Sonnets from the Portuguese, by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Posted on July 19, 2010 by Thistle

sonnets

Hurrah! I have found poetry that spoke to me, poetry that I understood, poetry that I enjoyed! Loved, in fact. Elizabeth Barrett Browning, you wonderful poet! You have proved that my search for poetry that I can connect with was not futile as many (including myself) suspected it would be!

When my sister Becky got married a couple years ago, she bought Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s Sonnets from the Portuguese for her husband, Rami, as a wedding gift. Sonnets is a collection of love poems that Ms Barrett wrote for her future husband, Robert Browning, before they married. I’ve wanted to read them ever since Becky bought them, especially as Jason has been telling me forever that he thinks I would like Ms Browning’s poetry. After my last bad experience with a book of poetry, I sat down and picked three more volumes of poetry I wanted to try before I gave up. Sonnets was one of them.

I’m so glad I read this. From the very first poem, I connected with the poet. I could feel her love, her fear, her yearning, and all the newness that was in this love for her. I loved her use of words, like the first two lines of poem 24:

Let the world’s sharpness, like a clasping knife,
Shut in upon itself and do no harm

While I normally don’t understand poetry, especially with all its tangled language and metaphors, I understood nearly every word of Sonnets. Three poems in particular spoke strongly to me: 6, 11, and 26. I’m not going to include them all, but I wanted to post #6, because this one touched me so deeply that I literally cried at the end. I sat there on my couch with tears silently rolling down my cheeks. I never expected to be so touched by poetry, but Elizabeth Barrett Browning awoke something inside me that I didn’t know existed.

Go from me. Yet I feel that I shall stand
Henceforward in thy shadow. Nevermore
Alone upon the threshold of my door
Of individual life, I shall command
The uses of my soul, nor lift my hand
Serenely in the sunshine as before,
Without the sense of that which I forbore–
They touch upon the palm. The widest land
Doom takes to part us, leaves thy heart in mine
With pulses that beat double. What I do
And what I dream include thee, as the wine
Must taste of its own grapes. And when I sue
God for myself, He hears that name of thine,
And sees within my eyes the tears of two.

Gah. I’m not sure that putting the poem here alone does it justice. It means so much more following the five before it, with more coming after. While the Sonnets are all individual poems, they follow a thread, to be read one after another, like a longer poem broken into fragments. They touch on so many phases of love, from how much she loves him, how much she aches from her love, to the fear that she isn’t worthy and the fear his love will fade, to his love overcoming all her fears and problems, his love bringing her out of herself, to finally, an acceptance of their mutual love and an offering of herself to him.

These poems are beautiful. I wish I could quote the whole volume here. They are filled so strongly with passion and emotion; they quiver with it! They tell a whole story without ever saying the words. It’s one of the most beautiful love stories I’ve ever read. I know a little bit about the Brownings’ relationship to each other, but now I’m dying to read more!

My copy of the Sonnets includes other love poems by Elizabeth Barrett Browning, but they were ones polished up to be read by the public at large. I tried reading a few, and compared to the Sonnets they sound empty of emotion, slightly bitter, far more conventional, contrived, and fit into a set form. I don’t know if I liked them. I certainly didn’t when I tried reading them – how could I after such glorious poems? – but I will try them again sometime when I can disentangle them from the Sonnets in my mind. I am definitely looking forward to reading more of Ms Browning’s work now – perhaps even Aurora Leigh! – and I am so happy to have finally had a moment where poetry made sense and spoke to me.

Posted in 2010, Adult, Poetry | Tagged , , | 3 Comments

Up from the Blue, by Susan Henderson

Posted on July 18, 2010 by Thistle

upfromtheblueTillie’s life was ripped apart when she was eight years old. Her mother, suffering from a depression her family doesn’t understand, suddenly disappears when the family moves across the country. Tillie tries to investigate, suspecting her father of a crime, but the truth turns out to be more complicated than she suspects.

I wasn’t sure, when I got this ARC at the Algonquin event at BEA, that I would like it. It’s not my normal sort of read, but at the same time, I’ve gotten more into modern adult literary fiction recently, so I kept it instead of giving it away. When I sat down to read it, I was captivated immediately. I didn’t particularly like Tillie as a child, but I was really interested in seeing her mother from the point of view of someone who doesn’t understand depression.

