Tuesday, January 11, 2022

What it's like to vacay in Mada: A list

Pack N Play
High Chairs
Blankets
Lovies
Books
Toys

Medicine: Tylenol, Benadryl, Malaria, Anbesol, Vaseline, desitin, bug spray, sunblock, ibuprofruen, probiotics, dramamine, pepto, epi pens

Chargers for phones
Camera
Charger for Camera
Download wire for Camera
Converter plugs (2)

Sunglasses

Hats for Momma and babies

Saturday, November 6, 2021

Kruse's Keys: Read "American Dirt" to Challenge Your Perspective


American Dirt is a brutal, violent, and necessary novel. Author
Jeanine Cummins holds nothing back as she pulls the reader into the suffering and anguish that propels countless migrants to make the dangerous journey. A padre’s convocation to a group of them at one point encapsulate these dangers:

“If there’s any other place for you to go...go there now...If it’s only a better life you seek, seek it elsewhere...this path is only for people who have no choice, no other option, only violence and misery behind you...everything is working against you, to thwart you. Some of you will fall from the trains. Many will be maimed or injured. Many will die. Many, many of you will be kidnapped, tortured, trafficked, or ransomed. Some will be lucky enough to survive all of that and make it as far as Estados Unidos only to experience the privilege of dying alone in the desert beneath the sun, abandoned by a corrupt coyote, or shot by a narco who doesn’t like the look of you. Every single of you will be robbed. Every one. If you make it El Norte, you will arrive penniless, that’s a guarantee.”


Cummins wisely avoids the political and instead lets her narrative urge (force?) the reader to consider the migrant as an actual person instead of a statistic or political talking point. Depending on your political leanings this may make this story either a very challenging or vindicating read. Either way it’s one that you won’t forget.

See our 2020, 2019, 2018, 2017, 2016, 2015 and 2014 Reading Lists.

Key Quotes and Takeaways:

53 She tugs on the ribbon, which gives way and falls to the floor at her bare feet. Her body feels like an arrow that’s been launched from its bow but hasn’t yet found its target. She’s suspended, arcing, accountable to the laws of gravity. Lydia opens a package from Javier, her once friend and now murderer of her family

74 Instead, his consciousness, like a helium balloon fastened to his person by some taut and fragile string, momentarily floats away. Luca mentally removes himself from the trauma as his mother talks to a family friend as they try to escape Javier.

90 “Now that the thing had been spoken between them and confirmed to be true, all that was left for Lydia was autopsy. What love had been there was already slipping away.” Javier reveals who he is to Lydia.

111 “defined not so much by what she’s made of, but more by the shapes of what she’s missing.” Lydia contemplates her identity in the wake of losing nearly everything.

183 “because of the way beauty begets empathy…” the advantages of beauty.

199 The shared solidarity of the migrants is their mutual suffering, their anguish. Some share it openly, others keep it bottled up like a bomb waiting to detonate.

202 “If there’s any other place for you to go...go there now...If it’s only a better life you seek, seek it elsewhere...this path is only for people who have no choice, no other option, only violence and misery behind you...everything is working against you, to thwart you. Some of you will fall from the trains. Many will be maimed or injured. Many will die. Many, many of you will be kidnapped, tortured, trafficked, or ransomed. Some will be lucky enough to survive all of that and make it as far as Estados Unidos only to experience the privilege of dying alone in the desert beneath the sun, abandoned by a corrupt coyote, or shot by a narco who doesn’t like the look of you. Every single of you will be robbed. Every one. If you make it el norte, you will arrive penniless, that’s a guarantee.

307 Some migrants do the trip every trip multiple times a year because that’s where the work is.

Sunday, January 10, 2021

2021 Reading List

Need book recommendations? Check out all 301 (and counting) books that I've read at Dad's Bookshelf.

Best Books of 2022

2022 Book Stack Overview

This year we moved from Addis Ababa to Naples, Italy. We spent our first 65 days upon arrival in Naples living in a two-bedroom base apartment while we house hunted out in town. It was a tough transition to say the least and we are only now even starting to get into a rhythm. All that to say I didn't do very well taking notes and doing reviews for each book as I read.

Cocktail Hour Under the Tree of Forgetfulness (Zambia)
Emily said she appreciated the story's honesty and eye-opening to both the beauty and sorrow of life. The author shared a unique perspective of a white girl living in Africa during the period of political independence.

When We Believed in Mermaids
Emily liked it.

Taste: My Life Through Food by Stanley Tucci
This is Stanley Tucci's life told against the backdrop of food. It brought to mind another truly great food memoir: Life is Meals by James and Kay Salter (it's my favorite book—by my favorite author—to give as a house warming gift or a thank you after someone hosts a particularly spectacular event). Tucci's writing is rife with self-deprecating humor and gossipy details: who knew he and Ryan Reynolds were buddies?! An added bonus for the reader are the numerous family recipes that he shares throughout.

Let My People Go Surfing: The Education of a Reluctant Businessman
Today everyone knows the name Patagonia and on a cold winter day you can't go too far without seeing the familiar logo on someone's sweater or jacket. But nearly 50 years ago, the global company was just what we'd today call a side hustle—its founder, Yvon Chouinard, focused on making better rock climbing gear that he started selling to enable his hobby and passion. The memoir cum business blueprint's prophetic title speaks to Yvon's quest for freedom as he sought (and continues to seek) to marry a love of the outdoor life with a way (i.e., a business) to fund and preserve that same environment.

