe book. The naming is simply one of the many intricacies of a mother that is left to the imagination throughout the text, as many facets of motherhood are. Another facet is interestingly played with in the nigh-mythic fish nine-year-old Framboise is obsessed with catching, called Old Mother by pretty much everyone, it seems. While it may mean nothing, there are parallels drawn between Framboise's pursuit of Old Mother and her fight against her own, human mother, both in her youth and long after her mother's passing. These two figures represent a sort of test of mettle for Framboise, something to be overcome (if not understood) in the end. (No spoilers, you'll have to read for yourself to see whether she passes either of those tests!)

OCT - The Martian

October review for Eclectic Reader's Challenge 2015: The Martian by Andy Weir, 2011. [Sci-Fi in Space category]

My Mark Watney is a little beaten up too...

First of all, let's make one thing clear. I think space is terrifying. Sure it's exciting and the Unknown and all that, but something about the complete and total loss of control and disconnection from pretty much everything in the world is just really unsettling to me. I didn't see Gravity because the previews of Sandra Bullock flying through space agonizing over not being able to reach anyone really REALLY unsettled me. So I'm not entirely sure why I picked this up. Other than it being a category requirement, and all. I suppose I could've gone with something like more hard-core sci-fi rather than something so grounded in my reality, but the point of this challenge is to push your limits, eh?

So the plot of The Martian by Andy Weir is that an American astronaut named Mark Watney was part of a manned mission to Mars that was aborted only six sols in (a sol is 39 minutes longer than a day, I learned) due to a freak accident and Watney was left for dead. But you know what? He wasn't dead! Right here we start to get into horrific territory, my friends. If the fact that the Mars Curiosity rover sings happy birthday to itself once a year makes you a little sad, imagine a person doing that. I know. Devastating. But somehow, Weir kept me invested enough in the workings of Mark Watney's mind to ignore the fact that I was scared shitless (even though this could never conceivably happen to me. But still). In the preview for the film adaptation for the novel, Watney, played by Matt Damon, says he's going to have to "science the shit out of this planet" to survive. That was really the striking part for me, watching the way Watney's mind worked, the way he methodically tackled the completely plausible cause-and-effect mishaps that plagued him, and how he persevered.

I feel like it would be very easy to wax poetic about the way that this story is really all about perseverance of the human spirit and working together to overcome all odds, but Weir makes those statements pretty clearly towards the end of the book, so I'm going to let him have his day. What I would like to talk about, however, is an article by Weir about the humble and nerdy beginnings of this story. Basically Weir said he planned his own manned mission to Mars and learned everything he could, and then slowly realized that there was an amazing story hidden in his obsession. I truly enjoyed Weir's prose, the way he allowed Mark's voice to carry through the communications he was logging for posterity, and differentiating them so from the chapters set back on Earth--or, God forbid, the third-person descriptions which set off an eerie feeling that serious shit is about to go DOWN. At least from my relatively basic understanding of space and science, everything seemed plausible, believable, maybe made moreso by the fact that Watney wasn't necessarily an expert either, explaining all his conclusions and laying things out for us readers. Yes, he is probably a zillion times smarter and obviously better under pressure than any of us, but he was likeable. Down to Earth. (HAH. That was a joke. Because he's stuck on Mars. Get it?)

I don't want to spend too long on this book/review, as I have approximately 3,000 words to catch up on in NaNoWriMo (because I'm a masochist who loves being too busy for her own sanity), so I will end on this note: Space has long since been considered "the final frontier," but in recent years it has not had the allure that it had in the 60's and 70's when spaceflight was on the tip of everyone's tongues. Andy Weir and his characters brought space back into the forefront of our minds (at least in my humble opinion), made us realize that the final frontier still has a LOT more that we don't understand and haven't even scratched yet. And while I think the possibility is super exciting, I am more than happy to leave the scratching to some other brave soul while my feet are firmly planted on solid ground.

SEPT - Eve: A Novel of the First Woman

September review for Eclectic Reader's Challenge 2015: Eve: A Novel of the First Woman by Elissa Elliott, 2009. [Retelling category]

I have long been interested in the character of Eve, both as a historical figure and as a character against which the modern day woman is constantly held up. I took a number of Women's Studies courses in college in which Eve figured largely, and my writer's eye has always been drawn to old stories told new ways. Eve is Elissa Elliott's re-imagining of the first woman of Biblical fame, told from both her perspective as well as that of her three daughters, incorporating flashbacks to relate the story of the expulsion from Eden as well. Through these generational perspectives, the story of the summer everything fell apart for the First Family is recounted, from their first encounters with a world outside their own insular one to the infamous fratricide of Cain and Abel. At the end of her tale, Elliott offers an Afterword in which she attempts to underscore her decisions for the book, as well as outline some of her sources that allowed her to move forward with those decisions. I found it extraordinarily helpful in my reflection to have some of Elliott's first questions about how she drafted her story. Her discussion of precedent and context and literary injection allowed me to sink myself deeper into not only this tale that Elissa Elliott has forged, but also the character that inspired its re-forging.

