Goodbye Yellow Brick Road.

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Pressin' On

     Good morning everyone, I am angsty today;  I'm halfway through literally an entire week at work, plus I lost some of my blog notes.

     I am displeased, to say the least.

     But I must press on or lose my head, and I'd like to avoid the latter.  So here, for your education, is a new kind of post.  I call it Words I Don't Know.

     I've been reading a book by Kerry Cohen, and it's incredible.  I'm almost done with it, so expect something on that soon.  Anyway, while reading this excellent book, I came across this word:


                                                     anodyne

 



     I have no idea what this word means, but it interests me.  It has almost a clean, sterile look to it.  It sounds like some type of medicine, and given the context it could be some sort of cleansing agent.  Here is what dictionary.com tells me about it:

     a medicine that relieves or allays pain. 


     Something that relieves pain.  For those who have known me for a good length of time, it's obvious without being said that books are my anodyne.  They have always been my escape, my solace, my Novocain.  I find comfort in pages more than any other place.

     It's been this way since I was young.  I didn't grow up in a happy home; my parents divorced sometime before my memories begin, and not long after that my mother remarried.  My stepfather is not a loving person.  He's always been hard, harsh.  In our home, 'parenting' was just yelling and spanking over every little infraction.  It was rare that anyone would explain to me exactly why my crime was wrong.  I was just told that it was and I must be punished.

     I must say, for the sake of my mother, that things weren't all bad; there were brief moments where we felt like a family, where we liked each other and could get along and joke and tease for awhile.  But the teasing always went too far, for I was what is considered 'too sensitive'.  I was an annoying, needy parasite.  I was difficult.

     I hid in my room often.  Just me and my books, it felt safe.  Books don't tease, they don't judge or push or yell or tell you how worthless you are.  They always have time for you.  In my books, I was not me. I could be anyone:  Anne of Green Gables, one of the Babysitter's Club, Nancy Drew... anyone.  I would ignore my homework, skip meals, give up sleep just to read.

     Even now, I turn to books.  Sometimes I prefer them to people.  I've come out of my shell, but I still need the pages, the text.  I have over 200 books, and that's not enough.  I'll always want more.

     What's your anodyne? 

Little Bird of Heaven

     From the first word to the last, Little Bird of Heaven is a novel of enticement.  It begins in the midst of the decay that has become Krista "Krissie" Diehl's family.  Though she is only in high school, the pain that the murder of Zoe Kruller has caused will shape the rest of her life. 

     Also  changed forever are her mother, Lucille; her brother, Ben; and most of all her father Eddy, who has been accused of murdering Zoe.  Zoe had many lovers and an abusive, estranged husband, but Eddy was with her that night.  In fact, Eddy wasn't home at all that night.  To everyone but Krista, this is irrefutable evidence of his guilt.

     Only Zoe's son Aaron knows that there's another suspect:  his father Delray.  Delray is a drinker, a temperamental man.  Aaron knows this, knows his father never came home that night, but he also knows that his father loved Zoe too much to hurt her.  When police question him after he discovers Zoe's body, he lies.  His father was home all night, he tells them.  Aaron is sure that it was Eddy Diehl.
     The whole community of Sparta feels the same.  Eddy Diehl, once an upstanding citizen, a good guy, a pal, is now considered a criminal, not convicted but ostracized.  His death with change Krista's life even more than Zoe's.


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More, more, more.

     It was just a few years ago that I first encountered her writing.  At the time the name Oates meant nothing to me,  but now, now it holds the promise of delicious depravity, mesmerizing malice, heart-wrenching honesty.  She reveals the true nature of men, the hidden thoughts that are told to no one. 

     I knew none of this that day, browsing my favorite bookstore with a hunger that had nothing to do with my stomach.  I was searching for something.  Undefined, but I would know it when I found it.  I needed something beyond the common drivel I sometimes cowered behind.

     I combed through Fiction, looking for something to fill my shriveling intellect.

     The title drew my attention:  BEASTS roared at me in fierce red script.  I took it gingerly from the shelf, held the small black book in my hands as if it would bite.  I opened to a random page somewhere in the middle, read a few paragraphs.  Became entranced.  I wanted this book, I felt a need for this book, I craved it.  But I was jobless and had little money.  Jobless, with books as my only solace.  Yes, I thought, I need this book. 

     I checked the back of the book-- less than ten dollars! There was no question now, this book would be leaving with me.  

     I devoured BEASTS and have since gone back for more, more, more.  I added others to my bookshelf:  Black Girl White Girl; Faithless; The Falls; The Female of the Species; Foxfire; i am no one you know; Middle Age; Missing Mom; Sexy; We Were the Mulvaneys.  Lying next me to me, read and used, is Little Bird of Heaven.  These have not satisfied me. On my long "to read" list are more titles:  The Gravedigger's Daughter; Blonde; Rape: A Love Story.  More, more, more.




