The BookFetish Blog

Carla Buckley’s Invisible is the first of my 2013 must-reads. From the first page, I had a hard time putting it down. Buckley gives us two compelling stories. First is a fractured family dealing with secrets long buried. Second is an epidemic of kidney disease in a small town in Minnesota. The two stories converge in the character of Dana Carlson.

Invisible was certainly fast paced, exploring not only Dana’s past but also possible chemical threats. There was enough plausibility to the nanotechnology angle that I found myself googling it just to see what is out there about the subject. I liked Dana, and I especially liked her niece, Peyton. Peyton felt like normal teenager to me, not someone drawn to a dysfunctional or perfect extreme.  Buckley’s descriptions of oceanic life as metaphors for Peyton and her life were especially well done, and somewhat educational.

It’s hard to say what I liked so much about the book without giving away key plot points, so apologies for lack of a lot of detail here. Suffice it to say the story was intriguing and kept me interested from start to finish.

However, when Invisible ended my reaction was, “Wait. What? Is that it? It’s over?”  It’s not that the ending is wholly unsatisfying, it is that it feels unfinished to me.  It may be that Buckley’s intention was to leave so much open ended- the book does end on a hopeful note, after all- but it felt incomplete to me.  Dana’s job was a major plot point at the beginning and Buckley spends time talking about Dana’s relationship and dissatisfaction with her business partner, but then doesn’t really close out the issue.    We also don’t get to see closure with many of the relationships from Dana’s past that Buckley introduces.

Still, the story was compelling enough to me that Invisible overcomes the shortcomings of the ending, and I have already been recommending this book to friends.  This is Buckley’s second book, and I’ve already ordered her first one to add to my reading queue.

Marjorie Celona’s Y:A Novel is simultaneously jostling, sad, and hopeful.

From the book description (because it says it more succinctly than I can): ““Y. That perfect letter. The wishbone, fork in the road, empty wineglass. The question we ask over and over. Why? . . . My life begins at the Y.” So opens Marjorie Celona’s highly acclaimed and exquisitely rendered debut about a wise-beyond-her-years foster child abandoned as a newborn on the doorstep of the local YMCA. Swaddled in a dirty gray sweatshirt with nothing but a Swiss Army knife tucked between her feet, little Shannon is discovered by a man who catches only a glimpse of her troubled mother as she disappears from view. That morning, all three lives are forever changed.

Bounced between foster homes, Shannon endures abuse and neglect until she finally finds stability with Miranda, a kind but no-nonsense single mother with a free-spirited daughter of her own. Yet Shannon defines life on her own terms, refusing to settle down, and never stops longing to uncover her roots—especially the stubborn question of why her mother would abandon her on the day she was born.”

Shannon tells both her story, and the story of her parents and her birth.  The alternation between Shannon’s current life and the time leading up to her birth works well, and I wasn’t sure it would when I first started reading the book. Shannon is definitely precocious, and it is a little disjointing to have a sometimes very adult story told by a child so wise beyond her years.

I started the book with a little trepidation- whatever it was I read that made me order the book led me to think I would find it heartbreaking and sad.  Parts of it were indeed heartbreaking, particularly the story of little Eugene.  I don’t think, however,  it vilifies the foster care system the way the preview of the book that I read made it sound like it would.  It seems like the system itself did a reasonably good job for Shannon within the parameters they have. It does show a need for continued reform, better vetting of foster parents, and more support for children in the system.

Here’s the thing. Through much of the book, I was ambivalent about Shannon.  I felt sorry for her in many respects, but I also got exasperated with her sometimes.  That being said, I believe Shannon’s actions are largely, though not completely, justified by the turmoil she feels from knowing she was abandoned and struggling to find a sense of belonging and permanence.  By the end of the book, though, I felt satisfied. I felt like Shannon would be OK, that she would go on to a reasonably good and stable life. Given her start, that may be enough to hope for.

For a debut novel, I think Celona did a wonderful job. She gave us flawed characters in a desperate situation.  No real villains, but tragic people making bad decisions and living with the consequences.  While at best a mutedly happy read, I do call Y: A Novel wholly satisfying.

Margaret Powell’s Below Stairs is a memoir about her life as a kitchen maid and cook for wealthy British families in the 1920’s. The subtitle of the book calls it the inspiration for “Upstairs Downstairs” and “Downton Abbey”.

Margaret Powell was born into a lower working class family in 1907. Although she enjoyed school, her family could not afford to send her into higher education,and she entered domestic service at age fifteen as a kitchen maid.

