There are books full of great writing that don't have very good stories. Read sometimes for the story . . . don't be like the book-snobs who don't do that. Read sometimes for the words - the language. Don't be like the play-it-safers who won't do that. But when you find a book that has both a good story and good words, treasure that book.
~Steven King

The Devil in The White City by Erik Larson

Oh man, CREEPY! And interesting. I listened to this as an audiobook while out on my early morning walks . . . in the misty dawn . . . with leaves crunching under foot . . . bare trees . . . the moon.

Okay, so. The Devil in the White City by Erik Larson is actually two parallel stories: One being the building of the World's Columbian Exposition in Chicago in the 1890s, an endeavour of truly astronomical proportions. The other being that of serial killer Dr. Henry H. Holmes who preyed on trusting young travellers (mostly women) coming to Chicago for the fair. He built a nearby 'hotel' with businesses on the ground floor and rooms above as a façade for what can only be referred to as a house of horrors.

Normally I don't go for cheesy, gross-out movies like 'Hostel', but this, as a non-fiction book with some context, intrigue and insight, is a vastly more interesting story. It has a solid creep factor without all the gory in-your-face details. My imagination takes care of that just fine, thanks. Word on the street is that Leonardo diCaprio just bought the movie rights . . . Hmm, we'll see where he goes with this one.

Happy Halloween!


















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The Epicurious Cookbook by Tanya Steel and The Editors of Epicurious

Since I am a-bit-of-this and a-bit-of-that kind of cook, I especially appreciate recipes that leave room for improvisation and innovation, which is also why I like websites such as epicurious.com that allow for user comments and ratings. How exciting is it then to find out one of my favorite cooking sites just came out with a book! The Epicurious Cookbook is a book I can carry around the kitchen, scribble notes in, and dog-ear pages of favorite works-every-time recipes. I loved that the recipes are even divided up into seasons making use of what's available and freshest at the grocery store and farmer's market.  My kitchen was a hive of activity recently as hub and I got busy putting together and enjoying some delectable meals.






Here's what we made:

Wild Mushroom Pizza with Caramelized Onions, Fontina, and Rosemary - pg46

This was my favorite! For being such a simple looking pizza, it was incredibly delicious. The recipe is actually for several small pizzas but I made one large one. The wine I used for sautéing the mushrooms was sake. I imagine Pinot Grigio would work well here too, but sake was what we had on hand and lent just as tasty a wine flavour.

Caramelized onions already done and set aside and a pan full of sautéing chopped mushrooms.

The ingredients are assembled and ready to put into a hot oven.

Lunch! Along with the rest of the sake and a most delicious Pear, Arugula and Pancetta Salad pg324

Next we made Grilled Citrus Chicken under a Brick - pg144 only we didn't do a whole butterflied chicken as it says to do but rather boneless chicken breasts, adjusting the cooking time down accordingly. One of the alternatives suggested is to use a cast iron skillet instead of bricks, which we tried with great success! We heated the skillet over the coals first so that when they were placed on top of the chicken they would not only flatten the meat but also help cook it from on top. We also sautéd the marinade so it could glaze the finished chicken (picture) with lovely bits of citrus, herbs and garlic still intact.

Oh man, this was so delicious. We combined this with the Roasted Cauliflower with Kalamata Olives on pg 364 to which we added a sprinkling of feta cheese, and some plain basmati rice to absorb all the juices and flavours.

Hub made himself this lovely little lunch on page 205, Open-Faced Bacon and Egg Sandwich with Arugula. He added a sprinkle of turmeric to the egg to give it a bit of colour . . . and also just because he likes turmeric.

It too was declared a delectable success.








We made a number of other very tasty recipes including Vegetarian Cassoulet on pg 329, using a combination of lima beans and chick peas; Quinoa with Moroccan Winter Squash and Carrot Stew on pg 330, substituting yams for the carrots; Chicken and Fall Vegetable Pot Pie on pg 249; Thai Chicken Stock on pg 362; And, finally, for dessert the Cinnamon Crumble Apple Pie on pg 287, which we actually just made into an apple crumble omitting the crust altogether on account of our less-than-youthful waistlines . . . One has to make concessions somewhere (!) In spite of that it was one of the most delicious apple crumbles I've ever tasted.

