The BookFetish Blog

From the first reading of The Crucible in school, I’ve been fascinated with the Salem witch trials. As soon as I heard the role of the trials in this book, I knew I had to read it.  In The Heretic’s Daughter, Kathleen Kent tells the story of her ancestors, Martha and Thomas Carrier and their family.  The story is told through the lens of Martha and Thomas’ daughter, Sarah.


Martha Carrier was accused of Witchcraft. She courageously maintains her innocence, despite encouraging her own children to do whatever it takes to save themselves.  Sarah and three of her brothers are also accused, and Sarah recounts their harrowing trials and imprisonment.  


Despite this being a work of fiction, the stories Kent heard as she grew up give the book a sense of authenticity. I felt as though I was right beside Sarah as she recounted the experiences of her life.  The story is just so compelling. How could so many people knowingly accuse others of witchcraft? Stand by while parents, children, and siblings were ripped apart? Tried, imprisoned, and in many cases put to death?  I don’t know how you live with yourself for doing something like that.


And of course the role of religion in the whole experience.  Certainly, there’s more tolerance in many mainstream religions today.  But stories are in the news now of people in Africa being put to death for practicing witchcraft.  And too many religions, even in this country, are still incredibly intolerant based on snippets of scripture, twisted to fit some warped view of righteousness.  When I think about that, it makes me wonder if the underpinnings of a movement like the Salem witch trials could still exist, and if they do, will we recognize them and fight against them?


As I read more about the witch trials as an adult, I am struck again and again by the courage of those who never gave in to their accusers.  Knowing that a lie could save their lives, they chose instead death and staying true to themselves.  These people who were freethinkers and believed in the power of reason as much, if not more, than the power of the pulpit. It is reading a book like this that makes me hope that if were in a similar situation, I’d be proud to be called a Heretic and have the courage of my own convictions.


I look forward to more tales from Kathleen Kent.


http://search.barnesandnoble.com/Heretics-Daughter/Kathleen-Kent/e/9780316024495/?itm=1&USRI=the+heretic%27s+daughter

I went tonight to see the most universally derided and poorest reviewed movie that I can remember. And yes, parts of it were ridiculous. I asked myself more than once “What on earth is she wearing?!” I completely agree that you could see some of the jokes coming from the parking lot. 


That being said, I had a great time.  Because yes, I enjoyed the movie. But let’s face it. No one in their right mind going to see SATC2 was expecting a cinematic masterpiece.  With a movie like this, I’d argue that cinematography doesn’t matter.  I’d even argue that not even plot truly matters.  The thing is, with the SATC franchise, it is just as much about the experience as it is the film itself.


Many women feel some kindred spirit to Carrie, Charlotte, Samantha, and Miranda.  When it was merely a television show, we talked about the previous night’s episode. We made Cosmopolitans and virgin Flirtini’s and hosted viewing parties. We celebrated girl friends as much as we did the series itself.  When the first movie was released, we planned elaborate Girls Night Out events. Husbands, boyfriends, and children were left at home.  The movie was an EVENT.  We had cocktails and/or dinner beforehand. We filed into the theater. We gasped collectively when Big told Carrie he just couldn’t get out of the limo to come into the wedding.  Our hearts ached when Carrie and Miranda fought. More than one of us teared up when Charlotte found herself pregnant. And we all cheered when Carrie and Big finally tied the knot.


And I was satisfied with the resolution of the first film. I felt it told the story. I was skeptical of the second movie. But then I remembered, the movie is only a small part of the event.  Really, it is about time with your girl friends.  So I bought advance tickets to go see the movie opening weekend with my friend Kris.


A rainy Friday night found me in four inch stiletto sandals and a cute top and jeans. Nothing like I would normally wear to a movie.  Yet I wasn’t alone.  At dinner, in the ladies room at the theater, waiting for concessions, filing out after the movie was over, I noticed all the women had dressed up a bit for tonight.  It’s been said more than once that women dress for each other, and I think that is true. It certainly was tonight.  But it was also for ourselves.  We did it because we were inspired by Carrie, Miranda, Charlotte, and Samantha (though, someone, please shoot me if I ever decide to make muffins wearing vintage Valentino).