Have a favorite Oates novel?  Drop me a line at crackingspines@hotmail.com

Oh technology...

     Good morning Readers!  This is just a quick line being dropped to inform you all that Cracking Spines is now on Twitter!  If you've got an account (or if you want to sign up), follow my every page turn!

We have a winner!

     As you all know, the blog contest closed on Friday.  I've spent the weekend thinking about all your entries, and you guys came up with some good stuff.

     Props to my mom, who was the first to respond; her title suggestion was Pages Turned.  Thank you to computersherpa, who suggested  A Better Fate Than Wisdom, something straight from my favorite poet, e.e. cummings.  I'd also like to high-five Adam, who was brave enough to suggest [my name here] Proposes a Toast, which is a C.S. Lewis reference.  I call it brave because I really... don't like Lewis.

     Unfortunately I can't give the prize to all of you fine people,  so I must choose one.  That one is Mr. Jonathan Scott Wyllys, who said:

"This is Jonathan Scott Wyllys, what is the prize?! How about, Cracked Spine. Get it, books, spines? Eh? Eh? Plus it sounds totally hardcore." 

     Hardcore indeed, Jonny!  Which is why I'm calling my blog Cracking Spines, based on your excellent entry.  Please enjoy your Borders giftcard, which you will receive soon!  If you are so inclined, please let us know which books you treat yourself to.  Happy reading!

Contest: Closed.

     The blog contest is officially closed!  Thank you to those who participated.  I have a busy weekend ahead, but I'll try (keyword:  try) to choose and announce the winner  by Monday.  The winner gets something readingly rad; I hope you're as excited as I am!

Contest

     That's right, I said contest!  If you've been following me (my blog, not me personally...creeper) then you know that I've changed the name of the blog a number of times.  I have an issue with indecisiveness.  And an addiction to "iCarly", but the two are not related.

     Anyway, I need your help!  To put it simply, I need YOU to name my blog.  Here's the criteria:

• Must  be book related because (duh!) this is a book blog.
• Preferably no less than 2 but no more than 5 words.
• Can't contain any inappropriate words (you know what they are).
• Can't be a blatant rip off of something else.

      I think that's all.  You've got until next weekend to come up with something, so start brainstorming!  You can submit one idea per day, and if you win you get something awesomely reading related!  Just send your ideas to the e-mail address in my profile with the subject "Book Blog Contest". (If you can't see the e-mail, leave a comment with your e-mail address and I'll contact you.  It'll stay private, I promise.) 


Please note that I reserve the right to tweak any title you submit.  But if I use something based on your submission, you still get the prize!   

Help!

     Yesterday I finished Rob Bell and Don Golden's Jesus Wants to Save Christians: A Manifesto for the Church in Exile.  You want to know how a book is good?  It's really quite simple:  it stays with you.  You chew on the marrow, it boils in your blood.  It invades your brain.

     I have been invaded.  The thoughts followed me home from work.  I have the misfortune of working in retail, and yesterday I had the unpleasant task of ringing up a woman and her four year old brat.  I love children, so when I say brat, I mean brat.  As I scanned their items, I had no choice but to listen to Mommy Dearest as she bragged about her daughter's dozens of shoes, all her clothes, the new bedroom they were decorating for her.  She spent $600 like it was nothing.  I was physically nauseous.  It was disgusting.

     You know what else is disgusting?  We Americans make up only 5% of the world population, yet we have over half the world's wealth.  While people are starving, we are worrying about whether or not we have cool clothes, the latest technology, the biggest TV.  And I'm not just talking about people in third-world countries that live on the equivalent of mere dollars a day.  They need our help, but there is so much we can do here, now.  People in my town (I've met a couple personally), in your town(!) are starving.  People who seem like anyone else are struggling to live, to feed their families.  What's heartbreaking is that many of them are honest, hard-working people with bad luck.  But we as a society have such an "everyone for themselves" attitude that no one is willing to help, to lend a hand, to let someone else know that they're not alone.  Whether we like to admit it, we've all been in that position.

     So why aren't we doing anything?  Why do we hide in our cozy houses, behind all our possessions and money and false security?  If we have so much, why can't we share it?  We have so much, would we really miss it when giving it would mean so much to someone else?  If we can't give money, we can give time.  There are so many places to volunteer-- soup kitchens, homeless shelters, even animal shelters.  Having no money doesn't mean you have an excuse.




Want to help someone?  Check out a charitable organization or two: 

Compassion International 
One Day's Wages 
Blood Water Mission
Red Cross
To Write Love on Her Arms
 

Awesome Author: Rob Bell

     Rob Bell:  Pastor.  Founder.  Author.  Free thinker.  He is the pastor of Mars Hill Bible Church, which he founded.  He has written a number of books (a couple of which I have read), and he has inspired a countless number of individuals. 

     And did I mention that he created and features in the spiritual DVD series NOOMA?  He is, to put it simply, a man after my own heart. 

