Review: Swann's Way

Swann's Way by Marcel Proust
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Nobody describes a madeleine--or anything else, for that matter, like Proust, the master of literary observation and phenomenological, subjective and objective description. So unbelievably beautiful, you must read it to believe how he lavishes attention on something as mundane as a clock, a dresser, the sun streaming through curtains in a window, anything is putty in his hands. It took me a long time to make the commitment to read the entire series, because basically, once you start this, all bets are off for other novels. It's that engrossing. All writers should take a course in Proust, regardless of whether or not they aspire to writing of this ilk.

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Review: Me Before You

Me Before You by Jojo Moyes
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

It's sappy, syrupy sweet, saccharine...yes, yes and yes, it's all of those things--and yet, I cried a bucket. I sobbed near the end, big belly tears rolling down my cheeks. If you've seen the movie, trust me: the movie is nothing compared to Moyes' work. This is not literature, no prizes will be given for the writing, and yet, it's compelling and indelible. I read it a while back when I was stuck somewhere with my family, all of them watching a football game. I polished this off in hours. Love and love and love. It gets to you, and I cannot recommend it highly enough. It's deeply felt and will shoot an arrow into your heart. Guaranteed. It's a quick read :-)

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Review: White Oleander

White Oleander by Janet Fitch
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Gripping, a propulsive read, and nothing compared to the movie. Powerfully rendered in language that's uncompromising, evokes such empathy, incredibly drawn characters.

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Review: The Sea

The Sea by John Banville
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Banville is the master, truly one of the greatest English writers living today, not hyperbole. So beautiful, pregnant with longing and rich dense, brimming with goodness. This is what I remember of the book: I finished it at night, before going to bed, and as I turned the last page, read the final sentence, I felt that if nothing else happened to me, if I didn't live another day, if my life were to end in that instant, I'd have no regrets. I'd die a happy and content woman. This memory so viscerally vivid. Banville doesn't just "write," he sculpts language as clay, as Michelangelo to marble, literally waxes red blood filled veins of description. Many complain that Banville can be cold, cool surgically precise, and yes that's true in many of his novels, but in The Sea, he pours his heart, and it brims with love. Banville is our modern day Proust.

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Review: The Joy Luck Club

The Joy Luck Club by Amy Tan
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

This launched it all. I read it so very long ago, when it first came out, and on an airplane. I sobbed on that plane in the middle of the night when all were sleeping. The is one of the most richly evocative pieces of literature ever. She gets into the very fabric and layers of the mother-daughter relationship, on a universal level, not just Chinese. She has one of the finest ears for dialogue in the business. The nuances of this will eave you breathless, gorgeously written, beautifully layered. This was one of those rare novels I associate with having read before the internet, and of course I was on an airplane flight to India, so there were no interrupts. It's heartbreaking and joyous in one, one of those rare novels with tone, and dialogue, and content, and imagery...the whole shebang. Go for it--you have a treat waiting :-)

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Spare Me

Spare Me

Please---no more. No more asking:

Are you drinking enough water?

Are you stressed out?

Are you resting enough?

For the ache to go, I'd sleep all day waking only to hydrate.

Please---no more criticisms:

You're high-strung no wonder you have a headache

You were a spoiled child

Hmm, you ARE anal  

You only want attention

For the ache to go, I'd cloister and isolate into zen.

Please---no more prescriptions:

You should do yoga

You should eat organic

You should align your chakras

You should find God

You should exercise more--or not so much

For the ache to go, I'd gulp every 'should,' camp in church, meditate to stupor.

Please---no more armchair psychotherapy:

Think positive

Identify your self-defeating beliefs

Are you mad at your mother?

"Were you abused as a child?" 

For the ache to go, I'd lavish love to Self and more.

Please---to all you doctors:

Don't look at me, your eyes loaded ammunition suspicion

In the ER, don't deem me drug-seeking

In your office, give me more than six minutes 

Dare not assess my 'perfectionism': don't ask about my bowels

In your notes, don't write neurotic

Bite your tongue and forget telling me to take vacation

Dare to be clinician stellar nay extra-ordinary

Do it for yourself, do it for us

Educate your Self.

Please---no more "help"

I've heard it all--

What's more--done it all

Can do little more

Except live, and live some more--

Day by day pregnant with pain.

Nothing easy about it

Please---understand I'm ill-at-ease

Only because I have a dis-ease

In my brain and not my heart

My brain hurts because of my genes

My heart hurts because you blame me

Please---spare me. 

Hope Expensive

Hope Expensive

I hope not for one hundred percent pain-free

Who could imagine such a state

I ask only for: 

Slack here and there

This way and that, bit by bit

Not for months of zero ache 

Not for weeks of free nor for days at a time

Not even one solitary day.

 

I ask only for few hours

So I can breathe

Hours I may lean on, slump tilt toward

Hours to make a plan, follow through and through and not flake 

Only for reliable hours I may rest

Those hours to squeeze droplets of minutes and seconds

Minutes to blow big bubbles juicy

Seconds of sitting stilled hush in my head

All silent whooshing quiet.

I hope not for normal

Only for sleep through the night

Without migraine knocking at 3:30 a.m. knocking my crawl out of bed

Hope only for function in the a.m.

The occasional social hour or premeditated romance in the p.m. 

The impromptu lunch, chill talk all punctuated ease

Light and laugh, giggle and chill 

Not anxiety about ferment and aged this and that.

I hope not to be party girl

Only to accept a wedding invitation here and there

To stay for the dance and song, stare at a movie screen sans ear plugs

Without shielding eyes at lights flicker and glare

To sway through the day some grace and sway, lilt without drug-haze.

I hope not to be career woman ambition one hundred.

Only to eke a wage

I hope not to be meds free for philosophy's sake--

My body no temple

Only to see my client clearly, no fiorinal nor codeine 

Listen to my friend without oxycodone

Make love to my husband, out depakote drain

Play with my niece, no excedrin stimulate in sight

How to still pure virgin when--drugs, drugs and more to the gills?

I hope not for zero ache.

Only for less heavy head, less bowling ball

Instead more cotton candy-like atop my neck

For more mellow stabs and thrusts milder pricks and jabs

For thunderings and hammerings not so relentless

For nausea less gripping

For diarrhea more solid.

I hope not to be like others, those normals

Others who use comb on scalp brush on hair without a care

Unafraid of tenderness and prickly

Others who move freely bob head swaying 

To and fro music and all else joy

How to afford such hope expensive? 

I hope cheaply:

My head no echo no noise no loud, no red inflame

My head whispers shhh and sparkles green lit yellow

Artery smooth sans spasm, face unwhipped, no tearing eye 

What fatter joy?