I Believe I Can Fly...

...as soon as I've chosen my books for the 14+ hour airplane trip!

Everything else has been packed since last night, even though I don't leave until Sunday afternoon. It always comes down to the books, doesn't it? I've got 2 picked out for sure, but am plagued with indecision about the others:

Definitely

1. Korea: A Walk Through the Land of Miracles - Simon Winchester. I've been saving this up like a piece of candy. Shanna described the first chapter, which is Winchester's visit to Jeju Island, the number one honeymoon site for Koreans, and I could hardly stop laughing. Also, it's fun to read about journeys while on a journey.

2. Kon-Tiki - Thor Heyerdahl. Jeane read this one a while back and I was inspired by her review to run right out and buy it. Then it sat on my shelf for a while, but this last semester we had a short reading in the English Conversation book based on Heyerdahl's adventure which reminded me that it would be perfect travel reading.

Maybe

1. Interpreter of Maladies - Jhumpa Lahiri. I should work on reading more from my lovely Pulitzer collection. I'm pretty sure I'll be adding to it during my vacation.

2. Tinkers - Paul Harding. Usually I read the new Pulitzer on the block as soon as I find it. Don't know why I'm dragging my feet this time. Maybe we just need some quality airplane time.

3. To Serve Them All My Days - R.F. Delderfield. Bookfool gave me this one, and it looks as scrumptious as I envisioned. But do I want to tote a Chunkster along with my other selections?

4. The Story of Edgar Sawtelle - David Wroblewski. Jill from my BOOKLEAVES book group loaned this one to me months ago and I've been hankering to read it, but yeah, another Chunkster.

5. Bang The Drum Slowly - Mark Harris. I've got football fever, watching World Cup night after night after night. What better way to cool my blood and cleanse my palette than with a classic novel about baseball? Here's a bonus: No vuvuzelas!

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My decision seems even more crucial this time because I have a premonition that my luck has finally run out and I'm going to be cruising in the middle seat with strangers on either side of me during this journey. I need reading that will make me forget my plight. All of the above are strong contenders, but which will go and which will stay? Luckily, The Spawn is showing up this weekend (I presume to either bid me fond farewell or borrow my DVD player while I'm gone) so I may have him pull a title or two out of my St. Louis Cardinals baseball cap.

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I'm out of Blogland until late July, so happy reading and have a great summer.

Half of June: Buying

I've got to go ahead and confess my buyings early this month, because I'm taking my annual trip to the USA next week and probably won't be able to blog until I get back in late July. Mom has dial-up. Or should I say die-all up? Most of the time I just say: Painful!

Crashing through What The Book? like a crazed (insert-your-favorite-large-animal-here), I bought the first 3 on June 5, so you can see that I really have tried to restrain myself for most of the month.
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Bonk - Mary Roach. I actually bought this for my friend Val's birthday. I wanted to buy her something luxurious and tantilizing from Skin Food (Korea's answer to Bath and Body Works) but the owner of the store in Onyangoncheon attached herself firmly to my side and refused to give me space to browse. I got all sweaty and headachy (no shit -- she was standing close enough to iron my clothing with her body!) and finally fled, buying only a small container of coffee-scented shower scrub. The next day found me at WTB? where I've seen the owner, Chris, exactly twice (at a comfortable distance) in the four years I've been shopping there. Whew.
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Hitch 22 - Christophen Hitchens. Incredibly, this memoir was already in the Used books section, but still kind of expensive since it's a hardcover. This one wasn't for me, either. I bought it for The Spawn. I got him on the phone first, just to be sure: "Hitchens book. Found it. You want it? What's it gonna be, Boy? Yes OR No?" While he was still stammering out his surprised and grateful thanks, I said, "OK!" and flipped my phone shut.
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Korean For Dummies - Jungwook Hong, Wang Lee. I bought this with good intentions about breaking down my resistance to learning Korean, but now I'm wondering if I did the right thing. There's not a drop of Hangul, the Korean writing system in this book. Every single word has been Romanized, and it feels as if a large and crucial part of the language puzzle is missing. The book also seems sloppily edited. All is not lost -- I can still get some good out of it by looking at the pronunciation guide and trying to write the words out in Hangul.

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The Plump Pig - Alf and Helen Evers. I already confessed this a couple of posts ago. I'm a little nervous about having bought this book online and also about paying so much money for it, but if it's presentable, it'll all be worth it to see the look on my mother's face. I'll be sure to have my camera at the ready. I'm also trying to come up with a puzzling, porcine-related lead-in gift, like pig potholders or a package of microwave bacon, but I haven't worked it out properly yet.
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To recap: 2 used, 1 new and one damn-near-antique. One for me and the rest for other people. A good month's work. Money well-spent. When I buy a book for someone, it's like I'm expressing my affection for this person in the purest form possible.