Collectively, we laughed and gasped and cheered throughout the movie.  We smiled knowingly as Charlotte and Miranda lamented the not so glamorous side of motherhood.  We saw parts of our own relationships as Carrie questioned the sustainability of her marriage as she felt it was falling into a rut.  We laughed together at the silly, obvious jokes, and I’m sure more than one of us grinned at Liza’s take on “All the Single Ladies.”


So critics, go ahead and pan the movie. None of us care.  The movie isn’t what it’s about.  It’s the whole experience. The celebration of our tribe of girlfriends- those who are there no matter whether we’re single or married, a mom or not.  Our sister soul mates.

I think Pat Conroy is a  gifted storyteller. The Great Santini is, I think, my favorite of his books.  When I first started South of Broad I was listening to it as an mp3 download.  The audiobook was great, the narrator did an excellent job with it, but Pat Conroy is almost a lyricist, and I wanted to read and savor the words, so I bought the book and read all but the first fifty pages.


The story starts on 16 June 1969 in Charleston, South Carolina and tells the story of Leopold Bloom King and his family and friends through the next twenty odd years.  Readers of James Joyce will recognize both the name Leopold Bloom and the significance of the 16 June date.


Upon hearing that I was reading South of Broad, one friend commented that her grandmother had read the book and said it was not as dark as some of his others but that she knew no one in Charleston, let alone a teenaged male, who talked like Leo King.  I think that is a very accurate statement.  In fact, it was the one thing that grated on me throughout the story, the only part that didn’t feel authentic.


I loved the story. Conroy talks of the languid south, it’s outward charm and interior rigid rules in beautiful prose.  He paints wonderful pictures of his characters and settings, and he uses a handful of words that I must seek out in a dictionary to have their full context.  


That being said, one thing that Conroy does extremely well is show both the beauty and the bowels of life.  His characters always have layers of complexity to them.  And some of them have horrific dark stories to tell- often occurring in childhood and instilling in them demons they fight or run from for the rest of their lives.  Yet Conroy does it all with a degree of dignity, evoking sympathy from the reader for the characters.


AIDS in the homosexual community in the 1980’s becomes a central part of the story, the catalyst bringing together in a new way a group of friends who have been close for twenty years.  It reminded me of the early news I remember hearing of the AIDS epidemic.  I was young at the time.  No one really knew what it was. There was a lot of speculation around exactly how it was transmitted.  I remember people thinking it was a scourge to homosexuals, and I remember more than one person saying that the gays deserved this punishment for their lifestyle.  People began rethinking that when they realized AIDS doesn’t discriminate on gender or lifestyle. 


I was too young in the mid to late 1980’s to appreciate the horridness of this disease, the lives it destroyed and the way in which the disease ravages its victims.  Conroy portrayed this sensitively, authentically, and with compassion.  


This tribe of friends, a motley crew  if one ever existed, met in high school under an array of extenuating circumstances. Yet their friendship survived all kinds of things.  I miss that.  I have some friends I have known for a number of years with whom I am still very close.  But not a tribe, where we all know each other and are a part of each others’ lives. For me, these friends are quite compartmentalized. This friendship, in its deep, combustible way will last throughout the lives of its characters.


All in all, South of Broad was an engrossing read, a good story. Darkness and light, laughter and tragedy, much like life itself.  Fans of Conroy will certainly enjoy.


http://www.amazon.com/South-Broad-Novel-Pat-Conroy/dp/0385344074/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1274922403&sr=1-1

There are some things you do only because someone is a close friend.  The people who know where the bodies are buried. The people that have you doing things so out of character that other people ask if you lost a bet.

I devoured and relished Emily Giffin’s Heart of the Matter.  There are so many reasons why I love Giffin’s books, not the least of which is that she tells compelling stories. But it is more than that.  It’s that she creates such believable and relatable characters who face believable and relatable situations.  In Heart of the Matter, the lives of two women intertwine in unexpected ways after a tragic accident. These women are suddenly caught in an imperfect, heartbreaking situation. As they face decisions they never thought they would have to make,  each of them is realizing that “always” and “never” rarely are. And each of them is trying to determine what it is that is truly matters to them.