First and foremost in my musings about Eve is the agency she is given through her own perspective. By being allowed to tell her own story, Eve is given a power here that she has never quite seen. Elliott's addition of daughters also contextualizes her experience in a particularly female way, lending a female generational connect to rise up. Naava is the eldest (14 years), vain and capricious, who takes care of clothing the family with her weaving. Aya is the middle daughter, born with a deformed foot, responsible for feeding the family with her fabulous and inventive cooking. Dara is the baby, still very simplistic, taking most things in her life at face value but still managing some moments of profoundness. The three girls can also be read as different stages or foils of Eve's own belief and views of the world: Naava is extraordinarily self-centered and convinced she knows best out of all, an inkling of which can be seen in Eve's decision to eat the fruit in the Garden; Aya is the most faithful, always unilaterally supporting the god she has been taught, even holding strong when her mother falters and becomes confused by the new gods from the city people; and Dara is the caring free spirit that is most similar to Eve's inception in the Garden, so pure and selfless and open. Elliott's narrative style paints Eve's story in a different light, as all perspectives come from the mouth of a woman in this text: the male characters are only seen through the eyes of the female characters. Eve and her daughters are the only ones given chapter headings, given a direct platform for narration. It is also interesting to denote which of the female characters are given first-person perspective to relay their tale, versus those who are always third-person.

In a similar vein, Eve's perspective brings up a question that actually figures in the reader's guide in the back of the book, one that has been important to me from a very young age: Is it valuable to look upon Elohim as male and female? Eve first questions Elohim on page 65, asking if Elohim is one or the other if she and Adam are both made in His image. I have often pondered this and I think it is important to view both/all aspects of Elohim equally, which is why I rarely use gender pronouns in discussion, save for quoting as I've done above. This questioning is a common theme throughout Elliott's story, as she examines the role of belief in religion through the family's exposure to the city people and their separate gods, a pantheistic point of view that seems to echo the family's Elohim but is decidedly different in its execution. I appreciate this questioning, this examination of belief arrayed in each of the characters, as I mentioned with the daughters. Dara mentions that "Elohim had also told Mother that she should never stop questioning, that you are dead, once you do." (p 267) Particularly striking is a moment when Dara, the youngest, is talking to her father and he asks her questions about the city gods she has learned about since coming to work for the prince's household, and she replies, "I don't know, I have to think about that." (p 364) The fact that such a young mind is encouraged and expected to ponder her own opinions on such matters is heartwarming and reminiscent of my own upbringing, both in Montessori and in my Jewish community.

Early in her story, Eve says, "Such strength in words! Such power in a breath!" (p64) I underlined these words in my book, and I have long felt their truth. In writing this book, Elissa Elliott has given strength and breath to one of the most interesting females in human history and I for one have benefited greatly from it.

AUG - The Mind Gym

August review for Eclectic Reader's Challenge 2015: The Mind Gym by Gary Mack with David Casstevens, 2001. [Sports category]

Mind Gym and my derby quad skates

The Mind Gym: An Athlete's Guide to Inner Excellence was recommended to a friend of mine who expressed fears that she was experiencing a plateau in her derby career. This skater had shown a meteoric rise from newly-passed skills to A-team starting jammer, but she has recently been feeling like she isn't going any farther. I don't know if I would describe what I'm feeling as a plateau in the way that she does, but I decided picking up this book would be worthwhile for my athletic career, especially with B-team tryouts coming up. I had straddled the line between C and B teams since last November, skating as an alternate for the B team, and now I was considering trying out for a full spot on the roster, and I was nervous. I was nervous to embrace my progress, nervous to leave my comfort zone and the team that I felt had made me a lot of what I was. I angsted about tryouts and talked to a lot of my friends who had been skating at a higher level than I for longer, and they all told me pretty much the same thing: that I had to examine what I wanted for myself, what my personal goals were, and understand the headspace I was in before I made my decision. This was not news to me.

Ever since I became an athlete in high school, I have struggled with the mental game and its serious applicability to the course or the track or whatever situation I found myself in. I ran cross country and threw shotput and discus in high school, rode horses when I was younger, and most recently joined roller derby, most of which are particularly individual-focused. Derby was the first thing I'd done--pretty much ever--where I had a team and a tryout and a roster, and it didn't scare me or discourage me as much as I thought it might. I have never been particularly thin or fast and I didn't realize how much I'd built those attributes up as indicators of worth--attributes which I did not possess and therefore subconsciously found myself less-than, a mindset I have worked extremely hard to eradicate in recent years. While I have not been particularly thin or fast, I have always been strong, and derby has given me a space to aggrandize and celebrate that strength and to slightly make up for some of the self-denigration I've experienced (at my own hands) in the past. Derby has allowed me a space to celebrate my body and my strength, as well as realize that the attributes I do not possess do not make me any lesser of an athlete. They just make me a different kind of an athlete, and I would not trade the body I have now for anything. I have become more healthy, both physically and mentally, since the first time I laced up quads over a year and a half ago, and I could not be happier with the community and worldview it has brought me.

Me skating against the Lansing Mitten Mavens this past month
Photo courtesy of David Lewis

As I mentioned, a lot of the content of this book was information I had heard before, in some form or another, particularly the points about positive thinking and visualization. As a team, we have recently started to incorporate visualization practices into our bout-day warm-up ritual, and I admit that allowing myself that time to become centered has helped immensely. In terms of the actual text itself, its anectodal sentence structure left me a little less-than engaged, as Mack would move from one athlete's story to another within a few lines, and I wouldn't really connect with many of them because they were blown through so fast. However, Mack's book has been very beneficial to me as a reminder to practice these things that I have known as well as the new things I have learned, to implement them in my own mind gym where I hold all the power over my own progress. One small thing that I will take away from this text is the idea of kaizen, a term utilized in Japanese culture meaning constant daily learning and improvement, as recounted by Mack (p47). I thoroughly believe that learning is an everyday process, one that each conscious choice should point towards, no matter what the subject of those choices are. I try to take the time after each day's practice to reflect on things I did well and things I would like to continue to work on, in order to be the best skater I can be. So while this book wasn't revolutionary to me, the concept of the mind gym and of kaizen are invaluable tools that Mack has brought to the forefront of my training mind, and I hope to implement them through the rest of this season. 