The House of Sand and Fog
My daughter bought this National Book Award finalist novel for me at a thrift store and it sat next to my bed for several months. When I finally started it, though, I finished it in days. Author Dubus can flat out write—he describes an aging husband's soaring heart as his wife leads him to the bedroom: "my heart was a flat stone moving over water and my breath was held like the boy counting the skips of his good fortune." Author Dubus unwraps a tension-filled narrative that spans the spectrum of the American dream from the hope and promise of a new immigrant family to the crumbling discord of a marriage and family where the slighted children never emerge from the background...until it is too late. It's a heart-breaking read that I'm reticent to recommend unless you are prepared to carry the story's sadness with you in the days after you finish.

An Italian Education
Published a quarter of a century ago, many of Tim Parks’ observations from An Italian Education still ring true in 2022 Italy. Chocked full of short vignettes that capture a Brit’s experience raising his bi-national children (his wife is Italian) in fair Verona, the book manages to walk the fine line of humor and self-deprecation without veering into snarkiness and offense. As someone who has now lived in Italy for a year, I read Parks’ stories with the satisfaction of a clubby insider as I’ve witnessed first hand the over-indulgent attitudes of parents with their children (usually only one or at the absolute max two) here and daily meet the gaping incomprehension of our five children! My full review is here.

The Long Way Home: Discovering the Fullness of Life in the Father
Pastor Matt Carter uses the biblical story of the prodigal son to grapple with the idea of faith in a broader church community where youth are struggling with depression in record numbers and leaving the church in droves once they reach adulthood. Carter’s central thesis is that as believers we need to taste Jesus’ love in a personal way within an authentic community. The book concludes by highlighting the supreme comfort in knowing that our God isn’t waiting for us on his throne to come groveling back to him when we fall short, but instead he’s out in the field waiting and looking for us from a long way off. My full review is here.

In the Name of Jesus: Reflections on Christian Leadership
Father Henri Nouwen taught for 20 years at Harvard, Notre Dame, and Yale but began to feel his own spiritual death developing (what many Christian leaders may identify as burnout). So he prayed a simple—but very brave—prayer: “Lord, show me where you want me to go and I will follow you, but please be clear and unambiguous about it!” And God called him away from a prestigious teaching career to l’Arche Daybreak—a community in Ontario where people with and without intellectual disabilities live together in homes and do life together. Henri suddenly found himself in a place where only his “vulnerable self” was valued (not his degrees, books, and accomplishments). Henri derived the book from a series of speeches that he gave on what he saw as the future of Christian leadership. Warning: this is not an easy feel-good devotional style book—it is gut-wrenching in its challenge to Christians. My full review is here.

Transcendent Kingdom (Ghana)
In a departure from her grandiose debut novel Homegoing, here the author chooses to focus on the life of one brilliant young scientist and her life as a daughter of Ghanaian immigrants who struggles with her identity as a black woman and as the daughter of a mother struggling with depression and sister of a brother battling addiction. Her identity quest is all filtered through her charismatic religious upbringing—which she left behind following her brother’s tragic overdose. To her credit, Gyasi refrains from both Christian and anti-religious stereotypes and treats both sides with a compassionate eye for detail and nuance. My full review is posted at Beyond Achebe: Reading the Continent here.

Behold the Dreamers (Cameroon)
Excerpt: The novel’s power comes in Imbue’s ability to capture both the strengths and the hollowness of the promise of America. The reader sees the rise and good fortune of Jende as his chauffeur position gives him relative wealth and burgeoning opportunities for his family. As his wife enjoys the fruit of this labor her attitude toward America slowly shifts as does her resolve to stay in the country. My full review is here.

Lion Mountain (Tunisia)
Excerpt: In the story, famed Tunisian author Mustapha Tlili paints a secluded village modeled on Feriana, the home of his youth. It’s an ancient place lost amidst the desert steppes but which has persisted through the centuries--sheltered always under the shoulder of Lion Mountain. He describes “a geography more than physical or human: sacred...In this mystical topography, landmarks determining the rights of each and every individual were perfectly clear.” My full review is here.

The Desert and the Drum (Mauritania)
Excerpt: “From the moment they arrived, the strangers stole something essential from us, without us feeling we had the right to protest.” This comment by the young Bedouin narrator Rayhana encapsulates the modern-day struggle that Mauritanian author Mbarek Ould Beyrouk seeks to describe in The Desert and the Drum. In Rayana’s case, these “strangers” were a mixture of fellow countrymen and foreign investors looking for minerals. The theft in question is not one of gold or ore but of proximity and privacy. My full review is here.

Born a Crime: Stories from a South African Childhood (South Africa)
You may know Trevor Noah as the host of the Daily Show but long before he entered the mainstream he was a derelict kid born to a black Xhosa mother and a white Swiss father—one who appeared colored* to those around him but who was raised in the Xhosa culture.
*In South Africa, the term colored is a self-descriptive and does not carry the same pejorative/racist meaning it does in the U.S.