The Epicurious Cookbook is full of clear and straightforward recipes, delicious pictures, and an array of   substitution possibilities. It will have a place on my kitchen bookshelf for a long time to come.

Books to the ceiling . . .

Books to the ceiling,

Books to the sky,

My pile of books is a mile high.

How I love them! How I need them!

I'll have a long beard by the time I read them.

~Arnold Lobel

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My laptop is in the shop - boo.

Be back soon.

Of course! No problem at all.

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Don't Let's Go to the Dogs Tonight by Alexandra Fuller

I listened to it as an audiobook and was thoroughly entranced by the author's harrowing, starkly beautiful childhood in 70s and 80s Africa. Her writing put me in mind of Mary Karr's The Liar's Club and Jeannette Walls' The Glass Castle, and Augusten Burrough's Running With Scissors. Why Don't Let's Go to the Dogs Tonight didn't get the same kind of press I have no idea. I loved this book so much I had to have a print copy to add to my bookshelf collection along with her newest Cocktail Hour Under the Tree of Forgetfulness. If you like memoirs at all, you must read Alexandra Fuller. She's a wonderful, wonderful writer.

In Don't Let's Go to the Dogs Tonight, Alexandra Fuller remembers her African childhood with candor and sensitivity. Though it is a diary of an unruly life in an inhospitable place, it is suffused with Fuller's endearing ability to find laughter, even when there is little to celebrate. Fuller's debut is unsentimental and unflinching but always captivating. In wry and sometimes hilarious prose, she stares down disaster and looks back with rage and love at the life of an extraordinary time. (back cover)

Mum won't kill spiders because she says they help to keep the rats down (but she rescued a nest of baby mice from the barns and left them to grow in my cupboard, where they ate holes in the family's winter jerseys). Mum won't kill scorpions either; she catches them and lets them go free in the pool and Vanessa and I have to rake the pool before we can swim. We fling the scorps as far as we can across the brown and withering lawn, chase the ducks and geese out, and then lower ourselves gingerly into the pool, whose sides wave green and long and soft and grasping with algae. And Mum won't kill spiders because she says it will bring bad luck. pg4

Usually on nights when Mum is sober, and we are kissing her good night, she turns her face away from us and puckers her lips sideways, offering us a cheek stretched like dead-chicken skin. Now that she is drunk and telling me about Adrian she is wet all over me. Arms clasped over my shoulders, she is hanging around my neck, and I can feel her face crying into the damp patch on my shoulder. She says, "You were the baby we made when Adrian died." pg32

We loaded up two cats called Fred and Basil and three dogs called Tina, Shae, and Jacko, and we drove, our worldly possessions balanced perilously on the roof of our car, clear across Rhodesia from flat west to convoluted east. We stopped to fill up the petrol tank, drink Cokes, and buy bags of Willard's chips ("Make music in your mouth"). Everyone, dogs included, was let out for a pee on the side of the road, behind the bougainvillea bushes. pg48

We buy a 1967 mineproof Land Rover, complete with siren, and call her Lucy. Lucy, for Luck.
"Why do we have the bee-ba?" 
"To scare terrorists."
But Mum and Dad don't use the siren except to announce their arrival at parties. pg55

Vanessa and I, like all the kids over the age of five in out valley, have to learn how to load and FN rifle magazine, strip and clean all the guns in the house, and, ultimately, shoot-to-kill. If we are attacked and Mum and Dad are injured or killed, Vanessa and I will have to know how to defend ourselves. pg74

