Seeking Sara Summers, by Susan Gabriel

Posted on May 13, 2010 by Thistle

susanSara’s life as a middle-aged mom, wife, and teacher is thrown into upheaval when she gets breast cancer. Over the last year, she’s fought the illness, continually apologized to her husband for being sick, and downplayed the seriousness of the situation to her adult children. When she suddenly receives an invitation to Italy from a friend named Julia that she hasn’t spoken to for 30 years, Sara decides to break out of the rut of her life and go. She expects to feel free in Italy, but she doesn’t expect to suddenly fall in love with Julia.

I’ve been looking forward to this book forever. I can’t even remember where I first heard about it, but it’s been on my list for over a year. I got it back in December through a special deal, signed by the author. I liked it immediately when I started, hearing this 40-something woman wonder about her life and whether or not she was really living. It’s a subject I’ve been thinking and reading a lot about lately. It was well-written and Sara’s quiet desperation seeps through to the reader.

Unfortunately, that’s where the good ended for me. The rest of the book turned out to be a big disappointment, which makes me really sad. It’s not that the rest was badly done. It’s more like from the moment Sara has her first stirring twinge of feeling for Julia, I felt like I was in a different book altogether. That twinge came literally out of nowhere. The two girls have been hanging out for a few days after not seeing each other for 30 years. They were best friends as kids and they hit it off immediately when Sara came to Italy. I didn’t expect it to take weeks for a romantic interest to spark up, but I did expect some sort of foreshadowing. Instead it was just – the girls went on a walk, they talked about the scenery, and suddenly Sara’s hit with a desire she hasn’t felt since she first got married. It was abrupt and awkward.

I love the concept of this book. I love the idea that two women who have never had a relationship with other women before can fall in love with each other because of their bond. I love that. I loved the relationship that formed between Julia and Sara. But I didn’t buy HOW it formed, not in the beginning, anyway. From that change onwards, the writing became more awkward, jumping weeks or even months very quickly, leaving out key details, almost as if it was more of a sketch of a story rather than the full story.

I hate to say all this. I really wanted to love this book and I think the message it sends is so important. I love the acceptance and the struggle with one’s past. I love the idea that true love transcends gender. I just…wish it had been executed differently, or that the transition Sara makes had felt more natural and realistic. Maybe I just set my hopes too high. I don’t know. Sadly, it just didn’t work for me.

Posted in 2010, Adult, Prose | Tagged | Leave a comment

Little Children, by Tom Perrotta

Posted on May 12, 2010 by Thistle

little-children-novel-tom-perrotta-paperback-cover-artSarah doesn’t fit in. She takes her daughter to the playground near her home in an upper-middle class suburb, but she knows she’s different from the other moms there. While they talk about fatigue, sex, and their daily schedules, conversation led by confident super-mom Mary Ann, Sarah feels like she’s dying inside. Then she meets Todd, a stay at home dad nicknamed “the Prom King” by the other women. The two begin an affair more out of desperation than attraction. In their summer fling, the two are momentarily free from the demands and quirks of their spouses, as well as from worrying about the child molester that has just moved into their community.

My description makes this book sound sordid, but really, it isn’t. It’s hard to describe. Perrotta paints a picture of suburban life and the expectations that come with it. I personally find that sort of life – with perfect houses and perfect lawns and perfect exercise routines and always keeping everything together – absolutely terrifying. Sinister and oppressive. And that’s exactly how it feels in this book. I wasn’t sure I was going to connect with it when I started it, but after five pages, Perrotta captured that feeling of underlying wrongness so well that I couldn’t put the book down.

Little Children isn’t about an affair. It’s not about sex, and it’s not about immorality. It’s about desperation, freedom, responsibility, and class and gender expectations. You meet every sort of character you’d expect in a white upper class suburb: the man with the internet sex fetishes, the woman who schedules everything down to the weekly night in bed with her husband, the crazy guy who will go out of his way to try to run the recent neighborhood threat out of the area, the middle-aged guys who try to recapture their youth with violent sports, the retired teachers who get together to discuss classic literature, the old lady who is too poor for the area but has owned her house since before the neighborhood was rich. Every couple has marital problems of varying degrees. Every person has their own issue. No one is as perfect as they pretend to be on the surface.