The Dissent Channel (Sudan/South Sudan)
During a Famous Rivers Africa Group session, we discussed the memoir with the author Lizzy Shackleton. You can read co-founder Fadji's summary of the excellent book here.

The Promise (South Africa)
Excerpt: Of course one isn’t awarded the Booker prize for penning a surface-level story about a white family in South Africa. Rather Galgut has written a soaring multi-decade exposition on the promise of a post-Apartheid South Africa writ large. It’s a story that encompasses South Africa’s promises to its black and coloured people (click here for further background on the use of the word "coloured" in South Africa), the ANC’s promises to its constituency (more on those lapsed promises here), as well as the psychic overstep of whites deigning to keep promises that never should have been had to be made in the first place. In the latter case, the promise (even when well-intentioned) can become more about the giver than the recipient. My full review is published on "Beyond Achebe: Reading the Continent" here.

Missionaries
Excerpt: Reading Marine veteran Phil Klay’s (author of National Book Award-winning short story collection Redeployment) new novel forces readers to step back and consider the “progress” and globalization of American warfare since 9-11. The novel accomplishes this by examining the decades-long Colombian civil war through the converging lives of a weary American war-zone journalist, an American Special Forces Officer, a career Colombian Army officer, and an orphaned Colombian village boy-turned-killer. DoDReads published my full review here.

Homeland Elegies
Excerpt: Pulitzer-winning author Ayad Akhtar charges that America is a “buffer solution” that “keeps things together but always separated” in his unforgettable novel-cum-memoir. DoDReads published my full review here.

Quiet Cadence
Excerpt: The novel’s violence is unrelenting, random, and total. Its first death is a dead body literally flying through the air. Bloodied appendages, spilled guts, burned bodies, sheared limbs—the gore stacks up with each patrol. The reader dreads turning each page knowing it will bring only more pain, more loss. The newly arrived 19-year-old Marine narrator PFC Marty McClure captures the constant terror after one booby-trapped explosion: “Then the panic hit me: Do I have all my parts? Propped on my elbows, I began a terrified inventory, slowly, in no logical order.” DoDReads published my full review here.

Talking to Strangers
Excerpt: As a society we are not equipped to talk to strangers so when things don’t go as expected--we blame the stranger as our immediate reflex. Instead we need to recognize our own limits to decipher and truly understand strangers and instead embrace humility and restraint. DoDReads published my "backpage notes" here.

American Dirt
Excerpt: This is a brutal, violent, and necessary novel. Author Jeanine Cummins holds nothing back as she pulls the reader into the suffering and anguish that propels countless migrants to make the dangerous journey. My full review is here.

Project Hail Mary (Audible)
Martian author Andy Weir returns to outer space with a tale that is equal parts nerdy and hokey as he introduces us to Ryland Grace, a failed scientist and reluctant hero. When scientists discover that the sun is slowly being sapped of its power, Grace finds himself in the middle of a race to save earth (and possibly the universe) from extinction. Hail Mary stands as an ode to the STEM community as Weir doesn’t shy away from the complex math and science required to give earth even the smallest chance for survival. That he’s able to package complex technical information amidst a bracing narrative is a testament to the author’s writing prowess.

I'm Still Here: Black Dignity in a World Made for Whiteness (Audible)
An eye-opening (and heart-opening) look at one woman's experiences growing up and working in "a world make for whiteness." She writes beautifully and with a vulnerability and urgency that asks the reader to wake up and caste aside complacency. “I need a love that is troubled by injustice. A love that is provoked to anger when Black folks, including our children, lie dead in the streets. A love that can no longer be concerned with tone because it is concerned with life. A love that has no tolerance for hate, no excuses for racist decisions, no contentment in the status quo. I need a love that is fierce in its resilience and sacrifice. I need a love that chooses justice.”

Steal Away Home: Charles Spurgeon and Thomas Johnson, Unlikely Friends on the Passage to Freedom (Audible)
An incredible tale of friendship, faith and sacrifice. Charles Spurgeon is, of course, the renowned "prince of preachers." Authors Matt Carter and Aaron Ivey tell the story of his friendship with African-American missionary Thomas Johnson against the backdrop of Spurgeon's own struggles with depression, anxiety and gout.

Raising Up a Generation of Third Culture Kids
While this book is targeted towards parents' raising kids overseas, most of it applies to military families. The author posits that kids growing up as "third culture" (i.e., in a culture that is not the same one as their parents) often end up with enormous amounts of grief/trauma. If this isn't productively processed throughout their formative years they will end up with a "grief tower" that grows and grows until it tumbles once they are young adults in their 20's. We actually went through the author's course/study with friends while living in Addis.

The Happiness Advantage (Audible)
This book was just okay. Save yourself and watch his Ted Talk here. His takeaways are good though and focus on positive psychology and how you can boost your happiness through meditation and focus. “Even the smallest moments of positivity in the workplace can enhance efficiency, motivation, creativity, and productivity.”

