Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoyevski

I listened to this as an audiobook so first a little word about audiobooks. Normally I'm okay with with them but in this case I had a lil' problem with the voice of the narrator. I realize it's probably a challenge matching voice to book, but when the narrator is a man and has to read dialogue involving a woman, especially dramatic dialogue as is the case here, it all just comes across as drag-queenish. This serious masculine voice getting all high-pitched was just too funny! *ahem* not really in keeping with the intended mood, methinks. I have a feeling Dostoyevsky meant for this book to be read quietly to oneself. Personally I agree. But how else can one read a book and go for a power walk at the same time? Such a 21st Century dilemma.

Anywhoo . . .

My penchant for dark and weighty subjects and my recent quest to read some of the literary classics that I avoided, shunned, was overwhelmed by, missed out on in my youth, brought me to this historical tome. Yes, it's gritty and depressing but there's all sorts of cool psychology going on in this story: criminal behavior, guilt, hope, relationships, redemption. Human nature is such a weird and interesting thing, isn't it?

Towards the end of the story, our guy Raskolnikov has a run-in with the chief of police, Profiry Petrovich. The dialogue between them is chilling because you know that Profiry knows that Raskinlnikov is the killer without Profiry actually coming out and saying as much. All he does is allude to the connection in a suppose-this-and-that-were-true-but-totally-hypothetical sort of way. And this drives Raskolnikov absolutely batty. Poor guy. He figures he could just kill a couple of people and be cool with it because he feels he's *superior* to the common folk who suffer from such pedestrian things as guilty consciences. But no. Raskolnikov discovers that it's not that easy being cool. He ties himself in knots trying to get out from under his own baffling guilty conscience so that by the end of the book he owns up to the crime and goes to jail just to feel better . . . and get the girl.

White Oleander by Janet Fitch *Did Not Finish*

Not only did I not finish this book but it could be argued that I didn't even read the book since I didn't get passed the first ten pages. It was, I tell you, metaphor and simile hell.

Already in the first paragraph we have . . .

"The Santa Anas blew in hot from the desert, shriveling the last of the spring grass into whiskers of pale straw. Only the oleanders thrived, their delicate poisonous blooms, their dagger green leaves. We could not sleep in the hot dry nights, my mother and I. I woke up at midnight to find her bed empty. I climbed to the roof and easily spotted her blond hair like a white flame in the light of a three-quarter moon."

And then a few sentences later we have . . .

"I sat next to her, and we stared out at the city that hummed and glittered like a computer chip deep in some unknowable machine, holding its secret like a poker hand."

Oh golly.

"I rested my head on her leg. She smelled like violets"

Gah! The first page is barely over and my left eye is already twitching

" . . . eucalyptus trees burst into flame like giant candles . . . "

" . . . undetectable as a landmine."

" . . . her hair the color of new snow against her lightly tanned skin."

" . . . lingering like an unspoken hope . . . "

" . . . it smelled of wood and green tea."

Okay! Stop! Enough with the poetic flourishes! And this was only the first few pages; by the end of chapter one I just couldn't go on. Don't authors and editors realize that too many comparisons give their readers a headache? Why, it says so right there on page 80 of Strunk and White's The Elements of Style "The simile is a common device and a useful one, but similes coming in rapid fire, one right on top of the other, are more distracting than illuminating. Readers need time to catch their breath; they can't be expected to compare everything with something else, and no relief in sight."

'nuff said.

Dispatches from the Edge by Anderson Cooper

Dispatches From The Edge by Anderson Cooper is one of those memoirs a homebody like me loves to read to see what makes other people tick. Here is a fellow dropping in on disasters around the world, dodging bullets, floods and riots, to bring us the headlines. A fascinating read for anyone who wants to know what happens when the cameras are not rolling.

I Am not Myself These Days by Josh Kilmer-Purcell

I just realized that I am a big fan of gay male authors, at least the Augusten Burroughs, David Sedaris's, David Rakoffs, and now Josh Kilmer-Purcells of the world. I don't know how they do it but these guys put together some of the funniest, most touching, sad and ironic memoirs I've ever come across. Their writing is so clear and tangible that I am absorbed for hours in their stories, laughing, groaning, cringing, and then laughing again.

My favorite passage from Josh Kilmer-Purcell's I Am Not Myself These Days in on page 115 when he is anticipating his mother's arrival:

"Even though we had prepared for weeks, the morning of my mother's arrival in New York City registers an eight on my personal anxiety Richter scale. Like a death-row inmate, I could deal with impending doom in the abstract. But getting strapped down to the chair while knowing the executioner was on a plane speeding toward me this very instant is nearly enough to make me call for a priest."

Ha! Okay, no issues there.

Northanger Abbey by Jane Austen

I've never read a Jane Austen book because -ehn- I'm not big into romance and they all seem to be of the chick-lit romance genre, so no. But I thought I should, at least once, see what all the fuss is about so Northanger Abbey seemed like a good one to start with. And yes it was a sweet, funny, romantic story but I'm not tripping over myself to get my hands on any other Austen books for the time being. I've scanned the blurbs and they all sound like more of the same: lots of pomp, ceremony, romance, entitlements and inheritances. I don't know, am I missing something? The historical aspect is interesting and all but that's about it for me.