Slow-Motion Reading

I hate when this happens! I'm mired in the middle of 3 books right now and can't seem to finish any of them. Did I say finish? I'd be happy if I could just make it to the middle of at least one. It feels like my eyeballs stepped in chewing gum. There's a familiar whooshing sound followed by a decisive sounding gurgle. That's the sound of my dream of triple digits 3 years in a row going down the toilet.

Here's what I'm reading and my limping progress:

1. Love and Hate in Jamestown - David Price. 33% pages read.
2. The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym of Nantucket - Edgar Allen Poe. 37.5% pages read.
3. How Soccer Explains The World - Franklin Foer. 27% pages read.

All of these books are well-written and engaging, so that's not the reason for my malaise. However, I am reading the Poe novella in a PDF format on my laptop. There are 2 columns of print on each page, so I'm constantly scrolling back and forth, which plays hell with my concentration.

No matter what, I've got to finish Poe this weekend. My Cracked Spinz book group is meeting Tuesday to discuss it. Also, the book about Jamestown is due back at the library next week. The soccer book is mine. I might finish it in time for the 2014 World Cup.

Everytime this bogged-down stuff happens, I worry that it might become a permanent condition.

What A Mom Wants: The Plump Pig

From time to time I get bent out of shape because my mother refuses (Books! How boring can you get?) to read my "blob" as she calls it. Hmph. If she had a blog, I'd read it every day. Even if it was all about her QVC obsession or her potholder collection, I'd be right there, leaving sunny comments, posting links from my blog to hers and running up the stats on her "Visitors To My Blog" counter.

Looking on the bright side, sometimes this admittedly ultra-mild version of parental neglect comes in handy. I can write movingly about my rampant alcoholism and recent sex change and...oh wait -- I haven't done any of that. Well, I can drop a few f-bombs now and then and she's none the wiser. And what about now?! I can openly discuss her birthday gift with the world at large and she'll never know. Nyah, nyah!

A few nights ago, Mom and I were on the phone and somehow, we got on the subject of her favorite childhood book, The Plump Pig. This picture book was around the house while I was growing up, but neither of us have seen it in years. With all the moving over the years, we're guessing that it's lost forever.

"Do you think that maybe there's a new copy in a bookstore somewhere?" Mom asked. She was thinking of how her other childhood favorite, The Boxcar Children had had a resurgence of popularity.

"I've only ever heard of The Plump Pig because of you," I said, but while I was talking, my fingers were on the laptop keyboard, flying to Amazon. Bingo! It was there: The Plump Pig by Alf and Helen Evers. Several copies. No images were available, but the descriptions listed copyrights of 1938, 1942, 1944, 1956 and 1960.

"Well, 1938, that's got to be the same book," Mom said. "That's the year I was born, but I think I got my copy in 1942 for my birthday from my grandmother and grandfather. They were big on giving books for birthdays."

I checked out Abebooks and found a description that contained the first line: Although the Plump Pig was the youngest pig on the farm...

"That's IT!" we both screamed.

Since we still had no pictures, we argued about the cover and the plot: "Wasn't the cover green?"

"No, it was white."

"And the pig was there."

"Yes, he was standing in flowers."

"He was eating an apple."

"Wasn't he running with the apple?"

"How did he get from the skinny farmer's place to the fat farmer's place?"

"They weren't farmers -- they were out for a ride and saw the Plump Pig and just had to have him."

"They took him home and let him run around in their yard with the dog and cat."

"No, they made a little garden for him and fed him delicious treats."

Mom sighed. "I'd love to read The Plump Pig again."

"Me too." As far as picture books went, The Plump Pig lacked the interpersonal conflict and drama of my own personal preschool favorite, Nurse Nancy, but it was pretty damn good.

You probably already know how this ends. I pulled out the plastic today and bought a first edition, very good condition of The Plump Pig. How much? Quite a bit more than the 1938 price of twenty-five cents, but you know how it is: It's a book. It's my mom. Check out the map of my psyche and you'll see that I'm at the four-way intersection of Sentiment, Obsession, Nostalgia and Compulsion.

I can't wait to see this book. I can't wait to see my mom's face when she opens her package next month. Happy Birthday, Mom!

Versatility?

I received this award from Joemmama at Life Happens While Books Are Waiting, but I'm not sure I deserve it. Versitility is not my strong suit. If it were, wouldn't my blog entries be not only about books and reading, but also tips on how to juggle, whipping up the perfect summer salad, how to run 10K and apply flawless makeup simultaneously as well as breathless accounts of my travels around Asia? But still...awards don't get hurled in my direction every day, so I'm grateful.