How Beautiful We Were (Audible) (Cameroon)
The problem with America is that it makes you dream.
This may well have been the last unspoken dying sigh of Thula—the protagonist in Pen/Faulkner Award-winning author Imbolo Mbue’s second novel How Beautiful We Were (see my review of her terrific debut novel Behold the Dreamers here). The novel brings the macro story of America’s violent clash with the African continent down to the micro, local level as the reader witnesses the village of Kosawa’s multi-generational struggle with the fictional American oil company Pexton. As the story unfolds, however, it’s clear that the outcome is a foregone conclusion. If only Ta-Nehisi Coates were present at Kosawa to echo the same warning he gave to his own son in Between the World and Me (see my review here):

“Here is what I would like for you to know: In America, it is traditional to destroy the black body—it is heritage.”

My full review is posted at Beyond Achebe: Reading the Continent.

The Power
In this novel, author Naomi Alderman imagines a world in which the global patriarchal power structure is a buried memory. The novel unfolds retrospectively as historical research describing the roots of how women came to dominate all facets of society in this future world. The shift comes when women develop a skein across their collarbone that gives them the power to transmit electricity from their fingertips. Any woman with the power can then awaken it in other women. In an instant, women suddenly have the power to shock and kill. Chaos quickly ensues in this dystopian narrative as the world struggles with this new world order.

A Caring Life: How Each of Us Can Change the Trajectory of an UnCaring World
I met author Aaron Santymire during my first embassy tour in Madagascar where he served as a medical missionary. He's spent his entire adult life serving and caring with his family on the African continent and this beautiful book is the accumulated outpouring of his wisdom.

The Fortune Men (Somalia)
"Somalis have got the right idea, you wrong someone and you’re forced to look over your shoulder for the rest of your life unless you make amends. You deal with each other face to face. Only cowards live by prisons and cold hangings.” My key quotes from the book are here.

The Gendarme
Its protagonist is an Ottoman gendarme who slaughtered Armenian men and women during the 1915 genocide. Along the way, he also falls in love with one of the Armenian deportees—a love that remains unconsummated and seemingly unrequited over the course of more than 70 years. In a surprising feat, the author turns an outright villain into an almost-sympathetic old man by giving him a battlefield head injury during the war which wipes out most of his memories. It’s only in his 90’s as he discovers that he has a brain tumor that his memory starts to return in graphic dream-seizures. He’s spent the last 70 years knowing in his guts that he committed some manner of horrific crimes but unable to recall what he actually did. full review is here.

Supernova Era
While not as polished and developed as his later works, I tore through this quick-paced narrative in a two days. The premise is intriguing—a supernova event (I think that's what it is at least—the technical science in the book was way over this English major's head) occurs that kills off the entire adult population in a matter of months. A cycle of hope, order, chaos, war begins as the children harness technology to govern in ways both frightening and eye-opening.

The Anomaly (Audible)
I first heard about this novel in a NYT article that mentioned the now available translation of the book that had enraptured France during the COVID lockdowns. The premise is that there's some sort of time-continuum split where a flight lands with the same people and same plane that had landed months earlier. The narrative follows the lives of various passengers (to include an assassin) and the governments' attempts to deal with the fallout.

Wednesday, November 11, 2020

Kruse's Keys: Read "The Red-Haired Woman" to Explore Father-Son Relationships (Turkey)

The apartment building that we lived in during Covid had a community library of sorts on the garage level. Stocked by the hundreds of residents, the three shelves carried a rotating assortment of fiction, self-help books, partisan political tomes, and biographies. It was there that I picked up The Red-Haired Woman by Orhan Pamuk. I'd heard of this fairly prolific Turkish writer but I'd never read anything by him other than leafing through his well-reviewed Snow at a bookstore once.

On the surface the novel is about a boy serving as a well apprentice in post-WWII Turkey, two possible murders, one case of possible incest, and late 20th century capitalism in the country. These subject cut quite a wide swath, particularly because Pamuk uses them comment on political exile and the deep cutting power of father-son relationships.  

Pamuk uses two myths to frame a narrative which flows quickly--the first you've heard of: the Oedipus tale where the son unknowingly kills his father; the second you likely haven't Ferdawsi's Rustam and Sohrab where the father unknowingly kills his son.  The latter is taken from the epic Persian poem Shahnameh which tells both the mythical and quasi-true history of the Persian empire.  

From the novel's title one might assume the tale is about the enigmatic red-haired woman, however, it's clear she's a mere backdrop by which Pamuk explores the ways in which a father and son can both love and hurt each other and the way this relationship spills over into society at large.  And despite claiming that Snow would be his first and only political novel, its obvious that much of this exploration is also a commentary on the rise of President Erdogan, particularly with the following quote:

t seems we would all like a strong, decisive father telling us what to do and what not to do. Is it because it is so difficult to distinguish what we should and shouldn't do, what is moral and right from what is sinful and wrong? Or is it because we constantly need to be reassured that we are innocent and have not sinned? Is the need for a father always there, or do we feel it only when we are confused, or anguished, when our world is falling apart?"

See our 2020, 2019, 2018, 2017, 2016, 2015 and 2014 Reading Lists.

Key Quotes:
I had wanted to be a writer. But after the events I am about to describe, I studied engineer in geology and became a building contractor. Even So, readers shouldn't conclude from my telling the story now that it is over, that I've put it all behind me. The more I remember, the deeper I fall into it. Perhaps you, too, will follow, lured by the enigma of father and sons.