In the past, I’ve often read books or watched movies that talk about a mother’s depression consuming her until she’s wasted away. As a young mother who has suffered from depression, I connect with these stories. I don’t know that I’ve ever read a book that showed what it looked like from the outside, though, and that’s what really intrigued me. It was so sad. I felt so sorry for Tillie’s mom, especially as the book was set in the 70s when mental illness was often shushed up and people just didn’t understand. I hated Tillie’s dad and the way he treated his wife. I hated that he kept her hidden and away from people pretending everything was all fine, and that he never got treatment for her. I hated her situation and understood Tillie’s anxiety, love, and fear.

I can’t say I liked the second half of the book as much, once Tillie’s mother was gone. Then the focus became more on Tillie and her coping than on the rest. I didn’t find all the things that happened in the second half realistic, either. Some of the plot seemed to unravel a bit. I can’t say much more than that without giving away spoilers but I definitely preferred the first half of the book to the second. At the same time, I don’t think this is a book that is going to leave me any time soon. It certainly gave me a lot to think about.

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Winter’s End, by Jean-Claude Mourlevat

Posted on July 17, 2010 by Thistle

winters_endIt’s difficult to summarize this book. I suppose, in short, it’s about a group of kids who escape from a tyrannical boarding school and join a resistance movement against their totalitarian government. I got the book, which translated from the French by Anthea Bell, as an ARC at ALA last year and I should note before beginning this review that the translation was excellent.

Winter’s End was…a strange book. I loved the first few chapters. The boarding school setting had that perfect dystopian feel, as if something is just slightly wrong and you don’t know what yet. Similarly, hearing that the kids got three visits per school year to visit their “consolers” to ward off winter sadness also intrigued me. When the first student runs away unexpectedly, I was completely hooked.

But then, the book sort of fell apart. It wasn’t the writing, which was good and kept me reading constantly until the very last page. But at the end, the emotional attachment fell flat and I realized I didn’t really care about what happened. I didn’t have enough investment in the characters. I took a few days to think about this, and realized it was because too much of the book was spent fighting a government and society that I knew nothing about. The setup was great, but it was only the beginning. I needed to know more and I never got that.

Then there was just so much stuff in the society that didn’t make sense. For example, a few chapters in, there’s the introduction to a new breed of creature: dog-men. They are, quite literally, part dog, part man, and they are used as intelligent trackers, like bloodhounds that walk on two legs. This took me completely by surprise. It was like I’d suddenly walked into a fantasy novel. It’s not that cross-bred creatures are necessarily out of place – I didn’t, for instance, mind the genetically engineered creatures in The Hunger Games. But unlike Collins’ world, there was no indication of advanced technology here, not among the people or in the government, so it just seemed weird.

Lots of the novel had that same half-done feel, as if Mourlevat was trying to put too much in and not developing any of it enough. When I was done reading, I didn’t feel like I really got anything out of the experience. I loved reading the book, but in the end, it just didn’t come together for me.

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The Kid Table, by Andrea Seigel

Posted on July 15, 2010 by Thistle

kidtableI got an ARC of this book at BEA. My copy doesn’t have any cover art, but instead lists the three rules for the kid table:

1. You’re a kid until the adults say you’re not.* You can drive, but you still have to sit with a toddler.
2. Know your role: If the family thinks you’re rebellious, rebel.
3. What happens at the kid table stays at the kid table. Talking to a cousin is like talking to a priest.

*The definition of kid does not have to be equal or fair; cousins may be upgraded to the adult table at any time.

Oh my. When I read this opener, I immediately started laughing. This is my family. If you replace the word “adult” with “grownup,” this could be my family. I knew I had to read this and was so happy to come across it at BEA.

The book opens with an image of a very complicated family tree, the notes on which made me laugh even more.

I grew up visiting my mom’s side of the family a lot. There were eleven cousins altogether (well, nine + two step-cousins), and we each had a role. Byron was the cynic. Jen was the peacemaker. John was the athlete. Brandy was the popular one. Jacob was the rebel. Nathan was the quiet one. I was the bold one (ie I wasn’t afraid to walk across Kmart holding the bra I was going to buy). Becky was the weird one. William, Aaren, and Jocelyn were all younger than us and we considered them the “junior” cousins, the kid table within the kid table, if you will. William, at that time, was quite the crybaby (sorry William!) and both Aaren and Joc were only interested in playing games where they got to be princesses.