JUL - Gone Girl

July review for Eclectic Reader's Challenge 2015: Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn, 2012. [Epistolary Fiction category (sort of)]

Before you say anything, I realize that Gone Girl does not technically fit the "epistolary fiction" genre, per se. I was traded this book by one of my derby wives (I traded her In The Woods by Tana French which she is obsessed with now) and because I was so woefully behind in my blog posts, I decided I would make it fit for epistolary fiction. To recap, Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn is about Amy and Nick Dunne, celebrating their fifth wedding anniversary when Amy goes missing. As the search and subsequent investigation continues, Nick looks less and less like the concerned husband and more and more like he has something to hide. As events unfold, readers are called upon to question the story itself as points of view change and sympathies radically alter, with the police closing in and the media trying Nick before he is even suspected legally of anything at all. Flynn masterfully depicts the minds of a married couple who have grown apart, become strangers, and calls into question how well anyone really knows the people they love. *~~Please note that this post will undoubtedly contain spoilers because I absolutely cannot discuss what I want to discuss without giving major things away so YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. ~~*

One of the first papers I wrote in college was for a class called Reading for Life, and it dealt with The Things They Carried by Tim O'Brien. For anyone who hasn't read this text, it is a collection of war stories recounted by a remarkably unreliable narrator who often questions the difference between the truth versus Truth (with a capital T), admitting in later stories that earlier ones were entirely concocted. I think this distinction permeates the entirety of Gone Girl and there is no better example than Amy's diary. For the first section of the book, Part One: Boy Loses Girl, we receive Nick's point of view in the present, with the time delineated as how many "days gone," alternated with chapters in Amy's point of view which comes to us through past diary entries that correspond to certain aspects of the present. It is not until later, in Part Two: Boy Meets Girl, that we get Amy's present-tense story, in which we learn she is in fact alive (gasp!) and the diary is a complete fabrication, as is her disappearance. In short, she faked her own vanishing and planted a trail that sort of pointed to her loving husband, complete with a falsified version of past events that paints him as distant, quick-tempered, and borderline abusive. It is in these hours that we as readers begin to glimpse the intricacies--and veritable psychoses--of Amy's mind. I will readily admit that a part of me was elated that Amy was alright and savvy enough to get herself out of a bad situation--strong female characters, and all that--but Flynn does a beautiful job of forcing you to reconsider each of your preconceived notions built up with every passing page. As Amy goes deeper and deeper into her ruse, allowing us to see her machinations, the sheer cold-bloodedness and calculating detestation becomes apparent, and I at least felt myself growing increasingly uncomfortable with my former affiliation with Amazing Amy. I think that this questioning is an essential mechanism in the truth vs. Truth dichotomy, as it demands a re-evaluation of the character from different perspectives which facilitates a blurring of the two definitions. The truth that the police are seeking as to Amy's disappearance and The Truth that Amy constructs line up for a time, but Amy is clearly the puppeteer of capital T, and she demonstrates her power with her return to Nick's side and her editing of the real world. How important is What Really Happened versus someone's chosen truth? Does the difference really matter? I would postulate that both are equally important in terms of understanding a person and their worldview, but one does not necessarily have to be denigrated at the expense of another. Obviously this belief would fall short in terms of a definitive case in the eyes of the police, but the operative narrative here is not that someone is punished, not in the end. In the end, everyone is just fucked up in different ways and some people are better at redirecting their energy into a facade, a veneer of personality or social acceptability.

I chose to discuss Gone Girl in terms of epistolary fiction because of the Truth aspect, and also due to the entirely purpose-driven nature of anything epistolary. In straight-up epistolary fiction, we as readers are given only what is contained within the letters or diary entries or what have you, and these can be taken at face value or viewed as constructions of personality, but I believe Gone Girl is interesting because of its wholly unorthodox take on the subject. The inclusion of diary entries of a woman who is purportedly missing, entries that very clearly paint a certain picture of her husband, juxtaposed with the later revelation that they are entirely confabulated, creates an interesting comparison, a lovely and brutal questioning of the very idea of character. I will end on this quote from Amy, discussing the husks of selves she has worn over the years, in an attempt to rationalize her behavior:

   “I don't know that we are actually human at this point, those of us who are like most of us, who grew up with TV and movies and now the Internet. If we are betrayed, we know the words to say; when a loved one dies, we know the words to say. If we want to play the stud or the smart-ass or the fool, we know the words to say. We are all working from the same dog-eared script.
   It's a very difficult era in which to be a person, just a real, actual person, instead of a collection of personality traits selected from an endless Automat of characters. 
   And if all of us are play-acting, there can be no such thing as a soul mate, because we don't have genuine souls.
   It had gotten to the point where it seemed like nothing matters, because I'm not a real person and neither is anyone else.
   I would have done anything to feel real again.” ― Gillian Flynn, Gone Girl

At the end of this book, I had no idea what real even meant for these characters. Is there a real and a Real? These are questions I haven't quite answered myself, but thanks for sticking around through my musings to see if I got anywhere this month.

