NOTE:  I wish I knew how to line up pictures on word press

I found this book fascinating, creepy, horrific, and historical – all in one.   It’s two stories actually, intertwined — both well researched and cited. One portion of the book centers on the creation of the Chicago World’s Fair of 1893 and John Burnham, the chief architect. The book showcases the rise of modern architecture as we know it and outlines all the pitfalls, difficulties and ego-centric problems that an endeavor of this huge magnitude entails. The author writes this portion of the book in a way that is technically precise, but not boring – although I might be biased as I lived in the area for many years and just loved hearing about the city of Chicago and how it grew.  This fair brought about changes in how we view cities which are still with us today.  Burnham wanted to create some big and he certainly did; the landscapers and designers also collaborated to out-Eiffel, the Eiffel Tower and the World’s Fair that had recently been held in Paris, but you’ll have to read the book to see if they succeeded or not.  In any case, Burnham’s architectural style is to this day revered by the American School of Architecture and copied world wide.  Many of his buildings, such as the Union Station in Washington DC, the Burnham Hotel in Chicago and the Flat Iron Building in New York City – are still standing.  Any many of his ideas are used all over the United States.  Technology, commerce, education were proactively pursued for the first time.  The pledge of Allegiance was coined, hamburgers were invented, as well as Shredded Wheat, Cream of Wheat,  Pabst Beer, Aunt Jemima syrup, and Juicy Fruit gum.  DisneyWorld was highly influenced by the Fair, of Allegiance to hamburgers and Disney World.

As far as innovations brought about by the World’s Fair – the incandescent light bulb

Daniel Burnham

Chicago World's Fair 1893

the Administration Building

 

The City of Chicago a few years earlier in 1871

above, The Lagoon

The first Ferris Wheel ever built

The other portion of the book deals with a notorious serial killer who went by the name of H. H. Holmes. He operated his gruesome “hobby” at the same time that Burnham’s group was creating a masterpiece. The true crime section is riveting and kept me up way past my sleep time.  Holmes was an astute con man, handsome, gracious and charming; and he flew under the radar for many years.  He wooed his victims into believing he was a kind and generous man, but inside he was evil incarnate.  He devised absolutely horrific methods of disposing of the bodies and the evidence, and seemed to be completely at ease with his passion.  At a time when crime in Chicago was 4 times what it is today (and with a much smaller population) the Chicago police had their hands full just patrolling the area surrounding the World’s Fair.  The poor women who were lured into Holmes’ clutches never stood a chance.

To me a good book leads to great discussion and further reading — I totally enjoyed looking for images of the buildings created by the architects of the time, and furthering my reading on the creation of cities, as well as looking for additional information and images of H. H. Holmes, his “castle” and his victims.

H. H. holmes

 

Holmes' Murder Castle - the building where he committed many of his crimes

Two of his youngest victims, Alice and Howard Pietzel

 

This book was my introduction to Edith Wharton. I’ve seen the movies based on her books, but had never picked one up to read. Well, I’m not sure I’m going to pick up another one. I realize that this particular book has been lauded as her “masterpiece” and at the time it was written, when the social mores were part of the social make up of the readers, it might have been. In today’s world, what the author takes for granted, I had to really think about. The times, the constraints, the culture she writes about is so foreign that it seems like the book was written in the 19th C, rather than in the 20th. My Dad was a young man when this book was written, his mother (my grandmother) a divorcee who remarried. Their lives, were so different that there was a disconnect for me. The plot, the diaglo and the characters seemed one-dimensional and stiff, a bit flat.

Ethan nursed his father and then his mother, giving up his youth and his dreams of going to the university and leaving his small town, until his parents died. He farms a land which barely provides subsistence living, and marries Zenobia. She is a hypochondriac, manipulative, cold, distant woman and together they live a dull, unbearable life until Mattie, Zennie’s cousin,comes to live with them and brightens up their lives, or at least Ethan’s.
The book is tragic, sad and the characters seem to just take their destinies in stride without any ability to do what it takes to make changes. I wanted to slap all three of them, as well as the friends and neighbors who seemed immune to their suffering.

OK – I lied. Bad Dog Bad Dog would have made a better title. Early Sunday morning the synchronized pooches needed to go out. Synchronized, you ask? Yes. When one just has to go out, the other one does too. One poops, and so does the other.