In my family, you are a kid until you have kids of your own (or until you should have kids and are letting the family down). I remember being twenty years old and having one of my aunts tell me I should give up my chair so a grownup could sit down. We had movies screened for us before we were allowed to watch them – PG-13 movies, mind you – when most of us were in college. This was considered normal in my family.

My family is big. It’s wacky. It’s quirky. It’s thick with family politics. Most people look at us and think something’s wrong with us. And I absolutely love us. We are awesome. My cousins are more a part of me than I am. They were my lifeline growing up, my best friends, my confidants. My family. We’re the epitome of functional dysfunction.

Ingrid’s family is the same way, which is why I loved this book so much. I can’t say if this book would appeal to people who don’t have the extended family experience. My husband, for instance, only met his extended family a few times in his life. He doesn’t even know how many cousins he has, much less their names or ages. My big old crazy family intimidates him. I, on the other hand, got together with my mom’s side of the family quite often, sometimes on a weekly basis, growing up. I know my cousins, aunts, uncles, and grandparents the same as I know my siblings and parents. The concept behind The Kid Table boggles my husband’s mind, but for me and for those people who know and love all their wacky, crazy extended family, this book is for us!!

It’s funny. It’s accurate. It strips family right down to the bones and shows both the good and bad sides. It’s got a wonderful plot that twists and turns. Plus, there’s lots and lots of family drama! Family crisis! Family rumors! A big jumbled mess of humanity stuck to each other by blood. Or by marriage. Or by…well, it can get complicated.

All the cousins have their role. There’s Katie, the toddler princess girl. Cricket, the anxious but caustic one. Dom, the purposely flamingly gay cousin. Micah, who gets progressively more naked at each family event. Brianne, the smart one. Autumn, the “mom” of the group. And Ingrid, the main character, the easy-going one who, because of her easy-going-ness, is accused of being a budding psychopath by a jealous and/or confused cousin. Throw all these guys together, with all their parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and more, and it’s a recipe for disaster, especially when an outsider suddenly pushes his way into the family.

I can’t praise this book enough. It was fantastic, one of my favorites of the year. I showed the cover and Ingrid’s family tree to my cousin Jen and we both giggled away. Jen agreed with me – Seigel got those rules down right! I will definitely be encouraging all my cousins to read this. While we’re sitting at the kid table.

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The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane, by Kate DiCamillo

Posted on July 13, 2010 by Thistle

edwardEdward Tulane is a china rabbit who belongs to a young girl named Abilene. He is vain and self-centered, ignoring the people around him when they talk to them, always thinking about himself. Then one day, he is separated from Abilene and goes on a years-long journey. This journey will change him in more ways than he can anticipate.

All I can say here is that I’m really, really glad that I gave Kate DiCamillo a second chance with The Magician’s Elephant. I really didn’t like The Tale of Despereaux, but I have absolutely loved the other two books I’ve read by her. Apparently I just wasn’t meant to get along with Despereaux! These others, on the other hand, have been beautiful. This one in particular made me cry twice. It reminded me so much of my own special childhood friend, a little stuffed dog my parents gave me for my fourth birthday, a dog that is now 27 years old and has survived wearing out and getting his face ripped off by real dogs and sewed back on my my grandmother. He has survived everything, and he still sits on my shelf where I can love him.

That’s what Edward Tulane’s journey reminded me of. I imagine many of us have stories about our childhood friends and the way they changed and fell apart over time. These friends become more precious and valuable with age and time, and I would say that Edward Tulane did too, both internally and externally. It was a very good book. I really enjoyed the experience of reading it.

Posted in 2010, Children's, Prose | Leave a comment

The Wisdom of Eve, by Mary Orr

Posted on July 12, 2010 by Thistle

wisdomMargo Crane is a big star on Broadway, and she never expects that the quiet, mousy girl named Eve who worms her way into Margo’s confidence is actually an aspiring actress prepared to run over anyone who stands in her way.

A couple years ago, I saw the movie All About Eve and really enjoyed it. The movie was based on a short story by Mary Orr called The Wisdom of Eve, a short story which was also the basis for this play. Of the three formats, the story came first (1946), then the movie (1950), and then this play adaptation (1964). While I haven’t read the short story, both the movie and the play are very similar, and I enjoyed them both.