One of the conditions of the award is that I must list 7 things about myself, so I'll just put down the things that have been rattling around in my head like the last few Nilla Wafers in the box.




1. My Facebook page is in Pirate English, and I'll not change the scurvy thing back to US English!


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2. Twenty-six years ago, when I was pregnant with my son, I developed a profound revulsion to the smell of peppermint oil. To this day, this scent still makes me slightly queasy, so it's difficult for me to visit the restroom after lunch when so many students are in there, brushing their teeth. One of the few times I've gotten a massage, the masseuse used peppermint oil (meant to invigorate my senses, I think) and I stared wretchedly at the floor through that hole in the table where your face goes, trying not to be sick.



3. I didn't know until just the other day that the shells on cooked shrimp are digestible. I still prefer them without, but it's good to know.




4. If I had to choose between having an excellent long-term memory and an excellent short-term memory, I'd choose the short-term.



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5. I regret getting my tattoo in a place where I really can't enjoy it, but on the other hand, I guess I can't get tired of it, either.



6. I've never worked in a writing lab at a university and I've always wanted to. I'm hoping that my current university will decide to start one.

7. I really don't care for smoking, but I hate how Korean women are supposed to hide it, so when I see a female student walking on campus with a cigarette, I can't help feeling proud of her and wishing every girl on campus would light up.

I'm also supposed to pass this on to other bloggers, but instead, I'll just invite anyone that's interested to jump up and grab it.

Theme-y on Thursday: The Wolf Is At The Door

The wolf is at the door. (Idiom)

Meaning: The threat of poverty is upon us.
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I remember my mother shrieking this phrase at my father at night when my brother and I were in bed. I can't remember if it would have been right before or right after payday. Whenever it was, it made a fearsome image in my head as I lay there in the dark. I could almost see the wolf at the door. He would be brownish and mangy and have long, needle-like teeth. He would be lurking at the kitchen door, of course. His claws could rip the screen easily. Was he strong enough to break down the door?
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One day, I tried to engage my mother in dialogue: "Mom, I'm worried about the wolf, too."

"What wolf?"

"The wolf. You said that there's a wolf at the door. Where does he go in the daytime?"

"Shut up! You were eavesdropping again."

"You were talking kind of loud --"

"You're supposed to be asleep, not listening. You're poking your nose in grownup business where it doesn't belong. Shut up and butt out." My mother looked pretty fearsome, so I worried a little less after that. The wolf would be really stupid to mess with her, poking his snout in where it didn't belong.
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My students have been bringing animal idioms to me all semester on Vocabulary Day, so it was only a matter of time before they brought me the wolf is at the door. Thanks, guys. Memories of Mom, overeager students with their eyes on the prize -- no matter what, all roads lead to Bookville, so I thought I'd try to get a theme-y thing going on in which I could tie some book titles to this unwelcome intruder. It's the English major in me.
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1. Hunger - Knut Hamsun. The wolf (I guess it would be ulv in this case, since the action takes place in Norway) has made himself at home on the narrator's shabby welcome mat and he's ready to pounce. The guy in this novel gets knocked down, but he gets up again -- sometimes right at what seems like the last possible moment.
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2. Down and Out in Paris and London - George Orwell. Orwell meets le loup in France and it follows him across the English Channel. Although he has some grim times, he sorts the wolf out with his razor-sharp wit and unflinching humor. The knowledge that he could get a respectable job at a moment's notice makes the reek of wolf-breath a little less potent.
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3. How To Cook A Wolf - M.F.K. Fisher. That wolf had better watch out; there's something about Mary. Fisher writes about food so beguilingly that the wolf might still think he was being seduced only seconds before she carved him up and served him. Excellent tips for those on a limited budget that want to avoid a "poor and deprived" mindset.
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4. The Complete Tightwad Gazette - Amy Dacyczyn. Pity the poor wolf who dares to show up at Amy D.'s door. She'd kick his furry butt all over the place with what she refers to as "black-belt tightwaddery". This book is a great resource for people trying to get out of debt and those just starting out like graduates and newlyweds.
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Who's afraid of the big, bad wolf? Tra-la-la-la-la...