So, back to my story. George (my DH) leaned over to put the leash on Cheyanne and Boomer bumped him in the knees and Cheyenne took off with no looking back and no regrets. Boomer, of course, took off after her and no amount of screaming, yelling, begging and pleading brought them back. They were off to discover hidden rabbit hang outs, get rid of the entire Minnesota squirrel population and run through the creek at the bottom of our ravine. An hour went by and nor sight nor sound of these two, so I grabbed my car keys and went looking. Since I live close to a fast street, I had visions of finding them splattered on the road, agonizing in pain and of me picking up their limp bodies and holding them in my arms as they looked at me to save them. No such luck. They were nowhere to be found. I drove up the road down the road, in one subdivision and out another, over to the corn fields and back through the soy fields with no luck whatsoever. After an hour of driving around calling them, I went home, and heard a tinkle. A very faint tinkle. I called and I called and lo and behold the tinkle sound got stronger – Boomer’s tags were tinkling! And with that they were home. I could have cried to see them with every inch of their bodies covered in burrs, but instead of crying I got the camera, a whole bunch of towels and a pail of warm water and got to work!!!

MISS CHEYENNE

.
Clean girl

Pretty boy

The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo by Stieg Larsson

My rating: 5 of 5 stars
This isn’t my favorite genre – thriller/mystery. I wasn’t sure if I was going to like it, but it had received so many rave reviews that when we voted to read this book for book club, I thought I’d give it my best shot. I must admit that after 25 pages I was rolling my eyes wondering what all the hoopla was about; by page 35 I realized that I had to reread most of it more carefully because I had zoned out.

And then all hell broke loose. I spent every spare minute of the next few days engrossed in this novel. I found the whole thing fascinating, the characters believable if not likable and the plot with all the twists and turns, not one easily figured out. The two main characters, Lisbeth and Mikael are very different but brought together to work on a case. Mikael is a journalist whose name is mud; he’s a decent guy who reported on the wrong person and got into a bit of trouble. He gets an offer to ghost write the history of what must be Sweden’s most dysfunctional family with a caveat – that he research the disappearance of the patriarch’s niece; a case over 40 years old. He reluctantly agrees and is soon drawn in to the inner secrets, awful truths, secrets, quirks and anomalies of this family. Mikael needs the help of a top notch assistant and Lisbeth comes into the picture with her not-quite-all-legal, but highly useful skills, piercings, tattoos and unusual demeanor.

So there is a mystery, and it does get thrilling; but underneath all this are two underlying themes: Corporate greed and the hatred of women – two separate issues. The vulnerability of women throughout the book is compelling, as are the statistics which start out each part of the book. Scary stuff and very sad in this day and age to read about the violence against women in Sweden.

One other part of this book that I really enjoyed is the ending – and no spoilers here. The author opens up quite a few different possibilities but doesn’t lead you incessantly towards one, only to bait and switch at the end. You follow the investigators on their journey hand in hand with some suspicions here and there, but it’s not as though there’s a huge surprise culprit at the end. It’s logical, it makes sense and the action leads up to it.

Can’t wait to read the next book in the series.

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I was fully prepared to go to battle with this book. I knew it was about a Catholic kid who found a mentor in a Benedictine (Catholic) monk.

I don’t like Catholics, I don’t like Benedictines and I don’t like monks.  

I have to go back a few years. I was in a Methodist church. I had read some very good reviews on this book. I was less cynical. I started to read it and found out that our pastor had just finished it and loved it.   That same week, I left the Methodist church in disgust, not so much with the church, but with the two pastors who represented it.  I was disillusioned with both of my  pastors, with churches, religion and God.   Consequently I didn’t want to read the book that my pastor had recommended and  I put the book down and stuffed it onto my sagging bookshelves to sit and stew for a while.   Now, three years later, I picked it up ready to hate it. I had paper and pen in hand to write down all my rebuttals to this “God book;”  but somehow, along the way, I was drawn into the writing. This is a language lover’s dream of a book. And the story ain’t half bad either.