Their search for lost fathers had cast both Oedipus and Sohrab far from the cities and the lands to which they belonged, into places where, vulnerable to exploitation by their countries' foes, they ended up traitors.  In both stories, loyalty to family, to king, to father, and to dynasty is placed above loyalty to nation, and the protagonists' treasonous predicaments are never emphasized.  




Wednesday, August 12, 2020

Kruse's Keys: Read "Death Be Not Proud" to Appreciate the Value of Life"

The name of this 1949 memoir was taken from the English poet John Donne’s poem of the same title: “Death Be Not Proud.” In it the author and father John Gunther recounts the life and death of his son who passed after a struggle with a malignant brain tumor. Much as Donne pushes back against death’s supposed power, so does Gunther as he celebrates the vitality and beauty of his son Johnny’s life saying that the book’s purpose was for him “to write, as a mournful tribute not only to Johnny but to the power, the wealth, the unconquerable beauty of the human spirit, will, and soul.” The book’s power comes from the author’s keen power of observation coupled with a very measured, controlled level of sentimentality. A good example comes in retrospect as Gunther considers what it means that Johnny is gone: “All the wonderful things in life are so simple that one is not aware of their wonder until they are beyond touch.”

I came across this book by happenstance as an author mentioned it in an article on memoirs. After finishing it in two days, I struggled as to whether I’d recommend it or not--the writing style does come across as a bit dated and it lacks the emotional punch one would expect of a father losing his son. But ultimately, I believe it’s a worthwhile read because Gunther’s aim was not an emotional “punch” but instead a bestowal of an appreciation of life: “To me, it means loving life more, being more aware of life, of one’s fellow human beings, of the earth.”

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.
Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,
And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally
And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.


See our 2020, 2019, 2018, 2017, 2016, 2015 and 2014 Reading Lists.

Key Quotes:

Johnny was as sinless as a sunset.
Page: 49

Probably it was at this juncture that we first became seriously impressed with what little doctors do know.
Page: 49

Johnny did not lose function. He lived almost a year after this, and he did not die like a vegetable. He died like a man, with perfect dignity.
Page: 78

Cancer is a rebellion—a gangster outbreak of misplaced cells.
Page: 85

I have so much to do, and there’s so little time!”
Page: 122

Slowly, very slowly, Johnny stepped out of the mass of his fellows and trod by us, carefully keeping in the exact center of the long aisle, looking neither to the left nor the right, but straight ahead, fixedly, with the white bandage flashing in the light through the high windows, his chin up, carefully, not faltering, steady, but slowly, so very slowly. The applause began and then rose and the applause became a storm, as every single person in the old church became whipped up, tight and tense, to see if he would make it. The applause became a thunder, it rose and soared and banged, when Johnny finally reached the pulpit. Mr. Flynt carefully tried to put the diploma in his right hand, as planned. Firmly Johnny took it from right hand to left, as was proper, and while the whole audience rocked now with release from tension, and was still wildly, thunderously applauding, he passed around to the side and, not seeing us, reached his place among his friends.
Page: 136

He never regained consciousness. He died absolutely without fear, and without pain, and without knowing that he was going to die.
Page: 137

for a brief second, and presently, with infinite depth, very slowly and at spaced intervals, three great quivering gasps came out of him. He had regained color just before; he had some final essential spark of animation; he was still fighting. But now these shatteringly deep breaths, arising from something so deep down that his whole body shook and trembled, told us their irrevocable message.
Page: 137

What is life? It departs covertly. Like a thief Death took him.
Page: 140

There are other criteria for measuring a life as well as its duration— quality, intensity. But for us there is no compensation, except that we can go to him though he cannot come to us. For others, I would say that it was his spirit, and only his spirit, that kept him invincibly alive against such dreadful obstacles for so long—this is the central pith and substance of what I am trying
Page: 140

to write, as a mournful tribute not only to Johnny but to the power, the wealth, the unconquerable beauty of the human spirit, will, and soul.
Page: 141

“He hath outsoared the shadow of our night”—what a gallant soul, and what an unfulfilled promise! The fact that this was to be expected makes it no easier to bear, and I hope that you and Mrs. Gunther know that you have all my deepest sympathy.
Page: 142

“He had the most brilliant promise of any child I have ever known.”
Page: 167

During 1947 Johnny wrote little. One of the last scribbles I have of his handwriting is a note: “Scientists will save us all.” His last letter to his mother is in the text above.
Page: 187

not even the birth of one’s child, brings one so close to life as his death.
Page: 188

wasn’t just dying, of course. He was living and dying and being reborn all at the same time each day. How we loved each day. “It’s been another wonderful day, Mother!” he’d say, as I knelt to kiss him good night.
Page: 188

when one is alone with God, what is left in one’s heart? Just this: I wish we had loved Johnny more.
Page: 189

Everybody who knew him, his friends and teachers at Lincoln, Riverdale, and Deerfield, our neighbors in the country at Madison, felt the warmth of his goodness and its great vitality in him. Yet a single cell, mutating experimentally, killed him.
Page: 194

All the wonderful things in life are so simple that one is not aware of their wonder until they are beyond touch. 
Page: 196

To me, it means loving life more, being more aware of life, of one’s fellow human beings, of the earth.

