Category Archives: Books

Arthur Pepper Stands on His Own

With his beloved Miriam 12 months removed from this life and on to the next, Arthur Pepper discovers a charm bracelet he has never seen before and thus his adventure begins.

I will admit as much as I enjoyed this book – and I did, very much – there were times I found it predictable,  I also found no harm or foul in that.  Familiarity doesn’t always breed contempt and sometimes it has its place.  

I would, however, gently caution you with one thing…and this is NOT a spoiler.  When TheCuriousCharmsofArthurPepper-USAcover.jpgothers make comparisons to books like A Man Called Ove, The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry, Lillian Boxfish Takes a Walk or the heartbreakingly beautiful novella And Every Morning the Way Home Gets Longer and Longer, it is my opinion that they shouldn’t.  I will tell you they have two things in common, which are.  (1) It is a story of someone in the autumn of their years and (2) our protagonist is a beautiful human being.

But they are different.  Ove is not Harold, nor are Lillian and Grandpa anything alike.  Same goes for Arthur.  They are all their own people, with their own set of circumstances, with their own sense of humor and troubles and family.  Outside the two similarities I noted, I think that’s about it.  

My point?  The Curious Charms of Arthur Pepper stands on its own.  The book’s author is Phaedra Patrick and this is her debut novel.

A small confession on my part, I have found after reading this I seem to be drawn to books about those who are in the twilight of their years.  Books like the ones I mentioned above always seem to occupy that same spot in my heart, and The Curious Charms of Arthur Pepper was no exception.

The short story is this: A year after a man in his late 60s has buried his wife of 40 years he comes across a charm bracelet of hers he had never seen before.  One charm leads to the next in its own way, providing vague/eerie/cryptic clues to a life before Arthur and Miriam became Arthur and Miriam.

I loved Arthur immediately.  Then I found I loved  his spirit and break from the routine as I got to know him.   I warmed at his patience in listening to others regale him with stories of this woman he spent the better part of his life with; this woman he thought he knew. This woman, the love of his life, who lived a life he never knew.

That may have been my favorite part of the book, his emotional growth.  Watching him separate himself from whom he has always been.  He became inspired by the memory of his wife.  Even at times when he seemed hesitant in wanting to know her history, he pushed to learn it anyway.  I think that was hard for him.   When he made those decisions it was if his own personal feelings no longer mattered.   Knowing more of his beloved Miriam was what he wanted  There was love, deep love, that persuaded him to reach further, and dig deeper.  I admired that in him.  He might be a bit of a stronger man than I, if I am being truthful.

A Book Group Discussion question I found asked if I were bereaved after a long marriage would I devise strategies and routines just to get through the day?  I singled out this question because I wondered the same thing as I was reading the book.

The answer is an indisputable yes.  I have already spent nearly eight years with Stacy and I have never known happiness like this in my first 40 years of living.  Give me 40 years hence with this same woman, growing together in love, friendship and companionship at the same pace we have been going at, then yes, I would lock myself away in my house too.  Like Arthur, I too would behind curtains when someone knocks at the door.  

Arthur Pepper is a fine man.  The spirit and sense of adventure his Miriam lived with as a younger woman is akin to what I see Arthur doing today in his later years.  If he is blessed to get a few experiences of travelling and adventure of his own, then all the better.  At least this way, when called to meet his maker, Arthur and Miriam will have no shortage of new topics to discuss over tea.

Come to Think of it, I Walked *Ten* Miles in Her Shoes …

Lillian Boxfish goes for a walk through New York City, New Years Eve, 1984.

That’s it.

Years ago I read and loved the Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry so when I first heard of this book my line of thinking was, well, maybe this might fall into that category of storytelling.

All in all it seems to me a pretty simple idea.

But, it’s not simple.  It is far from simple.  It is moving and it is fun and it is sweet and it is heartbreaking and it is witty and above all – like our protagonist – it is very very smart.

This is a beautiful, multilayered journey that covers two miles and 84 (85 if we are being honest) years of the life of an extraordinary woman who – for the most part – lived a full and marvelous life.

lillianboxfishbookcoverHer name is Lillian Boxfish and in the 1930’s she was the highest paid ad-writing female in America.  She met someone, fell in love, got married, and got pregnant.  Conventional thinking of the times would have you believe that is the proper order of life.  It was expected.  What was also expected was a woman leaving her job to become a mother regardless of successes, status and/or income.  Sure, she continued to write poetry, advertising copy, greeting cards, four line limericks leaving the fifth to be decided by readers and a magazine’s editor.  But in the 1930’s and 40’s a woman’s place was in the home raising her children.