What I loved about Little Children is that it addressed the subject of oppression in our modern world. It doesn’t seem as if we should be oppressed, with all the conveniences and modern technology we have. And yet, the more we have, the emptier we seem to feel. On the surface, you may look like you have the perfect family and the perfect life, but beneath the surface you are slowly eating away at yourself, plastering on a mask of a smile so that no one sees that you’re drowning. There are couples who can’t connect to each other. Parents who can’t connect with their children. People who can’t connect with anyone around them, so that when the tiniest spark of a connection flares up, they can’t help but be drawn into the flames.

I think everyone knows that feeling of emptiness. Probably everyone has experienced it at one time or another. Maybe it’s the amount of freedoms we have. Maybe it’s our leisure time or our education. Maybe it’s our disconnect from the earth. Maybe it’s our abandonment of religion or faith. Maybe it’s just changing hormones or brain chemistry. There’s all sorts of theories about what causes this hole to open up inside us, but theories don’t change the fact: Many of us feel – or have felt – hollow, aching, and yearning.

This aching oppression was at the heart of Little Children, and it reminded me a lot of The Awakening by Kate Chopin. Of course, The Awakening primarily addressed class and gender expectations for women, while Little Children addresses those expectations in both genders, but still, the similarities were uncanny. The characters spiral further and further out of control in an attempt to repress the feeling of powerlessness in their lives. They want to live, but are subject to a society that tells them they must be automatons. When they break out of the mold – Sarah and Todd’s affair, Sarah’s husband’s internet fetish, Larry’s crazy obsession with the child molester, even the child molester himself – they are crushed by a tidal wave of judgement. Guilt boxes them in. Fear keeps them quiet. Pain snuffs out their little flame.

The book wasn’t perfect. I personally would have preferred more focus on Mary Ann and less on the child molester’s life, simply because I thought Mary Ann’s power-mom lifestyle fit stronger along the themes of the book. But other than that, I loved the book. Unlike with most modern American adult literature, I was not disappointed by pointless sex, vomiting, language/dialogue that didn’t match the characters, or any other grit. The characters were marvelously painted, so real I feel like I know them. There were no happy or tragic endings – just endings. Little Children resonated with me strongly, and I can tell it’s going to stick with me for a long time.

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

And Then There Were None, by Agatha Christie

Posted on May 11, 2010 by Thistle

and-then-there-were-none1Ten strangers with guilty consciences are invited for different reasons out to Indian Island. They don’t expect to be suddenly called out on their crimes, or to begin dying off one by one. Now they’re in a race against time, and no one knows who the madman is that they’re up against.

This is my very first ever Agatha Christie novel. I’ve never been much interested in Christie because I’m not a huge mystery novel fan. However, I read Lula’s review of And Then There Was None, which said that the movie Clue is loosely based on this book. Clue is one of my all-time favorite movies. I first saw it when I was 10 years old, and I’ve watched it hundreds of times since then. I have the movie nearly memorized down to the various noises the characters make, the musical cues, the vocal inflections, etc. Give me a line, or even a few words, from Clue, and I will reel off the next 20 lines, in voice, from the movie. Needless to say, when I heard that this book was the loose basis for Clue, I knew I had to read it. When the Golden Age of Detective Fiction Classics Circuit Tour came up, I knew this was the perfect opportunity.

So, what was my first experience with Christie like? Well, at the very beginning, I was a little disappointed. The writing seemed dry as she introduced each of the characters one by one, and I had a really hard time keeping them all straight. Of course, character confusion is fairly normal at the beginning of a book, especially when so many characters are introduced. Ten seemed a little excessive to me, though. Too much for my brain to take in.

Once everyone was introduced and out on Indian Island, however, the book just took off. I had all sorts of plans the morning that I sat down to read, but instead found myself unable to put the book down for several hours. Christie knows exactly how to hook a reader and keep them reading nonstop! I was very impressed with the amount of tension she built up. I kept trying to figure out who the killer was, using not only my own sleuthing skills (which are none too great) but also my knowledge of Clue. Neither helped me. I had all sorts of wild ideas and none of them panned out. In fact, the only thing I figured out was how the murderer was doing all this, even though I had no idea who he/she was.

I loved the psychological aspect of this book. The mind trip it takes you on. A couple people on Twitter told me this book had scared them, and I’m not sure so much that it scared me as gave me chills and made me slightly paranoid. It’s the sort of book that made me want to look over my shoulder, even though 1) I haven’t committed a crime and 2) I was alone in my house. I just got so into the plot, that I got jumpy. I loved that.