JUN - The Rosie Project

June review for Eclectic Reader's Challenge 2015: The Rosie Project by Graeme Simsion, 2013. [Contemporary Romance category]

I picked this book up on a whim from the Little Free Library I found recently near my new house. Originally I had been reading On The Verge, a book about a twenty-something writer (like me) set in 2002-era NYC where meeting a guy at a bar meant he gave you his pager number too, and while I found it interesting, it was not wholly arresting. Alternatively, when I began The Rosie Project, I read the first few pages with a bit of skepticism, unsure if I could get behind Don's tone or his character. But somehow, the pages kept turning, like my hands didn't listen to my mind's uncertainty. The Rosie Project indeed captured me, and I decided to see where it took me.

Don Tillman is a genetics professor who has a "number of unconventional mannerisms" to his name, including a recently-begun endeavor called The Wife Project, in which he creates a comprehensive questionnaire for potential partners to fill out in order to determine overall suitability. With the help of his Don Juan supervisor, Gene, who is attempting to sleep with a woman from every country (don't worry, he's in an open marriage), Don hones his questionnaire until the arrival of Rosie. Rosie was sent to Don by Gene under the pretense of being a WP applicant, but she is everything that the WP not: dyed hair, messy clothes, and a smoker, to name a few. But somehow they're drawn together and Don begins to learn things about himself and his worldview that never before occurred to him. One of the things I was unsure of when I began this book is the fact of Don as narrator and the Wife Project as plot. I feel my uncertainty was merited, but that Rosie mitigated every misgiving by her sheer character. Hell, I think I fell in love with her by the end. (Spoiler alert: he falls in love with her at the end).

There were a number of discussion questions in the back of the book, one in particular that I ruminated on during my read, which I'd like to touch on here. I love when books have reading questions nestled away in the back, it makes me feel like I'm back in my favorite classes in college once again, where we just talked about books every day and everyone had something insightful or revelatory to say. I especially enjoy discussion questions that hit upon feelings I had during my own reading of the text, as with the following question:

13) Do you feel happy for Don when he eliminates a "number of unconventional mannerisms" in order to win Rosie, or has he lost something?

 Toward the end, after Rosie denies his advances, Don goes about redefining his life, changing some of the core ideologies and patterns that make him who he is. The Reform Don Project, he calls it.  It could be called adaptive, that he is attempting to "better himself" for the sake of the relationship, but it worried me that it did not seem to be predicated on any sort of "I want to change these things for me," but instead "I want to change these things about myself because I know these things are how Rosie likes things to be done." It is a very fine line, but one that I think is highly important for any relationship to be successful. It is also an interesting corollary to the idea of the Wife Project in general: Don has a very rigid list of attributes, and he views it as the most logical method to find the most appropriate partner, and he does not allow himself to deviate at the inception of the project. After a number of trials, Gene helps Don realize that compromise can be appropriate, and he relaxes his guidelines a fraction. I think it would be safe to say that The Rosie Project is about Don learning about relationships and ultimately that compromise is the best way to care for the people that you love. I should note that (SPOILERS!) Rosie at first rejects Don's redefinition, shattering his worldview, but he returns with a new sense of purpose and realization and regales her (and Gene and Claudia and the entirety of the University Club) with the following speech:

"I haven't changed my mind. That's the point! I want to spend my life with you even though it's totally irrational. And you have short earlobes. Socially and genetically there's no reason for me to be attracted to you. The only logical conclusion is that I must be in love with you." (p283)

Don realizes that there are things that Rosie loves about him and things that are serving no purpose for the furthering of his social relationships, and he decides to make choices and sacrifices and learn to adapt to this new convention of sharing everything with one person. I have been learning the same skills in my own life, and I don't think I've ever been happier. I think it is a beautiful ending to the story, and a message every human could stand to pay attention to.  

MAY - Veronica Mars: Mr. Kiss and Tell

May review for Eclectic Reader's Challenge 2015: Veronica Mars: Mr. Kiss and Tell by Rob Thomas and Jennifer Graham, 2015. [PI crime category]

For PI crime, I decided to go with the quintessential badass PI of my heart, the unmatchable Veronica Mars. Mr. Kiss and Tell is the second foray of Ms. Mars into the world of literature, following Thomas's debut Mars Investigations novel The Thousand-Dollar Tan Line, which served as a follow-up to the Kickstarter Veronica Mars movie last year. I listened to Tan Line as an audiobook narrated by Kristen Bell herself, and I really enjoyed losing myself in her familiar tones, almost as if the voiceover narration for which the show was so lauded had carried over into my own personal read-aloud. It was glorious, and I one hundred percent enjoyed this new chapter in Veronica's cultural saga, and it felt almost like candy to be able to write about it and think hard about it for this post. I *may* have thought a little too hard, as this post is significantly late, but behold it in its finished and unpolished glory now.