Angelology by Danielle Trussoni

The majority of Angelology is a tantalizing mixture of suspense, mystery, history, mythology, adventure and treasure hunt. And although not a fantasy fan I am usually willing to suspend reality *a little bit* for the sake of a good story. But the fantasy in this story only works up to a point and then ends up to sounding more like Ghostbusters than anything else.

Too bad really.

It's an interesting and absorbing read. I just think the ending could have been better.

Frankenstein by Mary Shelley

I listened to this on my iPod as an audiobook so I'm not sure if my impression would be the same as if I had read it. But nonetheless it was a thought-provoking story that raises many issues from science and ethics to friendship, responsibility and prejudice.

Dr. Frankenstein is in need of a friend so he endeavors to 'make' one by way of salvaged random body parts, his chemistry set, electricity, some late nights tinkering in his lab and voila! a friend. But it doesn't take long for the doctor to realize that he has created a monster over which he has no control, for a goodly amount of unexplained chaos, confusion and murder ensue in the streets following the monster's escape from the lab. No one knows who's disturbing the peace but Dr. Frankenstein has a secret hunch . . .

From here on out the perspectives alternate between the doctor and the monster: the doctor in a tormented what-have-I-done sort of way, and the monster in a who-the-hell-am-I sort of way.

The monster realizes early on that he is different and frightening to the people around him and that he must hide. While in hiding he spies on a small cottage and learns about life and relationships by watching a family as they go about their day.

"Other lessons were impressed on me even more deeply. I heard of the difference of sexes; and the birth and growth of children; how the father doated on the smiles of the infant, and the lively sallies of the older child; how all the life and cares of the mother were wrapped up in the precious charge; how the mind of youth expanded and gained knowledge; of brother, sister, and all the various relationships which bind one human being to another in mutual bonds"

"But where were my friends and relations? No father had watched my infant days, no mother had blessed me with smiles and caresses; or if they had, all my past life was now a blot, a blind vacancy in which I distinguished nothing. From my earliest remembrance I had been as I then was in height and proportion. I had never yet seen a being resembling me, or who claimed any intercourse with me. What was I? The question again recurred, to be answered only with groans." pg 121

I loved how this part of the story says so much about us, how we live and our need to belong. It also makes the monster's predicament all that more poignant: He is truly alone in the world and he knows what he is missing. He does make one more attempt at connection when he approaches the cottage to reveal himself as a man in need but again he is met with horror and revulsion and is forced to flee.

There is suspense right to the finish but ultimately a very sad ending.

Wide Awake by Patricia Morrisroe

I didn't like this one as much as I thought I would, not sure why. What I did like was all the research and collected wisdom about sleep related issues under one title. I recognized some of the studies from past magazine and newspaper articles and was glad to catch up on the newest information.

But . . .

It was hard to read Ms Morrisroe's personal sleep struggles without passing judgment. I have sleep issues of my own and just resolved myself to the fact that I am wake-full at night and sleepy during the day. I stopped resisting this years ago because the fight was just making me miserable and in the end it didn't change a thing. A few hours of sleep here and there over the course of the night is normal for me, as is my eye color and height. I had to agree with this quote on page 156:

"Until very recently, most anthropologists avoided sleep as a research subject, leaving it to scientists to determine what 'normal' is."

And then on page 157:

"Matthew Wolf-Meyer, an assistant professor of anthropology at the University of California, Santa Cruz, focused his dissertation on sleep and capitalism, and like McKenna, he believes that sleep science has left no room for variations. "The explosion of interest in sleep has led to more drug and mattress advertising, which leads people to think more about symptoms than about causes . . . "

Indeed, sleep is a tricky, personal, and emotional subject.

House Rules by Rachel Sontag

Rule #5. "The children's fingernails will be kept trim, not to extend more than 0.5 cm from the cuticle corner."

Rachel's dad thinks that by being a firm disciplinarian with clear and detailed catalogue of grooming, curfew, and extracurricular minutiae he will raise happy and well adjusted children.

And that "FAILURE TO COMPLY WITH THESE TEAM RULES WILL RESULT IN PUNISHMENT AS FOLLOWS: THE CHILD WILL NOT ATTEND ANY ACTIVITIES DURING THE ENTIRE NEXT WEEKEND REGARDLESS OF THE TYPE OF ACTIVITY."(Caps his) will win him their undying respect.

Wow. Okay there dad - take it easy.

The rest of Rachel's story carries on in this emotionally harsh vein. If there's anything I've learned about parenting it's that it is not a perfect science and that anyone trying to make it so is doomed to fail. Where is this dad's up-right and flexible back bone? It seems he was so afraid that his daughters would turn out to be *gasp* fallible that he forsook any kind of connection at all unless it was robotically perfect and scripted. What a sorry and delusional man. He could have had so much if only he had gotten out of his own way.

Ms Sontag, on the other hand, has hopefully found some peace in writing this very heartfelt and moving book.