In fact, the only thing I didn’t like about this book was the end. One of the things I find very important about mystery novels is that a reader can catch the clues and figure things out along the way. What I don’t like is when the “how and why” is laid out in a single chapter monologue. That’s a technique I’ve never approved of in any book, mystery or not (for example: the “King’s Cross” chapter in Deathly Hallows). I don’t like info-dumps, and that’s what the end of this book felt like to me. I don’t mind the solution given away at the end. In Clue, for example, the whole thing is wrapped up in the last 20 mins of the film. But it’s unwrapped bit by bit, by multiple characters, using clues from along the way. It’s not a big info-dump. The last chapter of And Then There Were None felt like Christie was saying, “Now that I’ve gotten you all thoroughly confused with this book, let me just tell you the solution.” It was disappointing. The solution itself was awesome. The presentation of the solution – not so hot.

I’m not sure I’m going to read more Christie, simply because, as I said before, I’m not really a mystery sort of person. However, I will keep her in mind for those rare moods when I feel like reading a mystery. She seems to be a master at what she does! I’m glad for the chance to have read this (though I admit, I still like Clue better).

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

Define “Normal,” by Julie Anne Peters

Posted on May 10, 2010 by Thistle

lolAntonia used to be a model student, but her troubled homelife is catching up with her and people are beginning to notice. Jazz is part of the school’s rebellious crowd of punks and goths, and she’s hiding secrets of her own. When the two are paired together for peer counseling, Antonia thinks this will never work. But slowly, the two girls begin to learn more about each other, and even more slowly, they start to form a bond.

I was very pleased to read and review this book with Darren of Bart’s Bookshelf.

***

Amanda: Hi Darren! Thanks again for reading this book with me. This is my third experience with Julie Anne Peters’ work, after Between Mom and Jo and Keeping You a Secret. It’s also my first experience with a book of hers that doesn’t address GLBT issues. How did you like the book? When I started, I wasn’t sure, since it was so different from her other books, plus the characters were so much younger than what I was used to. It took me awhile to warm up to Antonia and Jazz, but once I did, I really enjoyed Define “Normal.”

Darren: Hi Amanda! This is my third experience with Julie Anne Peter’s books as well! Between Mom and Jo – which was of course your fault! 😉 and her short story collection, Grl2Grl. This one felt like a more ‘traditional’ style teenager novel than others I’ve read in recent years, not that that’s a bad thing, but it was a little adjustment I had to make. But once I had I really liked the book. I actually got on with Antonia and Jazz quite quickly, and enjoyed seeing their stories develop. I hate to bring up the ‘Issue’ word, but Julie Anne Peters brings a few to the table with this one, judging people on their appearance, clinical depression, and friendships, how do you think she wove them all together?

Amanda: I agree with you that this is very much an “Issues” book. I think she wove them together well, but I did notice them more here than in her other books, even though they also deal with issues. I think this one was less subtle about the issue treatment maybe? Not that that’s a bad thing, it’s just different. Lots of things felt different for me, actually. At the start of each Peters’ book I’ve read, there’s been this immediately stomach-clench when I can just FEEL that the character’s situation is not going to go well. That was the same here, but what changed for me was the way the climax and ending panned out. All her endings are ambiguous, with some good and some bad, but I felt more hope in this one. More happiness. Unlike with her other books, Define “Normal” didn’t suck the guts out of me and leave me sobbing. I didn’t feel empty and drained when I finished. Again, not a bad thing, just different. How did this one compare, quality-wise, to your other experiences with Peters?

Darren: I tend to prefer it in novels when issues just ‘are’ if you know what I mean, it falls back to the rule of show-not-tell I think, but yeah because the focus was at least partly on the development of the friendship between the two main protagonists it made it work. As for where it falls in among the other books I’ve read by Anne Peter’s I’d say Between Mom and Jo is still by far the better book (because it really is that good) and worked better than the short story collection Grl2Grl, because we were given time to get to know and like the characters. What did you think of the friendship between Antonia and Jazz? While I was never as bookish and staid as Antonia, and my friends didn’t have nearly the attitude of Jazz, I was fairly ‘normal’ and my quite a few of my friends were Goths and dressed accordingly, so I never questioned the validity of their friendship, but it’s quite clearly designed to make the reader question their own prejudices.

Amanda: I was more like Jazz in high school, though not to that extreme, and I had friends like Antonia, also not to that extreme, so I did like that they were able to get over their prejudices and become friends. On the other hand, I thought it was a bit strange for them to have such strong prejudices in the first place. We’re talking 14 year old kids, and kids tend to have less prejudices coming into relationships than adults. It seems like Antonia saw Jazz more like adults would see Jazz, which felt slightly unrealistic to me.