Tony, as a young kid, meets this monk sequestered in an old Benedictine monastery in England. He fully expects to be chastised and lectured on his behavior, but instead he is received warmly and listened to. And so begins the first of many meetings with a man who would become closer than his own father. As Tony grows and wanders through life, Father Joe is always there, whether front and center, or in the back of Tony’s mind, tucked away for future reference. His insight, his ability to cut to the chase, to peel off layers of glitz and theoutside world to bring Tony to pare down his thoughts to the medulla – is frankly remarkable.

A couple of favorite quotes:

[Father Joe talking]

Father Joe

“You see, dear—I think there are two types of people in the world. Those who divide the world up into two kinds of people… and those who don’t.” Love it. Love it.

A rather long quote, but well worth the read and the re-read:

“Without God, people find it very hard to know who they are or why they exist. But if others pay attention to them, praise them, write about them, discuss them, they think they’ve found the answers to both questions.”

“If they don’t believe in God, you can’t blame them.”

“True, dear. But it still makes for an empty, unhappy person. I’m sure Mrs. Thatcher wasn’t always the way she is. As she came to power and got more and more attention, she began to be more and more what people wanted her to be. But that’s not the true Mrs. Thatcher. The Mrs. Thatcher God wants her to be.”

Tony Hendra

“I’m not sure Mrs. Thatcher would see the distinction you do between herself and God.”

At least I got a smile out of him.

“Are you saying, Father Joe, that in the matter of motives, or even morally, there’s not ultimately much difference between me and my targets?”

I’m afraid not, dear. If the result is that you only have a personality other people shape. If you really exist only in other people’s minds.”

“I think you’ve just described celebrity.”

“I’ve just described pride, dear.”

Big Russ and Me: Father and Son–Lessons of Life by Tim Russert

I have to preface this by saying that I was a huge Tim Russert fan.  Timmy Russert as he was called  at my house was king of the political interview and Sunday morning’s Meet the Press. I liked him, his interview tactics and his ebullient down to earth personality. I miss him, and mourned his early passing.

OK, so on to the book. This was a mixed bag for me. I found it to be sweet to the point of sugar coated, and light to the point of being superficial, it glanced over way too many subjects that should have been dealt with in a more serious and complete manner. On the other hand, I found myself tearing up over the absolute love and affection he felt for his father; it showed in every way possible that this man had not so much a close relationship, but a deep love for this hard working, uneducated, highly moral man. But the flip side of that coin, is that I don’t think his mother is mentioned 5 times in the entire book, I think if he had had a kind housekeeper there would have been more mention. Even though his father worked 2 and 3 jobs through Tim’s childhood, and by association, the kids must have spent a lot of time under mom’s care and tutelage, she’s just not mentioned. His two sisters are barely mentioned as well. Now I realize that the name of the book is not Big Russ, Mom and my sisters and Me, but come on! If there was a problem, it wasn’t mentioned – so was she “mommie dearest”?

This is where Tim Russert shined!

And then, his Catholic school upbringing. Tim made it sound all wonderful. I too went to Catholic School, and it was anything but wonderful. Most of the nuns were clueless as to real life, there were a couple who were cruel and bitter and old and shouldn’t have been in a classroom. Didn’t Tim encounter one of these nuns? Or were they just all sent to my school? And what about the priests? He went to school in the 1960’s in the heyday of the clergy molesting altar boys – it was glanced over very superficially.

What I did like was the ending, the letter to his son. Beautiful, heartfelt and genuine and made me shed a tear again. I will always have a soft spot for Timmy Russert and we miss his political commentary which was so much on the money – but I can’t say I’ll remember reading this one fondly!

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One foot on firm ground, the other stuck in the mud and trying desperately to pull it out. This is how I thought of Elaine’s experience as a Chinese immigrant in the US. Born in Hong Kong to Chinese parents, she describes an early childhood of learning her multiplication tables by the age of 4, of knowing her place in society and living by a routine set by mother. Chewing on chicken bones and walking to the market teaming with people, smells, sights and bright lights were the highlights of her days – until father left Hong Kong to seek a better life in the United States. Living in a 10×10 room, in a house with 20 other people sharing cooking facilities, the bathroom and fighting for water on the days it was issued, she never had toys, lived in crowded, poor conditions, but was still a seemingly happy little girl.