I want to be like an army guy, so I clean and load my dad's FN and my mum's Uzi with enthusiasm, but the guns are too heavy for me to be anything but a stick insect dangling from the end of a chattering barrel. I have to prop the gun up against the wall to shoot it, or the kick will knock me over. I am allowed to shoot my mum's pistol, but even that cracks my wrist, and my whole arm jolts with the shock of its report. 
Vanessa has to be forced to strip and clean the gun. She is slow and unwilling even when Dad loses his temper and shouts at her and says, "Fergodsake don't just stand there, do something! Bunch-of-bloody-women-in-the-house."
Vanessa gets her cat-hooded, African deadpan, not-listening eyes.
"You have to learn how this thing is made," says Dad.
"Come on, take the bloody thing apart."
Vanessa moves slowly, reluctance personified.
"Now you must put it back together," says Dad, looking at the gun.
Vanessa blinks at Dad. "Bobo can do it."
"No, you must learn."
"I'll do it. I'll do it," I say. I want to do it to show my dad that I'm as good as a boy. I don't want to be a bunch-of-bloody-women-in-the-house. pg75

We shudder up the washboards on the ribby Mazonwe road in the dull light of a thick African sunset and then, as we turn up the Robandi farm road, it is dark. African night comes like that, long rich sunsets and then, abruptly, night. The cooler night air is releasing the scents trapped by a hot day; the sweet, warm waft of the potato bush; the sharp citronella smell of khaki weed; raw cow manure; dry-dust cow manure. We bump over the culvert at the bottom of our road (in which the big snake lives) and head up toward the house, which is a pale unlit mass in the evening light. pg118

And then, the year I turn eight, I am too old for a nanny anymore. I am ready for boarding school. I get my own trunk with my full, proper name, "Alexandra Fuller," printed on the top.
"But I thought my name is Bobo."
"Not anymore. You're Alexandra now. That's your real name."
Dad takes a photograph of us leaving the farm for my first day of big school in January 1977. pg138

I can hear the men around the campfire singing softly, taking it in turns to pick up a tune, the rhythm as strong as blood in a body. The firelight flickers off the blue and orange tent in pale dancing shapes and there is the sweet smell of the African bush, wood smoke, dust, sweat. My bones are so sharp and thin against the sleeping bag that they hurt me and I must cover my hip bones with my hands.
I make a vow never to leave Africa. pg179

"Come inside," says the man in English. He speaks quickly to his wife in Chnyanja and she disappears into the hut. "Please, we have some food. You must take your lunch here." pg235

The author's website

A story should be like a river, flowing and never stopping, your readers passengers on a boat, whirling downstream through constantly refreshing and changing scenery.
~Ray Bradbury

Girl Reading by Robert Bereny

There is no surer foundation for a beautiful friendship than a mutual taste in literature.
~P.G.Wodehouse

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Reading Chair Love

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How fun is this chair! I wonder if it tilts back when you're sitting in it?

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I love the neutrals, the wicker, leather and wood. It seems warm and quiet here.

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Great use of landing space! It's a mini library.

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Yup! I'll take this too.

It used to be thought that the events that changed the world were things like bombs, maniac politicians, huge earthquakes, or vast population movements, but it has now been realized that this is a very old-fashioned view held by people totally out of touch with modern thought. The things that really change the world, are the tiny things.

Terry Pratchett & Neil Gaiman, Good Omens

Sit in a room and read - and read and read. And read the right books by the right people. Your mind is brought onto that level, and you have a nice, mild, slow-burning rapture all the time.

~Joseph Campbell

For a novelist, a given historic situation is an anthropologic laboratory in which he explores his basic question: What is human existence?

~Milan Kundera

A Girl With a Book

unitewomen.org

by Nicole Wong

Good friends, good books and a sleepy conscience: this is the ideal life.

~Mark Twain

When I look back, I am so impressed again with the life-giving power of literature. If I were a young person today, trying to gain a sense of myself in the world, I would do that again by reading, just as I did when I was young.
~Maya Angelou

Reading is like thinking, like praying, like talking to a friend, like expressing your ideas, like listening to other people's ideas, like listening to music, like looking at the view, like taking a walk on the beach.
~Roberto Bolaño, 2666

Autumn Window and Books
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A large, still book is a piece of quietness, succulent and nourishing in a noisy world, which I approach and imbibe with "a sort of greedy enjoyment," as Marcel Proust said of those rooms of his old house whose air was "saturated with the bouquet of silence."
~Holbrook Jackson

Girl Reading by The River by Igor Shin Moromisato

In Bed With Books By Jennifer Downey

Ahh weekends!