Once I got used to it, and the barriers started breaking down, it was better, but at the beginning I found it a bit jarring. I also was pretty sure from the beginning that things were not the way Antonia saw them, with the whole peer counseling setup. Without spoiling anything, I was pretty sure from the beginning that I knew exactly how things would end. Did you find the book predictable?

Darren: Yeah, but then it set its stall out quite early on, and never tried to be anything other than it was. The interest was in how we got there and I think the author did a decent job of keeping the journey fresh and interesting. Without giving too much away, did you think teacher in charge of the peer counseling programme was being manipulative or just being a good teacher, personally I tend toward him using his skills and judgement, but I can see why the two of them feel manipulated, and it did feel a realistic teenage reaction.

Amanda: Yes, I agree. The situation felt laid out and predictable, but I was still interested in where the story went and how they got to the end. The predictability factor didn’t matter. In the end, it all boiled down to the characters. And I’d agree with you about the teacher. He was smart and he knew both students well enough to know that they could get past their biases to become friends. I think both Jazz and Antonia needed a friend outside their little worlds. A friend that could be there in all ways, instead of in the limited way that, say, Jazz’s punk friends were. I have to admit, that bothered me just a little. I think some of the punk/outsider/goth stereotypes were a played up a tad too much. Maybe it’s because in high school, I was part of a similar crowd, but I get really defensive when I see authors present that stereotype. I’m just glad that Jazz’s friends came through for her (and for Antonia) eventually.

I sound like I’m doing nothing but criticizing this book! I really don’t mean to be. I really enjoyed it. It wasn’t as powerful as the other books by her that I’ve read, but I’m starting to think Peters can do no wrong! She’s a wonderful author and I’m glad I’ve been able to turn so many other bloggers on to her books!

Darren: I think a lot of the possible stereotyping stems more from Jazz’s stubbornness than anything else, and yes it was pleasing to see, them accept the people that Antonia and became (well more who they always were, but you know what I mean). Sometimes, you don’t need an emotional roller-coaster to enjoy a book, it’s just really nice to see nothing more than a friendship develop and prosper, and that is definitely what you get in this one. I really like Peter’s writing and I have to thank you for pushing Mom and Jo so much, so that I picked up a copy and discovered her.

Posted in 2010, Prose, Young Adult | Tagged | Leave a comment

A Certain Slant of Light, by Laura Whitcomb

Posted on May 7, 2010 by Thistle

Certainslant-210-expHelen is Light. She died over a hundred years ago and is now only kept out of a personal hell by clinging to one host after another. Invisible to the people around her, she does nothing but watch and try to inspire each new host to do good things. Then, one day, a student in her current host’s classroom looks at her. Sees her. Speaks to her.

James was also Light, haunting a place rather than a person. Then he saw a boy, Billy Blake, and realized the body was empty. Billy’s spirit – miserable, downtrodden, drug-addled – has simply given up and left the body, so James took his place. Now in this body, he can see other spirits like Helen, and he begins to remember his past. As the two fall in love with each other, James helps Helen to take a body as well, which starts them both on a journey of self-discovery.

This is a strange book that seems to be two books in one. First, there is the story of James and Helen, why they are Light, why they aren’t moving on after death, and how they can get to where they’re supposed to go. Then there’s the story of the lives they’ve taken over. They have no memories of the people they become. James is trying to sort out what happened to Billy’s family – a father in jail, a mother in a coma, a brother who’s raising him – and Helen is dealing with a crushingly-religious household as an only child named Jenny. For awhile, the background of James and Helen’s lives take back burner, and the book addresses the oppressive lives that Billy and Jenny both live in.

Normally a two-toned book like this, changing from one story abruptly to the next and then back again near the end, doesn’t work for me, but this one did. The transitions between the stories were very natural so that I never felt like I was suddenly thrust into a new place. I absolutely loved every minute of this book and I couldn’t put it down, staying up way past my bedtime to finish. I loved both stories equally, and I was completely satisfied with the way both of them ended. Whitcomb drew me fully into this world. The writing is beautiful and the story is so much fun. I really enjoyed it.

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

Protected: Sundays at Tiffany’s, by James Patterson

Posted on May 7, 2010 by Thistle

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The Untelling, by Tayari Jones

Posted on May 6, 2010 by Thistle

book_untellingBIGWhen Aria was a child, her family was ripped apart by a car accident that killed her father and baby sister. The rest of her adolescence was spent with an older sister who just wanted to get away and a disapproving mother who became progressively crazier as time passed. Now, as an adult, Aria lives in a drug-infested neighborhood in Atlanta, working in an outreach program for teen literacy. She wants nothing more than to marry and have a family. Everything seems to be headed that direction. She’s pregnant and her boyfriend has proposed. But then a revelation changes everything.