Over the past year, I've gotten into crime novels, some for this challenge, some just because. I read In The Woods by Tana French obsessively and Harvest was for last year's challenge, and it helped me to think how these books dealt with crime differently. The specificity of this genre choice, "PI crime," made me think about PI crime versus police procedural and how they're different. I considered reading The Poet by Michael Connelly, because the main character, Jack McEvoy, is technically a reporter and works on his own investigation similar to a PI, but I decided I should stick to bare bones and see how it worked for me before I departed. (Still going to read The Poet, of course, because it boasts Edgar Allan Poe inspirations in the murders and I'm obsessed with Poe and his tendrils into pop culture.) So the gist of Mr. Kiss and Tell is Veronica's investigation of a case brought to her by the Neptune Grand Hotel, the embodiment of the monied and manipulative in Neptune. A girl named Grace Manning has been found half-dead in a field miles away, a girl who was last seen at the Grand and has accused a Grand employee (conveniently no longer in the country) of rape and assault. The girl is someone from Veronica's past whom she helped before when Grace was a child but was unable to ultimately save, entrenched trust issues between Grace and Veronica. When Veronica clears the implicated employee of alleged criminal wrongdoing and she is released from the case, Veronica cannot help but feel that she must continue on. She hasn't found Grace's attacker, and although the Grand was only paying her to disprove Grace's story, Veronica feels compelled to continue on her own dime. "No, I'm not working for them. Not anymore," Veronica tells Grace. "As far as they're concerned I've done my job and I'm off the case. Which means right now they're probably on the phone with your lawyer, telling him your suit is falling apart. But I still want to figure this out, Grace. And if I'm going to help you, I need to know the truth" (page 111, emphasis added). One of the defining characteristics of Neptune--and a major subplot to the novel's story--is the fact that those with the money hold the power and subsequently the justice. The police department is providing Veronica with little to no help on this case, and it is this, seeing the clear line between police and PI and the rules that bind each party, that truly showcases how Veronica operates differently. However, shortly after Veronica tells Grace she wants to keep going, Grace gets angry, telling Veronica she's "just like those cops, aren't you?" This, more than anything, seems to be a catalyst for Veronica's quest to end the Manning case and find justice for the girl she couldn't save.

Veronica is a PI in every sense: she fights for Grace's case even when the Grand (who hired her originally) is done with it. Her priorities are clear from the beginning: even when she takes the case, her response to Mr. Hickman's proposal is '"I'll do my best to find out what happened to this girl"' (page 33). Not that she would work to disprove her story, as was her technical job description, but that she would find out what happened to this girl. Veronica has crystal-clear, razor-sharp memories of her own rape case being denied credibility because of her circumstances, and the way Grace's case is presented by this man gets her hackles up. She fights tooth and nail for what she believes in, sometimes compromising for outside-the-box methods in order to get justice. It's in her blood: her dad, Keith Mars, is the original PI, and Veronica grew up at the reception desk of Mars Investigations, taking the cheating-husband tails her dad didn't have time for as soon as she could focus a camera:

Veronica in the pilot of the TV show, staking out a seedy motel (2004).

The visceral pull Veronica feels back to the life of a PI is focused on in the 2014 film, and the tension between her father's pride in his daughter and his desire for her to have a better life, away from this danger, makes up a significant portion of Tan Line, all adding up to one single fact: Veronica is intoxicated by the search for the truth, the plight of the underdog, and the fight for a moral and just end to any story. Which brings me to my final point in my discussion. It is not until the Manning case hits almost a standstill that they find out Grace was (spoilers!!!) an escort, but to me this is an essential point in the story . Grace responds with vitriol when Veronica confronts her about the omission: '"So because I'm a whore that means I can't be raped?" She spat the words, her panic breaking suddenly into fury.' (page 200). When Veronica brings this particular addition to the Neptune PD, Sheriff Lamb sneers in her face, much like his brother did when Veronica brought her own complaint in, all those years ago: 'A slow, ugly smile spread over Lamb's face. "Yeah, but, I mean, if she's a prostitute, it's not rape so much as shoplifting, right?"' (page 241). Reading this line felt like a dozen punches to the gut, and writing about it again makes me want throw up and flip tables, but it is so important, important to discuss this with a level head and a passionate heart and basically just to discuss this at all. When Grace is confronted about this, she explains her choice, the crushing student loans a classical stage actress would never make enough to pay off, ticking the boxes methodically and apologizing for no action. She is a human being who is being written off because of her decision concerning the way she wanted to take care of herself and her finances for the rest of her life, and it is abhorrent. Rob Thomas has consistently dealt with complex relationships such as these and darker themes than your typical high school TV show, and he has continued this track into Veronica's maturity, for which I am eternally grateful.

If I talked about every thread in this book and the Veronica Mars universe that I wanted to, it's possible this review would be longer than the book itself. There are so many themes I wanted to touch on, like the corruption of the police in this text, the failure of the justice system to provide legitimate justice to those below a certain paygrade, the politics of money and power in Neptune, the way these themes seem to be ever more sickeningly echoed in current events, but I do not have the space or the heart at this particular moment. So I will add them to the forever-growing grocery basket of ideas that are crawling to get out of my head and end by saying that this text has allowed me to think deeply about a book that did not profess itself to be particularly deep or world-changing. But like Veronica Mars has for my entire life with her, she has continually inspired me and catalyzed my own personal growth.

APR - The Professor and The Madman

April review for Eclectic Reader's Challenge 2015: The Professor and The Madman by Simon Winchester, 1998. [Microhistory category]

In college, I took a class called History of English, where the incredible Anne Curzan took us through the entire story of the English language, and I was first introduced to the Oxford English Dictionary (OED). We were required to utilize the OED pretty much on a daily basis, which I had no problem with, except for the fact that I would often delve too deep and get focused on something else entirely and forget about my homework! (I have been trying to find a way to spin this obsessiveness into a positive for job search purposes: Initiative! Hunger for knowledge! Self-motivation!)

