I've never wanted to travel to Alaska as badly as I did after reading this book. The Snow Child is set in 1920s Alaska - before statehood and oil booms, when the government wanted desperately for people to go and settle the seemingly untameable land. And so people did. They went, and they failed, and they returned to the lower 48. But this story is about Jack and Mabel, who ran a farm in Pennsylvania until the weight of their grief over losing and then not being able to bear children became too great. Seeking solitude and a fresh start, Jack and Mabel choose to start a homestead in Alaska.But, well, it's not going very well. Mabel is very depressed, and Jack isn't quite prepared for the ruggedness and the work required to tame the land. So one night, after a fresh snowfall, they are filled with a whimsy and a memory of their early days together and build a snowgirl. They dress her in red mittens and hat and paint her lips with cranberry juice. The next morning, the snowgirl is knocked over and they begin to glimpse a girl in the woods.They eventually befriend the girl, Faina, a wild child who is one with the woods. She disappears in the spring and returns in the winter. Based on a old Russian folktale, the story rides the edge of fantasy and reality. The writing is absolutely fantastic and honestly if it were straightforward it would have been just as good. But it's not entirely straightforward and I appreciate the latitude the author gives the reader in deciding the ultimate fate of the characters. Too say too much else would give away the ending and maybe determine too much that is best left to the imagination.
4/5 Stars.
I picked this Kindle version up when I saw something with Wally Lamb's name on it was only $1.99. I've loved Wally Lamb ever since reading I Know This Much is True in college. Given my surprise when I began reading and discovered it was not a book written by him, but a collection of stories from women incarcerated in York Prison in Connecticut, I was pleased to find I actually enjoyed much of the content of this collection. Lamb gives an excellent introduction for I'll Fly Away, delving into why the writing workshops performed in the prison were important and ultimately successful for many of the inmates. It was sad, but not ultimately surprising, to learn that the State of Connecticut sought to recoup money from the women who had made modest profits from having their work published. While the stories are deeply personal tales from the women themselves, all non-fiction reflections of their lives in and out of prison, the whole collection invokes broader themes of domestic abuse and violence, and the punitive v. rehabilitative aims of mass incarceration in America. Do we want those convicted to be punished for their crime, or do we as a society, benefit more from individuals being rehabilitated and unlikely to offend again? (Did I tip my hand with the way I asked that question?). There is something grossly dehumanizing about numbering and locking people away that I think does damage to both captive and jailer. That's not to say that some people are too violent and damaged in a way that means they should not ever be allowed in society again, but the way in which we house and incarcerate large swaths of our population should be examined. Hearing first hand accounts from these women help to keep them from being mere names and numbers in a sea of inmates, and hopefully helps show their human sides, our shared humanity after all, is a great equalizer.
3/5 Stars.
When a light such as Anthony Bourdain is extinguished too early, there's a desire to revisit his work and try to grasp for just a moment a little bit of that lost light. That is what reading Kitchen Confidential is like, two months after his tragic suicide.
Bourdain was a troubled but gifted young adult who grew, truly grew, to be an influential and curious traveler and culinary mind. In Kitchen Confidential, you can see the beginnings of his later works - No Reservations and Parts Unknown. Through his early stories of personal and financial failure and his burgeoning influence as the Chef of Les Halles, it's just possible to see the thread of the force he would become.
To say he's gone too soon is an understatement. It's a loss for the world at large that this voice of understanding and global fellowship is now silent. The things I enjoyed most about his shows, was his unending curiosity of the people and the culture of whatever location he was visiting, and also his gratitude for the hospitality he was shown. He was un-entitled and warm. In Kitchen Confidential, you see hints of that, especially in the chapter detailing his trip to Tokyo, where he confesses to the ultimate travel sin of McDonalds and Starbucks. ("See, this famous chef is just like me when confronted with strange food!")
I thoroughly enjoyed this book and its look at the inside workings of a kitchen. I am saddened all over again at Bourdain's death. But am thankful for the gifts he gave us along the way.
4.5/5 Stars.