Eve is one of the best villains I’ve ever read (though not quite as horrific as Cathy from East of Eden or Count Fosco in The Woman in White). She is absolutely without a conscience, willing to do whatever it takes, to step on whoever she can step on, to get ahead in the acting world. As she says herself, “There’s no use in trying to appeal to my better nature…I haven’t one.”

What’s interesting to me, however, is less what happens to Eve, and more what happens to the people she touches. Not just as in they get squashed under her, no. Of course they’re going to get squashed; that’s the whole point of the play. What I love, though, is that there seems to be a very specific statement here: those without any moral compunctions may rise in life, but those who are good people will fall when they are seduced by temptation. Eve, as befitting to her name, is the ultimate seductress. Characters all around her fall prey to lust, greed, vanity, and spite, and thus they all end up under Eve’s feet. Only the characters who stand steady in the face of temptation are not trampled over. They may not always win, but at least they don’t lose their integrity or character.

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Theatre, by William Somerset Maugham

Posted on July 11, 2010 by Thistle

theatre-book-coverTheatre is a spin on the old classic tale of the kept woman. Instead of a rich married man keeping a young mistress who wheedles him for favors, gifts, and money while pretending to take them only reluctantly, it’s a rich married woman keeping a younger man.

Julia Lambert is the greatest actress in London. She and her husband of 20+ years have been very successful in the theatre business, but their marriage is more friendly than romantic. Julia never expects to start an affair with a young clerk, but gives in easily enough when it is thrust on her, until she is so wrapped up in her need for his love that she feels her life unraveling. Suddenly reality and acting are so mixed up that she can’t tell one from another.

This is one of my three favorite books by Maugham, who is one of my favorite authors. I love this one so much because it hits very close to home. While I’m not an actress and never have been, I am very much a storyteller and in many ways can relate to Julia’s constant facade. It’s not quite the same – I don’t mutate and shift depending on who I’m with – but like Julia I am always very aware of exactly what I’m saying and what I look like to those around me. I’m honest, which she isn’t necessarily all the time, but when you can see what you’re saying, honest or not, it’s impossible to be sincere. I would say that part of the definition of sincerity is to be unaware of the effect your words and actions have on others and on yourself. Honesty is a very good thing, but sometimes it’s discouraging to know that even when every word you say is the absolute truth, just knowing so causes an emotional disconnect from the things you say and feel. At least, that’s how it feels to me.

It’s like, I have a ton of stories about things that happened to me and my family or friends. My memory goes back a long way and I have a bizarre ability to remember whole conversations word for word. Once I get past a time period in my life, even a time period that caused me great distress or pain, the things I experienced get turned into stories into my head. I suppose it’s a defense mechanism of sorts, or perhaps just the way I catalog things as a writer. But for some reason, I can box up my past into neat little packages and tie ribbons around them. It’s just like how Julia can recognize the things she’s feeling and saying as echos of plays she once performed in, of characters she once became. At some point, you have to wonder whether or not you even exist. Indeed, the book brings up that point. Julia’s son, Roger, makes a very compelling and, to me, anxiety-invoking speech which ends with:

You don’t know the difference between truth and make-believe. You never stop acting. It’s second nature to you. You act when there’s a party here. You act to the servants, you act to Father, you act to me. To me you act the part of the fond, indulgent, celebrated mother. You don’t exist, you’re only the innumerable parts you’ve played. I’ve often wondered if there was ever a you or if you were never anything more than a vehicle for all these other people that you’ve pretended to be. When I’ve seen you go into an empty room I’ve sometimes wanted to open the door suddenly, but I’ve been afraid to in case I found nobody there.

This speech almost makes me want to cry, but at the same time, I can’t help but think – isn’t everyone like this, to some degree? Aren’t we all conscious of the way people see us? The ability to be unconscious of that seems to be left behind somewhere in childhood, and for me at least, one of the most painful parts of adolescence was the sudden realization that people saw me. I didn’t want to be seen, but I was painfully aware of exactly what I looked and sounded like. That’s when I built up the wall, that defense mechanism, to always be looking, observing, sitting behind myself, so that even now, no matter what I say, I’m always aware. Does it make me a less sincere person? Perhaps. I don’t know. But because I don’t know, I’m very careful to balance it by always being honest. If I can’t be sincere, at least I can always tell the truth, or what I believe to be the truth.