This book was chosen as an example of a microhistory, a study of a single thing or event in history, namely the Oxford English Dictionary. As such, I truly enjoyed the part of it as the definition of the lives behind an event. As a writer, I have always gravitated towards the stories rather than the cold facts, and this was no exception. The Professor and The Madman describes two men and the significant roles they played in the creation of the OED: James Murray was the Professor who spearheaded the actual compilation of the majority of the dictionary, and Dr. W. C. Minor is the madman who sent in thousands of slips with words and definitions and usage examples per Mr. Murray's request. The book does not start with either of their lives, for the creation of the OED was sparked much much earlier: it starts with an introduction to both men at the pivotal point in their lives, the point that made them each into who they were required to be for the dictionary's creation, and then begins again at the inception of the dictionary as an idea. I enjoyed the pace of the story: it felt very deliberate and comprehensive, two adjectives I am sure are often used to describe the OED itself.

Similarly, I noted how the definitions that set off each chapter almost act as identifiers of the subject or theme of the chapter. In addition, they serve as evidence of that which the microhistory is describing, the dictionary itself. They are tangible evidence of the staying fact of the OED as well as examples of its entries, and this lends a sort of fullness to the book that I don't believe there would be otherwise. Some entries, like that of "elephant" (chapter 5, page 101), are referred to in the text, with descriptions of the actual process of defining the word for the OED, but others serve  a more abstract purpose, such as the definition of "lunatic" in chapter 3, when Dr. Minor's manias are picked apart. It would be remiss not to include examples of what makes this subject great, and Winchester does a quality job of not only providing examples, but providing definitions that add to the texture of the story.

A final thought. My generation grew up with encyclopedias and reference guides and the internet, all these myriad ways of accessing reams of information with the click of a finger or the flick of a page. It is truly the information era, where everyone has access to as much or as little knowledge as they so desire. In this way, it is difficult to imagine a time when we did not have these things, which is precisely where and when this book is set. It is hard to think about the actual original creation or compiling of these behemoths of intelligence when we are so programmed to use them to find any information at all. It is wholly refreshing, however, to think back to such a time, and while Winchester makes a number of references to his present and his future, such as describing the total number of volumes of the OED at its completion or its conversion to a web-based dictionary, he also allows the reader to stay firmly established in the world, which is not something many nonfiction writers can do.

#30/30 - 2015

[Since my roller derby name is Sonnet Boom, I figured I should probably endeavor to write one myself for this 30/30. It's exciting! Here's some background info on the sonnet if anyone was wondering! I had a difficult time coming up with something entirely organic so I ended up rewriting Shakespeare's famous Sonnet 18 but trading the idea of his lover for the role of poetry in my life. I kept the first two and last two lines generally as they were in his sonnet, just with slight tweaks. I think it works?]

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art a worthy equal in my mind,
The gleam and freedom easy in your way--
I do declare the two alike in kind. 

Might I adopt a more familiar tone?
Since you and I are such a noted pair.
I've felt for you as long as I've had bone,
And known your heady presence in the air. 

But such is not my comparison to make,
So I will just say this: you are my breath,
There's a thirst in me your words do slake;
I think I'll breathe as such until my death.

So long as I can breathe and I can see,
So long live you, and you give life to me.


[Oh man, it would've been cool to do Sonnet 14, as 14 is my derby number....oh well. Planning for next year!]

#29/30 - 2015

[I keep getting emails after I follow up with jobs I applied for, and they all have pretty much said the same thing. The italics are actual parts of an email I got today, the regular font is my burnt-out subconscious. Trying something weird with the layout and opening parentheses but not closing them. Hrm.]

The rejection letter burnout is a very real thing.

After sixty-four days of searching, they all begin to run together.

Thank you very much for your interest in this position.

      (You applied, great job.

We interviewed a number of excellent candidates for this position, 

      (sorry you weren't one of them.

and while we were impressed with your qualifications and skill set, 

      (we weren't impressed enough to talk to you in person about them. 

we have chosen to move forward with another candidate at this time. 

      (presumably having your skills but 100 years of experience, which you lack

We appreciate your interest and wish you well in your job search.
      (Again, sorry about not being the best.

We hope that you will continue to consider other possible career opportunities in our department. 

      (Keep applying. Keep applying. Keep applying. Keep applying til your fingers fall off from overtyping.

Again, thank you for your time and your interest in joining our staff.

      (Take a deep breath. Tomorrow we cast our line once again. 

#28/30 - 2015

Alphabet leggings 

are wildly hard to come by. 

They say you can find anything on the internet,

if you know the magic words,

but somehow I cannot get there this time.

All I want

is to display my typographical predilections

across my muscled thighs

for all the world to see.

I don't want cats on my crotch

or celebrities' faces

I don't want a galaxy that looks like vomit

or any food descriptor on the butt.

I just want letters

jumbled around like I dipped myself to the hips

into a dictionary

for a nice relaxing soak.

Is that so much to ask?

#27/30 - 2015

[Dedicated to Scargyle, because her status today about this made me feel all the things.]

Why did you make that?
someone asked the artist.
A seemingly simple question, but it carries
weight here.
Why would you ask that?
Would you ask that of an accountant? Or an engineer?
An artist makes
because she needs to
there is a compulsion as second-nature as breathing
for her
a meeting of the mystical and the mundane
in that which she creates.
Why did you make that?
Because I wanted to.
Because it wasn't there before.
Because I needed to.
Because making is in my blood.