     I first encountered his writing while browsing my local bookstore's theology section.  What, I asked myself, is a book called Velvet Elvis doing here?  Taking it for a case of mistaken placement, I removed it from the shelf and inspected it.  This is a religious book?  I was surprised, but intrigued.

     When I left the store the book came with me.  I was excited, but wary.  I had read (well, tried to read) religious books before, but I hardly ever finished them.  All those religious writers spewed the same mindless pseudo-Christian dried up drivel I'd heard/ read/ rejected before.  I didn't want to hear the uninspiring, judgmental cliches that are so often recycled in church.

     But this... this was refreshing.  I was so tired of just hearing the surface of Scripture.  I was hungry for more, and Rob Bell fed me.  He goes far beyond just the words; he digs for the hidden meaning, the background, the context, the connections.  He concedes that there is more than one interpretation, more than one point of view.  He doesn't write merely about spirituality, but Truth.  I would even go so far as to call him the C.S. Lewis of this generation. 

     I just finished another of his books (Jesus Wants to Save Christians, for anyone who is interested) and it was more provoking, more honest and reflective than the first.  He took a simple story-- the Exodus-- and showed how it is a story about us, about today.  Moses parted the Red Sea thousands of years ago.  One man suffered for the sake of all over two millennia ago.  Both overturned a government, a corrupt system.  Both destroyed the oppression of their people.  And the story goes on.  People still suffer.  Our government is still corrupt.  We have the choice to continue the the story, to break the bonds that oppress the needy.  That is what Rob Bell's message is all about.

     From the last page of Jesus Wants to Save Christians:  Rob Bell lives with his family in Grand Rapids, Michigan, where he's the founding pastor of Mars Hill Bible Church.  Rob teaches in a short-film format called NOOMA, and has written two books:  Velvet Elvis:  Repainting the Christian Faith and Sex God:  Exploring the Endless Connections Between Sexuality and Spirituality.  His tours Everything is Spiritual and The Gods Aren't Angry are available in DVD format.             

Poe of the Perverse

     For the past several months I've been reading the Complete Works of Edgar Allan Poe on the side.  Poe being a wordy man, it has been quite the tedious task.  I find that often instead of taking the most direct route to his intended meaning, he twists and turns and detours down dark alleys, into open doorways, and through crumbling houses.

     It has not, however, been an unpleasant endeavor.  In fact, it's been enlightening.  Poe has a reputation for morbidity, for the grotesque and perverse.  While these are certainly qualities that can be found somewhere in his writing, most of his works are more ironic than horrific.  He is not just a writer, but an observer and exhibitionist of human nature.  Beneath his eloquence is purity, an honest look at the evil behaviors that come so naturally to man.  He takes what we hide in the darkness and brings it to light.  He forces us to look our imperfections in the face and admit that we are sinful creatures.  We are liars, we are thieves.  We take advantage, we seek revenge.  

     Poe is, in a way, therapeutic.  He causes one to turn, to look inside one's self and reflect upon the soul.  He teaches us about the world, about others, but more than anything he teaches us, the readers, about ourselves.  This could be considered hypocritical (he was a man with many demons he didn't care to face), but I like to believe that it is a message, a warning not to suffer the same fate.  Poe is, secretly, rescuing his readers.  He is a melancholy man, perhaps, but also a hero.  If we listen, we can save ourselves.    
     



     

In the beginning...

    My love of reading has roots deeper than my own experience.  My mother even claims it's genetic-- her grandmother was a reader, her mother is a reader, she's a reader, I'm a reader.  If I ever have a daughter, I hope she'll be a reader.  It's the best thing I could pass on to the next generation.

     I have loved books since before I can recall.  My earliest reading memory:  my father soothing me to sleep with the fluid, melodic nonsense of Dr .Seuss.  He would read them to me every night until I knew the stories by heart.

     My interest grew with age.  I began reading anything I could get my hands on, and by the end of my primary school days I could read (and comprehend) at a high school level.  By the end of middle school, my reading had no limits.  I read Stephen King's horror.  I read Jean M. Auel's Earth's Children series.  I read Little Women; Go Ask Alice; Weeping Willow and anything else that was handed to me.  In high school I read all the assigned reading and asked for more.  My brain was always hungry for new books. 

     I am much the same today.  I browse book stores (new and used), yard sales, library sales, the internet.  My Amazon.com wish list is pages and pages long, filled with books I want to devour.  On my shelves are three dozen books patiently awaiting their turn.  It will come soon enough.  I'm always hungry.    

Confession:

    I am a bibliophile.

Bibliophile (n): a person who collects or is fond of books.        The same way doll collectors are 'fond' of dolls; the way teenie boppers are 'fond' of boy bands.  The way Twi-hards (I shudder at the word) are fond of the despicable Twilight series.  I am not just fond of books; they are a passion, an obsession.   They are a need.       In the near future I intend to record for you, The Reader, how I came to be so in love with the written word.