May 2010 Reviews

A little heavy on the fiction this month, but my reading was all over the place, which I love.
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1. Clear Pictures: First Loves, First Guides - Reynolds Price. Price talks about the people he grew up with, the people who most influenced him in his early years. He was lucky to have a loving and supportive extended family and he writes about them lovingly and lingeringly. There's also a wide streak of shame that runs through the memoir since he's writing about the American south in the 1930s and 1940s when the color line was so rigid and he's chafed with sorrow to remember himself and his family in those unthinking, unknowing days. When the Civil Rights movement came, Price remained a bystander and his apology is honest and heartfelt. Although Clear Pictures isn't a long book, it's not one that you can race through any more than you could race through a family reunion picnic on a hot July weekend.
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2. Laura Ingalls Wilder and The American Frontier: Five Perspectives - Dwight Miller, editor. Several professors presented papers about Wilder and the "Little House" books at a conference. I feel as if I've seen and heard it all before.
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3. Riders of the Purple Sage - Zane Grey. Nothing could ever induce me to read another Zane Grey novel. How did he get to be so popular? The narrative is awkward, the dialogue is clumsy, the characters are two-dimensional and there's an idiot subplot. The description of the scenery is nice, but the constant mention of it made me feel as if I was staring at a rack of postcards in some two-bit tourist trap. I was compelled to keep reading though, because it was so odd to see Mormons as villains!

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4. Flirting With Pride & Prejudice - Jennifer Crusie, editor. A mixed bag of essays and fan fiction relating to Jane Austen's masterpiece.
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5. A Cab Called Reliable - Patti Kim. The climax situation in this short novel was similar to one that Nora Okja Keller used in Fox Girl. I thought Keller's treatment and resolution was much more effective. Kim's book is a good story with twin themes of acculturation and betrayal, but it's spoiled by a hasty conclusion.
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6. Paper Towns - John Green. I'm Green's newest fan. If I were back in high school, his picture would be hanging on the inside of my locker door. Can't wait to read more of his writing.
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7. The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo - Stieg Larsson. Not my favorite read for May, but now that it's done, I'm glad that I read it -- struggles and all. Because of the awesome Lisabeth Salander, I could be prevailed upon to read the two sequels, using active reading, of course.
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8. Shanghai Girls - Lisa See. This story about two sisters sold into marriage by their debt-ridden father moves slowly and regularly through twenty years of death, suffering and immigration then in the very last chapter, one of the title characters opens up a huge can of Stupid and starts spraying evil revelations and long-kept family secrets everywhere and things go into warp speed and the reader is left stranded and mouthing those three little words at the climax, which is also the end of the novel. I smell sequel.
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9. The Warrior's Path - Louis L'Amour. This was my first trip down the trail with my pardner Louis. I could be persuaded to read more L'Amour, even though this novel was as clunky in its way as The Riders of the Purple Sage was in its way. L'Amour goes down a mite smoother, though. This is the third book (out of 15, I think) in the Sackett saga. My Inner Completist Bookworm tells me that we must find a good used bookstore in the US and hunt up the rest of the series. No need to dig out the spurs, I'm ready!
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10. Thimble Summer - Elizabeth Enright. The 1938 Newbery winner about a little girl named Garnet and her life on a farm in Wisconsin during a summer that got off to a good start because of a "magic" silver thimble she found in a dried-up river bed. The Saturdays remains my favorite of the Enright books I've read so far, but I loved reading about farm life, Garnet's many adventures (which included getting accidentally locked up in a certain establishment) and the authentic 1930s setting. Although I read this book in the spring, I was left feeling so lighthearted and expansive that I'm pretty sure I'll always perceive it as a summer read. Many thanks to Veronica for giving me this book as a present!

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11. BUtterfield 8 - John O'Hara. This book is both strangely dated and up-to-date all at the same time. BUtterfield 8 is set during the early 1930s and revolves around Gloria Wandrous, a woman in her early 20s who has drifted into casual prostitution. O'Hara is sympathetic to Gloria, showing how her early corruption led her into this lifestyle. Although I enjoy O'Hara's writing, I really hate that the reader can see how damned impressed he is with all the trappings of WASP wealth and privilege. It's always a relief when he focuses on the less well-to-do, Midwestern or Catholic characters; his writing seems much more relaxed and real. I'm going to read A Rage To Live and then I think I'm done with O'Hara. Run right out and avoid the 1960 movie version of BUtterfield 8. Elizabeth Taylor is beautiful and does her best, but the story was treated by Hollywood the shameful and shoddy way poor Gloria was treated by men. Laurence Harvey deserves a special mention for a putrid performance.
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12. Out Of The Dust - Karen Hesse. A gritty (in all senses of the word) prose poem about life in the Dust Bowl during the mid-1930s. I was reminded of the excellent nonfiction book The Worst Hard Time. Hesse's book won the Newbery award and rightfully so.

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13. Cold Comfort Farm - Stella Gibbons. I enjoyed this 1932 novel so much that I almost can't review it because I'm afraid I'll babble. Imagine Jane Austen taking on Lawrence, Hardy and the Brontes and putting them and their rough, inarticulate and impassioned ways in a cool hammerlock. Roger Ebert said it better, of course: "Cold Comfort Farm is like Thomas Hardy rewritten by P.G. Wodehouse." If you haven't read this book yet, read it. If you have, isn't it time for a reread? While you're at it, check out the well-made 1995 film version.