Powell was not prepared for the rigor of the kitchen maid’s life and the type of cooking that these aristocratic and semi-aristocratic families would require. She recounts in sharp detail the disparity between “Them” – those who lived upstairs- and the servants below stairs. Of course, not all the experiences are horrendous, and Powell does eventually become cook in some of the houses where she is employed.

While not a polished writer- it feels less like reading a book and more like you’re sitting at a kitchen table, drinking tea and listening to Powell reminisce- Powell is extremely entertaining. Working below stairs had its (few) benefits: the domestic staff was often more earthy and authentic than their above stairs counterparts. The life was not easy, though, and Powell is not shy about hiding her often-justifiable resentments.

I remember touring the Biltmore House, and being somewhat shocked at the servants’ quarters compared to the splendor of the rest of the house. That same feeling is repeated here when Powell recounts some of her accommodations.  Powell’s insights are not whitewashed, nor do they seem to be embellished for the sake of the story. She simply recounts her life as it was, the good and the bad; the kind people to work for and the ones that were more cantankerous or downright rude.  And, minor spoiler alert, she gives a glimpse of what she made of her life after leaving service.

Despite the book not being particularly well written, I liked reading Powell’s story. I think fans of Upstairs, Downstairs and Downton Abbey will also appreciate this glimpse into the life of those below stairs.

I first read William Lobdell’s Losing My Religion back in 2009. As I re-read Kevin Roose’s The Unlikely Disciple earlier this year, I felt compelled to re-read Losing My Religion as well.

William Lobdell spent many years as a Christian, moving from a non-denominational church to Presbyterian, and finally undergoing courses to convert to Catholicism. He was an enthusiastic Christian, praying and reading his bible frequently, attending church with his family, and working as the religion reporter for the Los Angeles Times. While most of Lobell’s religion and faith reporting is upbeat and shows good things about faiths of all kinds, things start to change for him as he begins to see that oftentimes, the faithful don’t live morally and that in many instances, there is little difference between the morality of atheists and the faithful. As Lobdell begins to investigate the child abuse scandal within the Catholic church and the antics of numerous evangelicals associated with organizations like the Trinity Broadcasting Network, he begins to ask more and more questions and finds that the more he asks, the less his faith can answer.

I found Losing My Religion to be a very authentic read.  Anyone who has ever dared to question their faith knows there are only two possible outcomes: questioning leads to deeper faith, or turns you away from it altogether. And when you’ve depended on faith for many years, when you’re surrounded by people who are faithful, if you turn away from it, you find it is a very lonely journey.  People rejoice when someone is “saved” but few are as happy for you when you walk away from that salvation.  Lobdell doesn’t get self-righteous about his weakening faith. In fact, he seeks answers that could keep him in his faith. But ultimately, he has to go with what his head and his heart tell him.

Unlike Richard Dawkins, who can be patronizing to non-believers, Lobdell is respectful of people who maintain their faith. He doesn’t attack anyone for believing, he simply articulates his own thoughts and feelings.  He brings up many of the same questions that many doubters raise- the questions that either have no answer at all, or answers that are at best unsatisfying.

Anyone who has gone on their own questioning journey, and who has come out the other side feeling more contented and at peace than when they started will appreciate this read.

My first review of 2013! I finished the audiobook of Rob Lowe’s autobiography, Stories I Only Tell My Friends, on December 30, but this is my first chance to write about it. Narrated by Lowe, the audiobook is charming, enlightening, and entertaining.

Lowe recounts key aspects of his early life, then his journey to Hollywood and his career as an actor. The stories Lowe tells give us glimpses of his early acting days and the friends he made along the way. It doesn’t feel like namedropping when Lowe recounts exploits with Tom Cruise, Charlie Sheen, and Emilio Estevez, among others. It just feels like you’re listening to a guy reminiscing about good times with people you vaguely know.

I had no idea that Lowe’s career had been so prolific.  He’s honest when he recalls filming The Outsiders and how crushing it was when his big scene was cut. It makes me want to go back and watch the movie again, as well as re-read the book.

I also didn’t realize how much politics has influenced Lowe in real life.  It explains why he hardly seemed to be acting when he played Sam Seaborn on The West Wing. 

While Lowe doesn’t go into terribly gory details about his sex tape scandal and his stint in rehab, he doesn’t shy away from those parts of his past, either.  He admits when he’s wrong, but he doesn’t dwell on it, make it more melodramatic than it was, or try to gloss it over.

This was an entertaining read- well, listen. I think hearing it in literally Lowe’s own voice added to it. He seems like a class act guy with a good head on his shoulders. Always on the cusp of super-stardom but never quite achieving it, Lowe and his wife Cheryl have made a life that works for them. He works steadily, has the respect of a number of his peers, and seems very grounded.

If you like Rob Lowe, definitely check out this one.