Saturday, July 25, 2020

Kruse's Keys: Read "Lives Other Than My Own" to Witness the Power of Being "Seen"

One review of this book noted that you begin thinking this book is about one thing and it ends up being about something totally different.  That's an astute observation as the book begins in the aftermath of the 2004 Sri Lanka tsunami and ends in the aftermath of the death of the author's sister-in-law Juliette from cancer at the age of 33.

In this memoir, French author Emmanuel Carrere takes issue with Fitzgerald's well known assertion that "All life is a process of breaking down" as he peers into the life of Juliette, carefully building a picture of her circling journey from tragedy to love to passion and back to tragedy as her cancer returns to deal its final blow.  And while her body was indeed breaking down--she lived her life fully for her children, her husband, and notably for the French people affected by the country's consumer law. 

Yes, consumer law.  Juliette and her fellow judge devoted their lives to fighting against a French legal system that benefited credit card companies at the expense of the poor working class.  Carrere spends much of the memoir exploring the technical aspects of this battle, chronicling Juliette's setbacks and eventual victories.

Perhaps the author's most poignant observations came as he examined his own relationships against the backdrop of cancer and Juliette's battles.  He noted the power and necessity of connection, stating: "And that is the worst of fates: never to have been seen, never to have been acknowledged.”  The people and couples described in "Lives Other Than My Own" all shared a similar triumph amidst tragedy--having been seen--having been loved.

Key References:
The Scorpion Fish by Nicoloas Bouvier.
Plus loin: mais où? by Beatrix Beck
Mars by Fritz Zorn

See our 2020, 2019, 2018, 2017, 2016, 2015 and 2014 Reading Lists.

Key Quotes:

Page: 11 Delphine screamed; Jérôme didn’t. He took Delphine in his arms and hugged her as tightly as he could while she screamed and screamed, and from then on he had only one objective: I can no longer do anything for my daughter, so I will save my wife.

Page: 19 Only yesterday evening they were like us and we like them, but something happened to them and not us, so now we belong to two separate branches of humanity.

Page: 24 To live happily, live hidden, as a French proverb says.

Page: 29 The Scorpion-Fish. I’m reading a chapter that describes Matara as a village of particularly redoubtable sorcerers when I come across this sentence: “If we knew how vulnerable it makes us, we’d never dare to be happy.”

Page: 34 age-spotted hand for my old dick that has served her faithfully for thirty years,

Page: 46 Then do it. You’re in a better position to write it than I am. Philippe looked at me skeptically, but within a year he did do it, and did it well.

Page: 47 It did them good to cry because a man and a woman in love who’d believed each other dead had been reunited. It felt good to see these two look at each other and touch each other with such amazement.

Page: 54 Plus loin: mais où? (Farther Away: But Where?). Leafing through it, I came across a sentence that made me laugh, and I read it aloud to everyone: “A visit always brings pleasure—if not when it begins, then when it ends.”

Page: 68 I remembered Fitzgerald’s famous dictum “All life is a process of breaking down,” and there I had to disagree.

Page: 75 Perhaps, quite simply, the desire to be of help. That’s a motive more mysterious to me than plain perversity.

Page: 78 Juliette and I, we were great judges. * * * That phrase, and the way he said it, caught my attention. In his voice I heard incredible pride, a pride filled with both apprehension and joy. I recognized the uneasiness; I can spot it in others, from the back, in a crowd, in the dark: they are my brothers. But the joy mixed in with it—that took me by surprise. You sensed that the man speaking was anxious, emotional, always straining toward something just out of reach—but that at the same time he already had what he needed, that he was grounded in an unshakable confidence. This confidence sprang not from serenity or wisdom or mastery but from a way of accepting his fear and using it, a way of trembling that made me tremble, too, and understand that something important was happening.

Page: 108 In 1976 a book called Mars, by Fritz Zorn, was published. It made a considerable impression at the time, and I’ve since reread it. Here is how it begins: “I am young, rich, and educated, and I’m unhappy, neurotic, and alone … My upbringing has been middle-class, and my life has been a model of good behavior. Naturally, I also have cancer, which goes without saying if you consider what I just told you.” To Zorn, cancer is both a “disease of the body” that will quite probably soon kill him, although he might also defeat it and survive, and “a disease of the soul,” about which he says simply: “I’m lucky it finally made its move.”

Page: 109 And that is the worst of fates: never to have been seen, never to have been acknowledged.”

Page: 112 The Scorpion-Fish, the Nicolas Bouvier book I was reading in Sri Lanka, ends with another line from Céline: “The worst defeat in everything is to forget, and especially what did you in.”

Page: 159 He didn’t try to make himself look good, or bad, either. He played no role, didn’t care what I thought. He wasn’t proud or ashamed of himself. Consenting to be defenseless gave him great strength.