This book was so beautiful. I didn’t know much about it going in, and I wasn’t sure how much I’d like reading a book that has morning sickness and a neighborhood full of crackheads. Drugs and vomiting…two of my phobias all wrapped up together in the same book. I’m glad I persevered, though. Jones handles both subjects with more tact that I’m used to, and as I got past my fears, I was drawn into Aria’s world.

Having myself grown up in a world where drugs, violence, robbery, teen pregnancy, and school dropouts were the norm, I could really relate to Aria and the people around her. I understood the girls she was teaching, even though their experiences were not my own. It was so genuine, and that sort of voice is, in my experience, very difficult to capture. Often when I read books that deal with this sort of neighborhood, I find them unbelievable, forced, or inaccurate. That really grates on me. The Untelling was nothing like that. It was perfect down to the last detail.

There are many different themes that ride through this book, but the one that touched me the most was the importance of honesty. Lies – no matter how big or small – do nothing but make a situation worse. When the first lie tumbled out of Aria’s lips, I wanted to scream “NO NO NO” at her. I knew, I could see, I could feel, exactly where this was going to go. In children’s books, a series of progressive lies ends with the liar learning why he/she shouldn’t have lied. In the end, everyone forgives him/her. But in the real world, a series of lies ends in pain, the breakup of relationships, and the end of trust. In the real world, lies create a mess that can’t be easily cleaned up.

On a completely different note, The Untelling brought home just how close to my life legalized segregation was. Like most people, I know about segregated schools, theatres, buses, etc. But I was born in 1979 and I never had to live through legal segregation. I spent the first half of my childhood in urban Columbia, SC, where 90% of my classmates were black. I spent the second half of my childhood in west-side San Antonio, were 90% of my classmates were Hispanic. Growing up, I couldn’t even imagine being in a majority-white area, and indeed when I moved to Wisconsin as an adult, I was very uncomfortable with the all-white surroundings. I never felt like I fit in. That makes it hard for me, when I hear about racial discrimination, to take it all in. I think of legal segregation as something dreadful that happened a long, long time ago. It seems too long ago to see it as something more than an abstract horror in our country’s past.

Hearing Aria talk about her parents’ first date in 1962, where they had to sit at the back of the bus and on the balcony at the movie theatre, really brought segregation alive to me in a way no other book, movie, history lesson, etc ever did. 1962. Only 17 years before I was born. I’ve never been good with history. I think of things happening at wildly incorrect times and dates mean very little to me unless they are put in context with things I understand. Hearing about this date from 1962 made me realize just how close segregation came to touching my life, and how much it touched the lives of people only a few years older than me. I’m grateful to understand this better.

One final note about The Untelling. I loved the way Jones handled the subject of gay relationships. There are several gay couples in the book, but the one most prominent is Aria’s boss, Lawrence, and his partner Eric. While Aria accepts them and their love for each other, other characters are not so forgiving and treat them with a contempt that is disgusting, but realistic. What I loved particularly was the fact that the GLBT elements were not a big issue in the book, but they still existed in Aria’s world. Because in truth, there are people who are gay all around us, becoming more and more visible every day. Different people react differently to this, and The Untelling shows all those reactions without judging anyone. Just like the rest of the book, it’s real, it’s accurate, it’s life.

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

An Ideal Husband, by Oscar Wilde

Posted on May 4, 2010 by Thistle

imagesBecause I was so sad that The Importance of Being Earnest ended so quickly, I dove right into a second play of Wilde’s that I hadn’t even planned to read right away. An Ideal Husband was different. It had less comedy and more intrigue – insider trading, blackmail, that sort of thing. While it still had its funny moments and some romance, it seemed altogether a more serious play.

I also saw this as a movie and barely remembered it, right around the same time I saw the movie adaptation of Earnest. Again, this is one I’d like to see live. Wilde does an excellent job of tackling a serious subject with just enough lightness to make it fun as well as interesting.

I love his satire. Every line in both of these plays was so perfect and poised. I loved all the banter about men, women, work, class, dress, etc. All I can say is that Wilde richly deserves the praise that’s been heaped on him! While I didn’t like An Ideal Husband as much as Earnest, it was still a fun read and I can’t wait to read more from Wilde. I’m putting my collection aside for now so I can save some for later – don’t want to read up his entire works at once! I have definitely found another favorite author to add to my list!