Lillian was so much more than “just a mother,” and I use the word “just” with consternation as there is likely no greater role on this earth than that of a loving parent.

But Lillian was so much more than a stay at home Mom.  Hell, she was so much more than most.

My God, she was beautiful and to this day I still have no true idea of what she looks like.  Author Kathleen Rooney may have described her appearance early on but for one reason or another, it escapes me.  It is not important anyway, because all I see when I close my eyes and think of Lillian Boxfish is a brilliant, sharp witted, curious, open minded, willing and at times, a troubled soul with whom I would love to have a glass of wine with….or a bottle.

She, like all amazingly beautiful people, has a multitude of flaws.  I will not give anything away, of course, but suffice it to say there was a period in her life when she came face-to-face with a bleak moment.  As much of an impact as that time was, and how it continued to construct the person she was to become years after, she never lost that way about her.  By that, I mean there was this way where she would give you reasons to never forget her.

She was – she is – memorable.

We found this to be true in several instances.  Along this two-mile walk we meet bohemians and store clerks, chauffeurs and artists, parents-to-be and a Vietnam vet security guard; a welcoming family at dinner and a scene with three criminal’s that may be the book’s funniest moment.

Oh, I assure you, Lillian Boxfish’s walk in New York City may seem simple from the outset, and Amazon.com book summary, but it is far from it … unless you want to say it is simply lovely.  Then you would be within your rights to use an alternate form of the word.  From the time you first crack the binding open, to the moment you close the book, press it against your chest, breathe in deep, wrap your arms around it, you will find yourself so very pleases you have met, and spent this New Year’s Eve with, the remarkable – the oh so very memorable – Lillian Boxfish.

So I say buy this book.  Support this author.  This is the very reason why we read books and Lillian is someone you will want to get to know.

She is, simply, lovely.

Words I learned while reading:    One of my favorite parts of reading is constantly learning words I have either (a) never heard before (b) words I have heard and possess only a vague understanding of their meaning based on the context in which they’ve been written and (c) the most frustrating of the lot – the words I know I know the meaning of until I actually look them up to ensure I am correct only to learn I misunderstood it’s true meaning.  That last lot have an * beside them.   Here is the contribution that I received from Kathleen Rooney’s Lillian Boxfish Takes a Walk.

Contralto – the lowest female singing voice   –   Vanitas – a still-life painting of a 17th-century Dutch genre containing symbols of death or change as a reminder of their inevitability   –   Insouciance * (inˈso͞osēəns,) – casual lack of concern; indifference.    –   Stentorian – (of a person’s voice) loud and powerful.    –   Enjambments – (in verse) the continuation of a sentence without a pause beyond the end of a line, couplet, or stanza.   –   Housmanian – reference to an English classical scholar and poet.    –   Unfraught – not burdened.    –   Egalitarian – relating to or believing in the principle that all people are equal and deserve equal rights and opportunities.    –   Petulant* – (of a person or their manner) childishly sulky or bad-tempered.    –   Joie de vivre (ˌZHwä də ˈvēvrə/)* – exuberant enjoyment of life.   –   Oleaginous (ˌōlēˈajənəs)- rich in, covered with, or producing oil; oily or greasy AND exaggeratedly and distastefully complimentary; obsequious.  “Candidates made the usual oleaginous speeches in the debate.”    –   Poniard (ˈpänyərd/) – a small, slim dagger.    –   Endemic* – (of a disease or condition) regularly found among particular people or in a certain area. “Areas where malaria is endemic.”    –   Flanerie (ˌflän(ə)ˈrē/) – aimless idle behavior.

Ferociously Grateful

Open the book, turn a couple pages and you will find advanced praise for Jenny Lawson’s Furiously Happy.

“Jesus gave me this book when he was done with it, saying, “You have got to read this shit, Kevin. It’s fucking fantastic.” Jesus is terrible with names. —ERNEST HEMINGWAY

That was all it took.  I was hooked and reeled in.  I loved that line.  I laughed out loud at that line.  I texted people that line. I recited that line to my fiancée

Lawson wrote a joke I wished I had written, but not never thought of myself.  I may or may not, at that moment, have formed an immediate crush on her.

Not one of those creepy kind of crushes, of course.  At least I don’t think it is.  Then again, no one thinks their crush on someone is creepy.  Usually we consider them charming.  Adorable, even.  Who doesn’t love a boiled rabbit, right?  Then again, after some thought, maybe it’s best that the one being respectively crushed upon determines the creep level.  More so crush-ee than crush-er, so to speak.  So, I reckon you’ll have to ask her. That being said, my crush is predominantly the literary kind, the intellectual kind and the kind that wears a travelling red dress.