The brain appears to possess a special area which we might call poetic memory and which records everything that charms or touches us, that makes our lives beautiful.
~Milan Kundera, The Unbearable Lightness of Being

Reading in Autumn by Shen Zhou (1427 - 1509)

I listened as the words became sentences and the sentences became pages and the pages became feelings and people.
~Jennifer Donnelly, A Northern Light

The End of Your Life Book Club by Will Schwalbe

Not only is The End of Your Life Book Club Will Schwalbe's loving tribute to his mother Mary Anne's incredible life but it also pays homage to the the world of books and the love of reading. It is a wonderfully engaging, albeit sad, story that lets the reader listen in on conversations between Will and Mary Anne as they read and discuss a wide variety of books during the two years Mary Anne spent battling the cancer that eventually took her life. 

I am always so thrilled to find a book-about-books such as this one. Who better to inspire than a fellow reader? It was exciting to keep coming across familiar titles mentioned in the book, titles I had either already read or are already on my bookshelf waiting patiently for my attention. In between reading and adding new titles to my book list, I was busy marking passages that demonstrate the life-affirming power of books.

The End of Your Life Book Club is the inspiring true story of a son and his mother, who start a "book club" that brings them together as her life comes to a close. Over the next two years, Will and Mary Anne carry on conversations that are both wide-ranging and deeply personal, prompted by an eclectic array of books and a shared passion for reading. Their list jumps from classic to popular, from poetry to mysteries, from fantastical to spiritual. The issues they discuss include questions of faith and courage as well as everyday topics such as expressing gratitude and learning to listen. Throughout, they are constantly reminded of the power of books to comfort us, teach us, and tell us what we need to do with our lives and in the world. Reading isn't the opposite of doing; it's the opposite of dying. (inside cover)

Throughout her life, whenever Mom was sad or confused or disoriented, she could never concentrate on television, she said, but always sought refuge in a book. Books focused her mind, calmed her, took her outside of herself; television jangled her nerves. pg25

And yet there was one passage from Seventy Verses on Emptiness, translated into English by Gareth Sparham, that Mom had underlined:"Permanent is not; impermanent is not; a self is not; not a self [is not]; clean is not; not clean is not; happy is not; suffering is not."
This passage made a deep impression on me, and I found myself turning to it again and again. Although I wasn't sure exactly what it meant, it calmed me. pg29

These two books [The Savage Detectives by Roberto Bolaño and Man Gone Down by Micheal Thomas] showed us that we didn't need to retreat or cocoon. They reminded us that no matter where Mom and I were on our individual journeys, we wouldn't be the sick person and the well person; we would simply be a mother and son entering new worlds together. What's more, books provided much-needed ballast - something we bother craved, amid the chaos and upheaval of Mom's illness. pg32

One of the many things I love about bound books is their sheer physicality. Electronic books live out of sight and out of mind. But printed books have body, presence. Sure, sometimes they'll elude you by hiding in improbable places: in a box full of old picture frames, say, or in the laundry basket, wrapped in a sheatshirt. But at other times they'll confront you, and you'll literally stumble over some tomes you hadn't thought about in weeks or years. I often seek electronic books, but they never come after me. They may make me feel, but I can't feel them. They are all soul with no flesh, no texture, and no weight. They can get in your head but can't whack you upside it. pg43

There are all kinds of serendipities in bookstores, starting with Alphabetical: while looking for one novel, you might remember that you'd always meant to read something by another author  whose last name shared the same first two letters. Visual: the shiny jackets on this book might catch your eye. Accidental: superstitiously, I almost always feel the need to buy any book that I knock over. And Prompted: both Mom and I gave very serious consideration to any book placed in the "staff recommendations" section, particularly if it sported a yellow stickie (aka Post-it note) or a handwritten shelf talker - a bookstore neologism I love, because it conjures such a vivd image of a shelf talking to you, or of a person who talks to shelves. pg140