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The Importance of Being Earnest, by Oscar Wilde

Posted on May 4, 2010 by Thistle

oscar1I’m not even going to try to describe the plot of this play. It’s a three-act comedy full of mix-ups, mistaken identities, and romance. Absolutely delightful. I laughed and smiled all through it.

The only Oscar Wilde I’ve ever read before is The Picture of Dorian Gray, which I’ve read now three times. I loved it and I’m not sure why I never went out and read his plays! Recently, though, I got a hold of an edition of the complete works of Wilde, including all his stories, poetry, essays, and plays. My book club will be reading The Importance of Being Earnest for June, so I wanted to read it well in advance, to prepare.

I’d heard Wilde was funny, but I didn’t expect to be laughing out loud the whole time. He was hysterical! I absolutely loved this play. It was brilliant. I hope one day I get to see it performed live. I saw the movie years ago and barely remembered it, but the play is so wonderful. I wish it hadn’t been so short! I wanted it to just keep going. This is one I’d highly recommend to anyone!

Posted in 2010, Adult, Drama | Tagged , , , | 1 Comment

Artichoke’s Heart, by Suzanne Supplee

Posted on May 3, 2010 by Thistle

ArtichokesHeartWhen you’re normal-sized, no one cares what you eat; when you’re fat, it’s everybody’s business.

Rosemary Goode is fifteen, five-foot six inches, and almost 200 lbs. Food is her comfort and she eats lots of it, especially the chocolate variety. Exercise is a dirty word to her vocabulary. At school, people bully her. At home, her mother and aunt are as bad as her peers, if not worse in some ways. Rosemary wishes she could lose weight for her health and for looks, but when food is her only friend, she doesn’t know how.

So many of us have struggled with our weight and can understand Rosemary’s struggle. While my personal struggle has been due to infections and medication rather than junk food and overeating, I could still relate to Rosemary and the things she goes through. I understand her fear of mirrors. I can relate to feeling like no one could ever like me or find me attractive. I know what it feels like to have people looking at me when I’m eating as if I don’t deserve to eat because of my weight. Being fat can be embarrassing and demoralizing, especially if people feel the need to point it out to you or give you advice on how to become thinner.

Our culture is so focused on looks, especially with regards to women. Models are starved to ridiculous weights and then airbrushed even smaller in magazines. TV feeds us a standard of beauty that looks like a cross between “third world dying of hunger” and “pre-pubescent girl.” Standing in line at the grocery store, we can see a whole myriad of magazines that tell us how to look thinner, firmer, younger, better. There is no attempt to help us to feel better about ourselves the way we are. Our country suffers from a neurosis that tells us that the only way to be beautiful is to develop an eating disorder. I’m sorry, but unless you have a very specific body type – and few people do – a size 2 on a woman who’s 5ft 6in looks sickly and underfed, not beautiful. And yet, a 5ft 6in model at size 2 is considered almost overweight.

I love books like this. I love books that teach the message that you must learn to love yourself. Sure, Rosemary’s weight and eating habits weren’t at all healthy. She needed to lose weight and learn how to exercise and eat in moderation. But she also needed to learn that just because she was 200 lbs, doesn’t mean no one will ever love her or that she’s a bad person. It’s what’s inside her that counts. I love what a character named Kyle tells her: “When you look at a person’s eyes or her smile, you can’t tell how much she weighs.”

Rosemary’s journey is not the perfect road to self-confidence. The methods she chooses to lose weight range from good (starting an exercise routine) to bad (basically a fiction-world counterpart to Slim Fast) to horrible (self-induced food poisoning). Her reasons for losing weight are not always healthy either – doing it for others instead of herself. But all this stuff is realistic rather than idealistic, which is important to me. This stuff does happen in real life. Look at fad diets out there! Rosemary goes through a mental journey as well as a physical one and eventually learns to curtail bad thinking as well as bad dieting and bad eating. It’s a coming of age story both in mind and body, and I liked that.

The book isn’t perfect. There are way too many vomiting scenes (again), and some of the characters seem almost like caricatures. Most of them grow into real people by the end of the book, though some don’t, like Rosemary’s Aunt Mary. There are also some unrealistic things that Rosemary goes through (like losing 13 lbs in 3 days after the self-induced food poisoning). But for the most part, I really enjoyed Artichoke’s Heart. I really appreciate stories that go against what culture says about beauty and that try to teach women to value themselves instead of their looks.

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