After several hours switching from audio book to eReader, and three hundred plus pages later, that schoolboy crush transformed into a world of respect.

From the outset of Furiously Happy, Lawson lets us know she is living life with a mental illness and these are her stories.  Granted, there are a few directions she can take this, but Lawson points her compass toward an easygoing wit.  She supports it with a stream of examples while filling awkward silences with inappropriate blurts.

Here is her objective.

“I’m starting a whole movement right now. The FURIOUSLY HAPPY movement. And it’s going to be awesome because first of all, we’re all going to be VEHEMENTLY happy, and secondly because it will freak the shit out of everyone that hates you because those assholes don’t want to see you even vaguely amused, much less furiously happy, and it will make their world turn a little sideways and will probably scare the shit out of them. Which will make you even more happy. Legitimately. “

There were times I found her truth exposing. As if her emotions stood before me naked and raw. She has been scratched, cut and bruised. It was like she went 15 emotional rounds with George Foreman (the boxer, not his grill) and at no point did we ever hear Howard Cosell utter “Down Goes Lawson.”

Throughout her book we learn this is her pain.  She shows us her frustration and suffering.  She shows us her heart. She gives us her awesome sense of humor and when I say awesome I don’t mean rad or bitchin’.  I mean it in its truest definition, as extremely impressive, and inspiring with great admiration.

“We all get our share of tragedy or insanity or drama, but what we do with the horror makes all the difference.”

Full disclosure here, I battle with depression as well.  I have for 18 years.  Not to the extent that Lawson does, however, but I feel we all have our own individual crosses to bear.  Depression is mine.  After some time and work with my doctors, I have found the right balance and once again perspective is mine again.  But there are times and events that can change that and it is a never-ending process of trying to get well.

So much of what she wrote spoke to me.  As outgoing and talkative as I am, I’m not always open to discussing this issue of mine with others.  But when I read Furiously Happy, I felt like she was talking to me and quite honestly, it helped.

“Depression is like … when you don’t want cheese anymore. Even though it’s cheese.”

See?  See?  OMG I swear!  It’s like she KNOWS me.

This book is 300+ pages of an unrestrained treatise into the troubling, but oh so beautiful, soul of an incredible woman.  And whether she is donning a traveling red dress, or photobombing an exhausted koala while dressed as a one herself, I think Jenny Lawson is one amazing human being…

…and I am ferociously grateful she wrote Furiously Happy.

Just the Book I Needed …

From March 21, 2016

If I am being honest, the book took me by surprise. I didn’t realize how much I would like it. To me baseball books are all the same. Don’t get me wrong, I like them and the fact that they’re all the same doesn’t really bother me too much. When you love the game, it’s perfectly acceptable. But what threw me for a shock was how this book made me feel like I felt when I was 11 years old.

calicojoe.jpgIt put me back on my old little league field, the old benches in the dugout with fresh paint, the dirt and gum wrappers on the floor. When I would stand on the mound, my weakling little arm feeling like rubber, six innings in with pitch counts not to be considered for another 25 years or so. Letting up hit after hit and that rare feeling of amazement when I struck someone out. I may not have been all that good at the game, but the game was always faithful, true and honest with me. She was the love of my young life.

I think if I could rate books in terms of baseballs and not stars I would give it five baseballs … this way those who are like me – men and women who still daydream about playing every spring and summer day of their life – would know this is a baseball book worth reading. Because it is.

But to the rest of the world, I’m not so sure. You can call it a Father-Son book if you want. You wouldn’t be wrong to do so. But we all take different things from books, don’t we?

It allowed me to have flashbacks of a wonderful childhood when baseball meant everything. It was all that mattered. Batting averages and RBIs, extra base hits and ground balls with eyes; dying quails and drives in the gap. The perfume mixture of a leather baseball glove, Red Man chewing tobacco and pine tar. Oh dear God, I swear to you, if they could bottle that mixture and make it a perfume it would save marriages.

Just the feel of the ball hitting the sweet spot of the bat. When you know you’ve hit safely in the gap, your confidence as you round first, just like the big leaguer’s on television and that slight chance you can stretch it into a double. My God it’s so romantic. I just don’t know anything else like it.

All of this, and so much more, were the images I conjured up when reading this little story.

Do you love the game? Are you a nerd and daydream about breaking up double plays and unsuspectingly drag bunting a ball down the line when the corners are playing you deep? If you are and if you do, read Calico Joe. It won’t take you long to get through, but the memory of it will last for a long time.