#26/30 - 2015

Posted by 30 Day Poetry Challenge on Saturday, April 25, 2015

Somewhere it's Spring,
the breeze told me so.
Somewhere it is, but here
the breeze clings to the cold of the transition,
scoffing at your decision to go sleeveless
even though the sun calls to kiss your bare arms.
Baby wild grape hyacinths slowly unfurl
their best spring garb
although their little urn-shaped flowers
haven't quite finished their winter mourning.

#25/30 - 2015

[True life experience: last weekend at the clinic I defaced an incorrectly spelled sign. "Your" does not mean "You're," people.]

Sometimes I have an uncontrollable tic,
Obsessive Correction Disorder
and it manifests itself
in graffiti on grammatically erroneous signage
smile, your on camera, it gloated.
My on camera what?
The ever-present pen in my pocket is an extension of my mania
my tool for reshaping the universe

#23/30 - 2015

[Dedicated to my lovely Kristen Marie, who passed Wednesday night. This is my description of the realization gathered from facebook posts and no real news. Thoughts also spring from this article, an interesting read on mourning in the techno age. I miss you already, darling.]

I cannot find the words for this sorrow.
Big, unabashed tears in public
a vague sense of darkness choking me with its
complete lack of information.
The world of grief is very different now,
it is extensive, rarely face-to-face and without any small words
to brace you for impact. 
There is just the first glimpse
the quick stab to the gut
the searching for more things you do not want to be true.
And so you reach out. 
Electric tendrils reach across time and space
to bring back what once was.
Feelings, friends, high school in-jokes,
they rush back, tinged with guilt and sadness. 
The maybes and regrets cloud my head
as I obsessively refresh
and I cry more tears than I can make,
capsizing me again every time I have to repeat it
to a new, yet-unbroken heart.  


I wish you peace, my darling Chrysalis.
Wherever you are is brighter now you're there. 

#24/30 - 2015

[Dedicated to my darling Kristen Marie Rushlow, gone too soon and too sudden. You taught me how to be myself and how to find my spot in the world. I love you forever, and I will miss you for always.]

Today, I live for you.
I raze my closet for its brightest colors
find the sparkliest polish for my nails
paint curlicues and glitter at the corners of my eyes
just like you taught me.
Today, I remember how to smile in spite of the pain
how to prioritize love above all else
how to split my face in a grin
and make another feel like they are the most important thing to ever happen,
just like you taught me.
Today I will read again
The Only Great Thing Anyone Has Ever Done
and clutch close every great thing you have ever done
for me.
Today,
I will find my shiniest baubles
I will drink my spiciest tea
I will listen to the Violent Femmes and the Flaming Lips and and Ani DiFranco and the Beatles
I will dye my hair
I will call someone darling
I will miss you.

I thought of you the other day,
a fleeting remembrance of us
rolling sushi in your kitchen
dying hair in your bathtub
shooting silly string firearms in your yard.
Today, I shoulder the regret of that fleeting thought
and its resulting inaction
I am locked in memory too long past to be as vivid
as I want it to be.

I will wear the ring we found in the dirt on a long run
some rainy day in high school
that we will no longer share custody of.
Today I will miss you for the rest of my life.

#22/30 - 2015

[Three spies… (image prompt)]

Three spies
three raincoats
three umbrellas.
Three right feet forward,
three right hands in pockets,
three sets of cloaked intentions.

#21/30 - 2015

[Prompt: Write a poem in which each line has six words and makes a statement or at least expresses a complete thought.]

Something makes me pick my nails.

stray bits of cuticle dangle, enticing

just out of reach, dig in.

It happens almost of its own accord,

whether I am engaged or not--

my fingers pick, my unconscious acquiesces;

until gentle reminders snap me back.

My focus should be directed elsewhere

but still I remain somewhat mesmerized.

Blinders on, micro-managing the distraction.

Other fingers nudge mine, remonstrating me,

and I reach for them instinctually.

But I cannot let those fingers 

feel used yet ineffective so often.

Caught up in a vicious cycle,

unable to make a lasting change.

Constant need to be fidgeting, somehow,

and my cuticles are always there.

I should be doing anything else,

I should be doing anything productive,

but this is all I see. 

#20/30 - 2015

[I've been really into found poetry lately, so here's one that is made up of job qualifications that I've sifted through over the past few days] 

Do you have a passion for providing accurate information?
Looking for a place that is not only willing to hear your ideas, but craves them?
Are you looking to join a group of strategic and creative thinkers? If so, look no further! 
We believe in hiring individuals who are looking for more than a job.
We are currently looking for someone to join our team,
A highly energetic “A” player who creates a win-win environment with highly developed technical, people, analytical, and leadership skills. 
To perform this job successfully, an individual must be able to perform each essential duty satisfactorily.

Essential Job Duties:
Exceptional communication skills!
Play well with others and work collaboratively. 
Open-minded attitude to resolving problems and delivering the right results
Dedicated to improving oneself and learning on the job 
Driven by creative intuition but able to gut check and course correct 
Ability to exercise independent judgment while working under limited supervision.

Other must haves:
Clear phone voice
Maintains a neat, clean and uncluttered work area. 

you will deliver a beautifully simple, intuitive experience;
clear, logically sequenced, and grammatically correct documents 
thought leadership and content development
Sure, this is unorthodox, but who knows what might transpire.
Be sure to include your resume, along with a list of five fun facts about yourself.

Wages are commensurate with experience.
experience a PLUS.

Yes, this is your first 
assignment.

#19/30 - 2015

[This weekend at the training camp, after our first scrimmage of the day A2D2 went outside to have a picnic in the sun before our next game. The Vixens, whom we had just played, filtered out to join us and we all had a grand time bonding over roller derby and eating food and basking in the nice weather.] 