Page: 171 You’re wrong. You should take more advantage. Don’t fall into that trap, don’t drive yourself crazy playing the cripple who’s pretending not to be handicapped. You need to get clear on this, decide that people owe you these little services, and by the way they do owe them to you, and they’re usually happy to do them, happy because they’re not in your position and because helping you reminds them just how happy they are. You mustn’t resent them for it—if you start that you’ll never see the end of it

Page: 194 I hope you’re not about to die, but if you are, you have work to do. You’ve got to tell yourself this and really believe it: Their lives will not end with me. They can be happy even without me. It’s hard but that’s what you have to do.

Page: 223 what would you say to your girls about Patrice? She was having more and more trouble speaking, but she answered immediately: He was my all. He carried me. She paused, then added, He’s the father I chose for you. You, too: choose in life. You can ask everything of him; he will give you everything you ask for while you’re little, and when you’re grown up, you will choose. She thought a moment, then said, That’s it.

Page: 233 One evening, you remember, the four of us went to the theater in Lyon. Juliette and you, Nathalie and I. We arrived first and were waiting for you in the lobby. We saw you enter downstairs, and you carried her up the grand staircase. She had her arms around your neck, she was smiling, and what was beautiful was that she looked not only happy but proud, incredibly proud, and so did you. Everyone watched you two and stepped aside to let you pass. It really was the knight carrying the princess.

Page: 233 It’s funny, now that you mention it, he said, I’ve always liked that, carrying people … Even as a kid, I carried my younger brother. I’d put the little kids in a wheelbarrow and push them, or I’d hoist them up on my shoulders …

Page: 233 On the train back to Paris, I wondered if there was a formula as simple and right as that—he liked to carry, she had to be carried—to define what bound us together, Hélène and I. I didn’t find one, but thought that one day, perhaps, we would.

Page: 242 I’ve sometimes heard it said that happiness is best understood in retrospect. One thinks: I didn’t realize it at the time, but I was happy. That doesn’t work for me. I was miserable for a long time and quite conscious of it. I love my lot in life now

Tuesday, May 12, 2020

Kruse's Keys: Read "Mrs. Bridge" to See a Woman's Life in Moments


I’d never heard of Evan S. Connell but came across him in the writings of James Salter, who lauded him as one of the note-worthy authors of the 20th century. That brought me to read Mrs. Bridge: the 117 anecdotes of a 1930’s midwest housewife over the decades of her staid, suppressed life. One’s life is the accumulation of moments--the years and decades fade and blur but certain memories persist and these often innocuous details are what Connell captures as Mrs. Bridge raises her children and dutifully fulfills her part in the Kansas City country club set.

With a careful eye and razor sharp bite, Connell captures a period in American history for the well-heeled social strata decades before the sexual revolution, feminism, the Vietnam War, the Civil Rights movement. The reader will see the slowly building revolt bubbling beneath the surface in subtle ways. Take for example when Mrs. Bridge spies a book called “Theory of the Leisure Class” in a bookstore: “She experienced a surge of resentment. For a number of seconds she eyed this book with definite hostility, as though it were alive and conscious of her. She went inside and asked to see the book. With her gloves on it was difficult to turn the pages, so she handed it back to the clerk, thanked him, and with a dissatisfied expression continued to Bancroft’s.” “With her gloves it was difficult to turn the pages”--what an exquisite detail to document--the suppressed wealthy housewife can’t even browse a critique of her social class because she wears gloves when she goes out.


But ultimately, Mrs. Bridge is a story about one woman’s loneliness and the ubiquitous search for love and meaning and identity (after all she’s not even identified by her first name in the book’s title) amidst a life dedicated to outward service to family, husband, and the expectations of her friends. It’s a melancholy story as her children grow older and her husband prioritizes his work: “She was restless and unhappy and would spend hours thinking wistfully of the past, of those years just after her marriage when a day was all too brief.”

Today we’d probably call what she’s experiencing depression as she’s paralyzed with fear of a colorless future:

She spent a great deal of time staring into space, oppressed by the sense that she was waiting. But waiting for what? She did not know. Surely someone would call, someone must be needing her. Yet each day proceeded like the one before. Nothing intense, nothing desperate, ever happened. Time did not move. The home, the city, the nation, and life itself were eternal; still she had a foreboding that one day, without warning and without pity, all the dear, important things would be destroyed. So it was that her thoughts now and then turned deviously deeper, spiraling down and down in search of the final recess, of life more immutable than the life she had bequeathed in the birth of her children.

Perhaps the most fitting line from the novel comes from a conversation between Mrs. Bridge and a Russo-Italian countess who’d lived a life filled with escape, intrigue, and adventure: “To be afraid is, I tell you, Madame, the most terrible thing in the world.” There is a fear in the mundane, the daily repetition, the rising and falling of each day that grows more prevalent in a life void of God, or deep friendships, or abiding love. Connell has realized this fear and imprisoned it in the life of Mrs. Bridge as told in 117 moments.

See our 2020, 2019, 2018, 2017, 2016, 2015 and 2014 Reading Lists.