Theatre makes me uncomfortable, because I recognize myself too much in Julia. I recognize not only my detachment from my own emotions, but my all-too-romantic nature, my fickleness, my rashness when angry or jealous, everything. I’m very, very much like Julia, for better or for worse, so Theatre speaks directly too me. Julia’s crisis point is one I’ve experienced – what’s real? Am I real? And if I’m not, is there hope for me to ever be real? It’s a doubt no one can just keep living with. You can’t keep questioning whether or not you exist. At some point, you just have to make a conscious choice and move on.

Note: Review date is only an approximate of when this book was read/reviewed in 2010.

Note: Originally read in ~2004-ish.

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Metropole, by Ferinc Karinthy

Posted on July 9, 2010 by Thistle

metropoleBudai steps through the wrong door at the airport, so that his flight takes him not to Helsinki, where he’s expected at a conference, but to a vast and unknown city filled with hoards of people all speaking different languages. Though Budai is a linguist and speaks many of the world’s languages, he recognizes none of these and can’t get anyone to understand him, no matter which language he asks his questions in. The only person who tries to help him out is one of the elevator operators at his hotel, but even she can’t do anything when Budai runs out of money and is left to scrounge on the streets.

This was an absolutely fascinating novel! It was originally published in Hungary in 1970, but only translated into English two years ago. I’ve never read an Eastern European classic, nor do I think I’ve ever read anything translated from Hungarian, so this was a brand new experience all around, and an experience that I very much enjoyed.

The back of the book describes Metropole as a cross between Kafka’s The Trial and Orwell’s 1984, a combination which is exactly what I came up with myself! The whole set up of this large city (presumably Metropole, though the name is never mentioned in the text) is so surreal: crowds of people swarming all over at every time of day or night; a million different languages, so that it seems no one can understand each other; the sickly sweet underflavor to all the food; the giant pet rabbits all over the place. Watching Budai trying to work his way around Metropole is akin to reading the main character’s confusion in Shaun Tan’s The Arrival, only there is no one who can or is willing to help him.

I’m sure there are many ways to interpret Budai’s story, and the most likely interpretation has to do with the government in Hungary at the time of publication. Sadly, I know very, very little about political history, so I don’t even want to comment on those possible applications. I’d just embarrass myself. Instead, much of the book seemed to me to have another interpretation that I found interesting. It seemed to me that Metropole (the city) was a sort of Purgatory, in the Catholic sense of the word.

I found myself wondering if Budai had died and was flown/bussed off to a mid-level afterlife, having not been good enough for Heaven, but not bad enough for Hell. In Metropole/Purgatory, people are left in limbo, not being able to connect with each other, and left to make the best (or worst) of their situation. The idea seemed further indicated when Budai purposely tries to get himself arrested, hoping to get a chance to speak with an interpreter this way. The jail he spends the night in is boiling hot, absurdly so, and the guards are rude, violent, and disgusting. The food is all rancid and old, spoiled by the heat. I wondered, then, if this was a glimpse of Hell, if Budai is being shown what bad behavior in Purgatory will eventually get him.

I was further convinced of this interpretation when suddenly winter lifted, the sun came out, and the whole city seemed to gather for a party. There were city leaders in pure white outfits coming out to talk to people. Babies, the old, the feeble, and the handicapped were all loaded up to be taken away to great cheers from the crowd. The people from prison were likewise marched to the surface to be taken away in a different set of trucks. That made me think that those leaving Purgatory for Heaven or Hell did so during this yearly festival, and that people like Budai would simply remain there until they had proved themselves good enough or bad enough to leave.

Still, I’m not sure my interpretation is entirely valid, because there are a ton of things that happen at the festival that I won’t spoil here and they don’t seem to do much to support my thoughts. In fact, at the end I was left completely confused by the book. That’s not to say I didn’t appreciate it. In this case, being confused is actually really nice, because it makes me think. Weeks after reading it, I’m still thinking about it, and to me, that’s a mark of a very good book.

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Rowan the Strange, by Julie Hearn

Posted on July 8, 2010 by Thistle

Rowan the StrangeNote: I read this book for Nerds Heart YA, an underrepresented YA reading match, which is why this review is set up in this manner.