Where else can you get hip-checked so hard
your skates leave the earth
and your hip bone slams down in their place,
hit delivered expertly by the opposing A-team skater,
each throb of newfound ache nearly pressing tears
from your eye,
and then twenty minutes later,
you find yourself seated next to the checker on a spread blanket
both enjoying the sun and the crisp deep breaths,
and you congratulate her for the hit
and she grins, asking if you've bruised fun colors yet,
excitement and pride and sportsmanship
mingling in a heady, electric atmosphere around us
and we are intoxicated
drunk on roller derby

#18/30 - 3015

Today, I take it upon myself to
learn.
I place my self into the capable hands
of my roll models
so that I may be more.
Huddled up close as they
explain the drill
helmet upturned in front
of my crossed skates
like supplication
alms for the poor
skills for the young
knowledge for the thirsty

#17/30 - 2015

Waiting impatiently.
I have always been the one
to wake up too early on the first day of school
to pack too much to accommodate for any eventuality
to spend hours staring at the clock because the desired numbers
haven't spun up yet
Today I continue my
waiting impatiently
a sponge looking ahead to
the delicacies it will absorb
so is my whole self in preparation
for this adventure.

#16/30 - 2015

[My Word Wizard is a website I found for prompts and the phrase struck me]

My Word Wizard
escapes sometimes
when I need them most.
When they're here, I imagine them to be wizened
all-encompassing
dictionary leaves for their hair.
They speak slowly, if at all, and
slender fingers pluck a phrase from their head
like lexical dandruff.
But when they're gone,
I can feel the absence
taking up space in my head
intangible but encroaching
like blindness.

#15/30 - 2015

Looking around my space
reading book spines like
poetry
I think to myself,
I have built this.
I have a home and it will
last.

Yes, today is down,
but at least I am
here and I have built this
and I
survived.

May not have been the not-Apocalypse,

but females

are strong as hell.

#14/30 - 2015

[blackout poem from "Listen to life's music" by Melina Glusac on page 7 of the Michigan Daily, Tuesday April 14th's edition]

What's going on in your ears,

dear gentleman?

the timelessness

those last few miles

you're missing

a disclaimer

It elevates inspires motivates

to

take the edge

firmly

feeling his way forward

joyously

families

walking by

outside

of me

a full

vintage facing

A little time passes

listen harder:

we'll never be able to play

that song again

#13/30 - 2015

[Wikipedia’s Random Button is a great and magical thing. Click it and write about whatever subject comes up: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Martin_Adams]

Martin Adams is a British Professional Darts Player.
Professional Darts, it seems,
is a perfectly valid life choice,
and a career can start
in a pub.
I was never proficient enough at pub darts
to merit this kind of dedication--
this is not to say
that I did not try--
but it is singularly refreshing to know
that someone is
and that this someone found his way
to the World Darts Championship
and captained the English Professional Darts Team
and held his title for three years.
Just goes to show that
you can be anything you want
when you grow up.

#12/30 - 2015

Sometimes I marvel
at the beauty of a road trip
miles eaten up under my feet
without them even moving.
Sometimes I imagine
the car is gone,
and it's just me speeding along
weightless
on a mission.

#11/30 - 2015

Zen bench
has historically been hard for me
hard to rein in my attention
and prep for the next jam
but the sounds of wrist guards clacking
in centering high-fives with my line
is focusing
a small sound that means
what's past is past
that means
what's next is primary
that means
we're on the same page
that means
teamwork makes the dream work.

#10/30 - 2015

[prompt from here: "Write a will in which you give away the parts of your body. Be as literal or creative as possible. Check out WebMD for inspiration on preexisting parts & ways you can use them, OR feel free to invent the parts that haven’t been discovered yet that you know exist (i.e. the backup heart, the third eye, etc.)." I also thought of Maya Angelou's "Phenomenal Woman" when I was writing. ]

A Last Will And Testament

Of Your Body.

Pieces given piecemeal

to whom you are survived by--

those who touched and felt and mattered.

Starting from the ground

up

since that is where it all will

end.

I will my feet to my father,

who taught me they could heal me

instead of simply move me through the world.

I will my calves to my horses,

my custom-width riding boots 

finding my footing and my roots. 

I will my thighs to my mother,

who taught me my strength is more than muscle,

my womanhood is more than numbers.

I will my hips to my bharatanatyam auntie 

who taught me to understand them for real dancing

and not just the confusion and gyration of the age.

I will my bones to my brother,

who knows what they really are

and will not suffer ghosts.

I will my stomach to my college roommate,

who changed the way I saw it

and improved the way I filled it.

I will my ribcage to my high school sweethearts,

as I learned one after the other

the importance of keeping things in.

I will my broad shoulders to my first job,

where I first picked up something

too heavy for my gender.

I will my earlobes to my best friend from birth,

who pierced hers two days before me (not cool)

and I followed her shine long after that. 

I will my hands to my writings:

I gave all with them

and marked them for posterity.

I will my wrists to my derby wives,

the children's zipper bracelets that brought us together

and the grip that hasn't let us go.

I will my heart to my Bear,

if he will keep it for a while longer,

as he has built so much of me with it.

I do not will my pain to anyone:

it is my own, it has taught me much,

and it will lie down with me.

I do not will my voice to anyone:

but my Touchstone taught me to use it

and showed me her own when it hurt. 

I do not will my Self to anyone.

That will be here long after

I am gone.