Key References (for further study):

https://www.theguardian.com/books/2012/oct/02/overlooked-classics-mrs-bridge-evan-s-connell

Key Quotes: 
He spoke of Ruskin and of Robert Ingersoll, and he read to her that evening on the porch, later, some verses from The Rubáiyát
Location: 124

This was the night Mrs. Bridge concluded that while marriage might be an equitable affair, love itself was not.
Location: 272

“You should say the cleaning ‘woman.’ A lady is someone like Mrs. Arlen or Mrs. Montgomery.”
Location: 630

feel like those bells,” said Grace. “Why are they turning around, India? Why? Because the candle has been lighted. What I want to say is—oh, I don’t know. It’s just that the orbit is so small.”
Location: 1,248

“There was a young maid from Madras, who had a magnificent ass; not rounded and pink, as you probably think—it was gray, had long ears, and ate grass.”
Location: 1,259

She was restless and unhappy and would spend hours thinking wistfully of the past, of those years just after her marriage when a day was all too brief.
Location: 1,263

Theory of the Leisure Class. She experienced a surge of resentment. For a number of seconds she eyed this book with definite hostility, as though it were alive and conscious of her. She went inside and asked to see the book. With her gloves on it was difficult to turn the pages, so she handed it back to the clerk, thanked him, and with a dissatisfied expression continued to Bancroft’s.
Location: 1,291

This book came to her like an olive branch. It assured her of God’s love for man, of man’s love of God: in the ever-lengthening shadow of Hitler and Mussolini her faith was restored, and the comfortable meditations of her minister found lodging.
Location: 1,416

She spent a great deal of time staring into space, oppressed by the sense that she was waiting. But waiting for what? She did not know. Surely someone would call, someone must be needing her. Yet each day proceeded like the one before. Nothing intense, nothing desperate, ever happened. Time did not move. The home, the city, the nation, and life itself were eternal; still she had a foreboding that one day, without warning and without pity, all the dear, important things would be destroyed. So it was that her thoughts now and then turned deviously deeper, spiraling down and down in search of the final recess, of life more immutable than the life she had bequeathed in the birth of her children.
Location: 1,452

“To be afraid is, I tell you, Madame, the most terrible thing in the world.”Location: 2,092

Once on the train Ruth kicked off her shoes and curled up in the seat. She unsnapped the catch of her traveling bag and reached in for a copy of Theatre Arts but felt a strange envelope. She knew immediately what it was—it was called a “train letter,” and a generation or so ago they were given to young people who were leaving home for the first time.
Location: 2,173
She had been brought up to believe without question that when a woman married she was married for the rest of her life and was meant to remain with her husband wherever he was, and under all circumstances, unless he directed her otherwise. She wished he would not be so obstinate; she wished he would behave like everyone else, but she was not particularly frightened. For nearly a quarter of a century she had done as he told her, and what he had said would happen had indeed come to pass, and what he had said would not occur had not occurred. Why, then, should she not believe him now?

Location: 2,505
it true the Italian women get awfully heavy?” “Yes, we saw some who were positively enormous. I suppose it’s from eating so much starch.”

Location: 2,660
The girl was a gypsy-looking business with stringy black uncombed hair, hairy brown arms jingling with bracelets, and glittering mascaraed eyes in which there was a look of deadly experience.
Location: 2,894
With Ruth gone and with Carolyn at home only an occasional week end, with Mr. Bridge continuing to spend long hours at the office, and with Douglas appearing only for meals, Mrs. Bridge found the days growing interminable; she could not remember when a day had seemed so long since the infinite hours of childhood, and so she began casting about rueful and disconsolate for some way to occupy the time. There were mornings when she lay in bed wide awake until noon, afraid to get up because there was nothing to do. She knew Harriet would take care of ordering the groceries, Harriet would take care of everything. Harriet somehow was running the house and Mrs. Bridge had the dismal sensation of knowing that she, herself, could leave town for a week and perhaps no one would get overly excited. At breakfast—lunch if she chose to call it so—she would consider the newspaper with sober apathy, sighing at the events in Europe, lethargically eating whatever Harriet prepared—toast and orange juice, chipped beef and cinnamon rolls, fruit salad, bacon and tomato sandwich, a dish of sherbet; whatever it happened to be Mrs. Bridge would eat some of it though it seemed tasteless. Summer had come again, another summer, another year.
Location: 2,912
Could she explain how the leisure of her life—that exquisite idleness he had created by giving her everything—was driving her insane?

Location: 2,967
have always observed a singular accord between super-celestial ideas and subterranean behavior.

Location: 2,971
Over the wisdom of Montaigne she brooded, eventually reaching the conclusion that if super-celestial ideas were necessarily accompanied by subterranean behavior it might be better to forego them both.

Location: 3,315
“Have you ever felt like those people in the Grimm fairy tale—the ones who were all hollowed out in the back?”

Location: 3,512
But the pictures to which she returned most often for her own pleasure were those of her family: they evoked what she had known most intimately, and all she had loved most profoundly.
Location: 3,569
Son of the Morning Star, his extraordinary narrative and rumination on George Armstrong Custer and the Battle of the Little Big Horn, and the marvelous account of the Crusades, Deus Lo Volt, that should have been a bestseller, but he has remained a somewhat isolate figure, despite his singular novels and stories, monastic and less known than writers who are his inferiors. “Rejection and lost illusions” he once summarized his experiences as a writer, but he also has had courage and endurance. The illusions may remain lost, but in view of the fifty years during which countless other books, applauded at the time, have faded or disappeared and Mrs. Bridge continues to be read—rejection must be considered an exaggeration.