As they arrive in the US and settle in to life in the basement of Aunt Becky, Elaine takes on a new American name and tries desperately to fit in to her new surroundings and school. Her mother imposes strict, harsh Chinese cultural rules which seem absurd to an American, but not to Elaine’s mother. She shouts, hits, and puts her down on a daily basis. On top of this at school, she is accosted by racists, bullies and uncaring teachers. This is where her story, at least to me, seems to fall apart. In the third grade, she becomes the target of a very mean, very crass 3^rd grade girl who calls her all sorts of names and tries to pick fights with her. My problem with this is that a third grader is 8 years old and these kids were talking in a language that 8 years olds aren’t familiar with. Even the poorest, the most uneducated 8 year olds don’t speak like that, or act like that for that matter. And even if they did, the target kids would not understand the meaning of their words. So that hit me the wrong way.

Later on, as I continued to read, I felt a certain affinity for Elaine. I myself came to this country as a one year old, and while English was not a problem, Spanish was spoken often at home and my house was “different” from everyone else’s for a number of different cultural reasons. When I was 11 years old, I had forgotten all my Spanish, was 100% American and at that point we moved back to South America and I went through the integration process again. So I did relate to many of Elaine’s issues. The clothing – for her, she wore the same thing everyday, and nothing stylish. For me, it was wearing prissy clothes, clothes that a 30-something would wear, not a 12 year old. Elaine was too petite in a world of Amazonian women, I was a lily white Amazonian in a world of petite, tanned women. But as Elaine continued to try to fit into this world, her parents made no effort to assimilate and relations became stressed beyond the comprehension of a young girl. She became bolder, ruder, and more miserable. Her degree of rebelliousness was fairly high, and as I read I recognized some of the symptoms that I went through. Hating my mother, being horribly embarrassed by her, wishing I had been born to someone else – hanging out with a family I liked better. But as I grew I reflected, I began to understand where my parents came from. I still became independent and moved 5,000 miles away. But I never ceased to love them.

And therein lies the real tragedy of this very sad memoir. As poignant and well written, as illustrative of the dilemma of dual cultures, it is unforgiving. She never stops to explain her parents; she never tries to love them. She seems to be a self indulgent, proud young lady, very secure in her ability to achieve knowledge, get good grades and enter Harvard. But all the book knowledge in the world will never teach her to love, for forgive, to understand. As she does not explain why her parents immigrated to America, what they expected from this country, you get the feeling that this is unimportant to her. She never explores her parents’ dreams, their hopes and emotions, only their reactions to her achievements or misbehaviors.

So the book was eloquent, it held my interest, it was well written. But the book (and Elaine herself) missed a chapter. As she got older I kept waiting for a chapter of reflexion, of growth, and this did not happen. The book ended abruptly when she entered Harvard. I was hoping for a chapter that said, “Once I entered Harvard and could step away from the daily grind of living with my parents I began to understand how their culture, this lack of education, their exhaustion from non-stop work, their anxiety, had shaped not only their lives but mine. And while I will never be that close to them, I love them and want to ease their lives in the future.” Never mind. That paragraph is not a part of the book. In the end, Elaine seems to be a self indulgent, self concerned young woman. Perhaps a few years under her belt and a couple of kids will help her to understand her own parents. One can only hope.

The Pianist: The Extraordinary True Story of One Man’s Survival in Warsaw, 1939-1944

This is a work of intensity like few others that I have read about the Holocaust. The memoir was written a scant 2 years after the liberation of Poland, the wounds were still fresh, but the writing is cold and detached. The remarkable aspect is that this same detachment allows the reader to understand the brutality and severity of the Nazis in Poland. Wladyslaw Szpilman was a Polish pianist who lived with his mother, father, 2 sisters and brother in Warsaw at the time of the war. As the Germans occupied the city and tightened their grip on the Jews, the sentiments went from hopefulness to hopelessness, from coping to surviving the ghetto. As Szpilman saw his entire family taken off in a convoy to most probable death, he, through hook and crook, through luck and gut instinct saves his neck over and over again to survive the war. During those years Szpilman recounts the gruesome murders, the alliances, the betrayals, his feelings of defeat, of fright, of knowing the end was knocking at his door, with such feeling, written in a manner that is unforgettable. How he was able to endure, having made himself a noose to hang himself rather than fall into the hands of the Nazis; see a elderly man thrown out of a window while still in his chair, falling to his death because he was unable to stand in front of the SS – how he did not lose his mind in remarkable. Towards the end of the war the person who perhaps saves his life, and his belief in humanity is none other than a Nazi officer.   This stuff would not have passed muster had the book been a work of fiction.