Pre-Read Thoughts

Cover: No doubt about it, this has got to be the worst cover I’ve ever seen. Hands down. It looks like a cheesy 80s RL Stine scary children’s books! I don’t know what the marketing department was thinking when it came to this one. I have to say up front that before ever reading a word in the book or about the book, I was already predisposed to view this negatively. Let’s just say it’s unlikely I ever would have read this if not for Nerds Heart YA.

Synopsis: This is historical fiction about a mentally unstable boy who goes to an asylum right around the same time England is going to war. From the Amazon synopsis, I can’t tell if the work they do on him in the asylum is going to make him worse or turn this into a paranormal book. Either way, I’m leery. I’m not a big fan of historical fiction and if this ends up being paranormal, I will not be happy at all.

Hype: I haven’t seen many reviews of this, but every single one has said that despite going in very leery, the book was absolutely wonderful. This gives me hope that despite the cover and the not-so-hopeful synopsis, I will actually enjoy this one.

Post-Read Thoughts

Writing: For the most part, the writing was good. Only one thing really bothered me. The point of view of the narration kept shifting randomly, quickly, without warning, from one character to another. I don’t mind a shifting narrative, but I like it to be organized. I had a hard time figuring out whose thoughts I was reading about at times.

Content: Well this was definitely not what I expected! Yay for no paranormal stuff! At first, I wasn’t sure it was going to work for me. I’ve read books about mental hospitals before and frankly none have ever compared to The Bell Jar, one of my favorite books. But this book turned out to be less about the hospital and more about how a person recovers when they are damaged. I felt like the background of war was at times a bit too much, but for the most part, I really settled into the book and enjoyed where it went. The end was satisfactory for me and the book never felt oversimplified. This book was definitely not what I was expecting, and I was pleasantly surprised by the experience. Oh, and I should say that I now understand why the cover looks the way it does, though I do think the concept could have been done much better, in a way that doesn’t look cheesy.

Emotional Connection: Again, for the first quarter of the book, I didn’t really have much of a connection to the characters, the same way I didn’t really connect to the content. However, once Rowan settled into the hospital, those connections suddenly grew. I felt close to Rowan, and I had a much stronger connection to Dorothea. Her story broke my heart. Likewise I sympathized much with the doctor and his situation, as well as the later test subjects. It wasn’t a book that made me cry, but it definitely made me feel.

In the End

I really enjoyed it, despite the cheesy cover! Glad to have read it.

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Gimme a Call, by Sarah Mlynowski

Posted on July 7, 2010 by Thistle

gimmeeacallDevi is unhappy. For all of high school, she’s wrapped herself up in one guy, Bryan, and he’s wrapped himself up with her. But now, he’s broken her heart and she wants nothing more than to reach back in time to warn her younger self not to get involved with him. As she’s crying at the mall, trying to return the graduation present she bought for Bryan, her cell phone slips into the fountain, and suddenly, her wish comes true. No matter what number she dials, she reaches her 14-year-old self.

Okay so I know the description of this book might sound incredibly cheesy, but I went into the book knowing it should be nothing more than a fun romp, like watching a silly movie for entertainment, not for expanding your brain. If I’d gone into this expecting anything else, I’m sure I would have been disappointed, but as it was, I had so much fun reading this! I loved the two Devis, the younger nicknamed Frosh and the older nicknamed Ivy. I loved watching how the future changed with each change that Frosh made in the past. I loved seeing these two girls learn their lesson about messing with the future, and the conclusion was highly satisfying to me. And most of all, I loved thinking about what I would tell my younger self if I happened to be able to call her.

In some ways, this was like a younger version of Alison Winn Scotch’s Time of My Life, which I also enjoyed. For some reason, these time-warping sorts of books (and movies!) just appeal to me on a fun level, even though the reasons leading up to the time travel/warp are always silly. I just enjoy the idea of bending the rules, I guess. It was fun. There’s not more I can say on that point. I just had a lot of fun reading.

I will say, though, that fluff or not, the book was definitely well written. I didn’t get distracted by formulaic or mediocre writing. This is the sort of book that can prove that a non-deep plot does not equal bad/mediocre writing. This is a lesson I myself need to realize at times, so I’m always glad when I come across a book that teaches it to me.

Posted in 2010, Prose, Young Adult | Tagged | 1 Comment