As a reader, you're often inside one or more characters' heads, so you know what they're feeling, even if they can't exactly say it, or they say it so obliquely that the other characters don't catch it. Readers are frequently reminded of the gulf between what people say and what they mean, and such moments prod us to become more attuned to gesture, tone and language. pg176

A few of the books discussed within the pages of The End of Your Life Book Club were right there on my own bookshelf.

Oh to be so poised and elegant while engrossed in a book.

A beautiful ink sketch by Bettie Banshee

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The trouble with fiction . . . is that it makes too much sense. Reality never makes sense.
~Aldous Huxley, The Genius and the Goddess

Reading by Sanna

Autumn leaves, pomegranate, and books.

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Happy Thanksgiving holiday to all my fellow and sister Canadians.

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Calvin has the right idea . . .
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So many books . . .

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Life starts all over again when it gets crisp in the fall.
F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby
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Books on a train 

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Reading cherub 

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The Prisoner of Heaven by Carlos Ruiz Zafon

Lame 'review' ahead . . .

What can I say? I just love these books. By 'these' I mean the two previous ones in this trilogy The Shadow of the Wind and The Angel's Game both and now this third one The Prisoner of Heaven. the cool thing is they are so intertwined that you don't even really need to read them in order. This one, again, takes us to Barcelona in the 1950s centered on the bookstore of Sempere and Son with Daniel, his father and his wife Bea, his friend Fermin, and a whole host of other characters readers of his previous books will recognize including the Cemetery of Forgotten Books. I'm sorry I don't have any quotes for this one but I listened to it as an audiobook, which in hindsight probably wasn't the best thing to do, especially since my audiobook listening happens right after I wake up at 5:30am.  I don't have the level of detail retention needed for solving mysteries, murders and crimes, and without having actual pages to reread I'm afraid I missed out on some of the twists. It still makes for a very cool and atmospheric story, though. Just don't hold me to the finer details. I'd never make it as a detective, that's for sure.

I think the act of reading imbues the reader with a sensitivity toward the outside world that people who don't read can sometimes lack. I know it seems like a contradiction in terms; after all reading is such a solitary, internalizing act that it appears to represent a disengagement from day-to-day life. But reading, and particularly the reading of fiction, encourages us to view the world in new and challenging ways . . . It allows us to inhabit the consciousness of another which is a precursor to empathy. And empathy is, for me, one of the marks of a decent human being.
~John Connolly

Autumn solitude with a book.

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Olga ecrivant by Pablo Picasso, c. 1920 

Close the door. Write with no one looking over your shoulder. Don't try to figure out what other people want to hear from you; figure out what you have to say. It's the one and only thing you have to offer.
~Barbara Kingsolver

Advice From a Book is good advice indeed.

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Autumn Reading by Romel dela Torre

The Mermaid Chair by Sue Monk Kidd

Truth? This book is a little too woowoo for me. Why is it that women of a certain age have to *dance* in the moonlight and *weave* special friendship knots to throw into the ocean and *paint their feelings* and swim naked and make out with hunky forbidden men that are not their husbands? Good god, it's all so . . . pat. And why does there have to be a convoluted tragedy -or the realization of a past one- to bring a woman to her senses? I just think we women in our middle years are so much more evolved than that. Tear-jerkers are not necessarily required. Ehn, I dunno. Maybe I'm being glib but I just think the whole story was over-plotted. I would say read Anne Morrow Lindbergh's A Gift From the Sea instead - it gets right to the heart of personal growth as natural, organic process and not something that has to be forced.

I would still give this three out of five stars, though, as I did appreciate some of the more thoughtful insights Jessie had about life while caring for her ailing, aging mother. And life on an isolated barrier island sounds pretty idyllic to me. So, yes, it was an engaging if somewhat cheesy read.