Toward the end of the book, there is a diary which belonged to the Nazi Captain who actually acted in a humane manner towards Szpilman.  In it, he questions over and over how a human being, born innocent and pure, can turn into the brutal, heartless, savage killer that the Nazis became. He blames it on Godlessness, on the lack of religion on these peoples’ lives.  I disagree.   The Protestants and the Catholics, clergy and lay men and women – looked the other way until they were up to their necks in brutality.  These people justified their actions, and allowed the mob mentality to dominate their thoughts and I sincerely feel that unfortunately it could easily happen again – religion or no religion.  In fact, sometimes the most religious among us are the ones who most happily suppress another race.

The Last Madam: A Life in the New Orleans Underworld by Christine Wiltz

My rating: 3 of 5 stars
I don’t have a whole lot to say about this book. It’s the biography of Norma Patterson, one of the most famous Madams of New Orleans. She started out as a hooker at age 14 and before she was 20, she had opened her own place. She was gritty, street savvy, a bit of a celebrity around town, and a very lonely woman.

My issue with this particular book is the writing. The author goes from pages upon pages of facts, dates and names – mostly of cops, thugs, city officials, payouts, dirty money and the such – to choppy narratives. On top of that, there were at least 6 instances of pages being out of order, so as I got to the end of a page and the end of a sentence, I turned the page to find myself in the middle of a paragraph from a different chapter. I have no idea how that happened but it was irritating.

In the end I felt like a somewhat knew Norma, but not her 5 husbands, I knew a little about a lot of her “girls” but not enough about any one of them. The book had funny vignettes, but it needed a bit more focus and a savvy editor.

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The 19th Wife: A Novel by David Ebershoff

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

In this book, the author intertwines the historical beginnings of the Mormon church or Church of Latter Day Saints with the current consequences of polygamy, and he does so very well. Ann Eliza is Brigham’s wife #19, and she is a questioner – which was very rare at that time. She got the short end of the religious stick on more than one occasion, and this lead her become her own person and question not only her beliefs but the motives behind this unusual religion. The factual history of Brigham Young, her one-time husband, is also fascinating.

Fast forward to current times and BeckyLyn Scott has been accused of shooting her husband to death. BeckyLyn was known as the 19th wife. Her son, kicked out of the FirstLDS and dropped off alone on a highway years earlier, hears about this and returns to see his mom. Although still a teenager, he’s been through a lot and questions the Firsts, the Mormons and most religions along the way. He feels his mom was not capable of shooting her husband because of her deep-rooted and unbendable beliefs.

Both stories are compelling in their own way. It’s very difficult to understand current day polygamists without understanding their history.
Why would a woman stay in a marriage when she has been shoved aside by newer and younger wives, over and over again? To figure it out, you have to go back to the teachings of the original church, and to what is left of it now. Their celestial marriages, their sacred underwear, their concept of heaven, of Gentiles and Mormons, of obedience to men. It’s complicated and fascinating subject at the same time.

NOTE: I read with interest a somewhat negative comment about this book.  The author of the comment felt that the book was diminished because of the curse words used and the abundance of sexual references. Here’s what I think: You can’t write a book and keep it real without them. I have 3 boys, that’s how they talk. While they wouldn’t dream of dropping the F bomb in my presence, they use it liberally among their friends. Jordan, Tom and Johnny would have been plastic characters had their language not been colorful. As for the sex: that’s such a big part of polygamy that there is no way it could be kept out of this book. It’s about sexual gratification, sexual repression, sexual manipulation, sexual everything. In no way did I find it salacious or superfluous. It was just part of a larger story.

As a companion to this book, I highly recommend: Under the Banner of Heaven: A Story of Violent Faith by Jon Krakauer – a non fiction history of the Saints and

Daughter of the Saints: Growing Up In Polygamy by Dorothy Allred Solomon about escaping the lifestyle

Both are compelling books and great complements to this one.

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