Girl with a Pearl Earring

One of my best friends and I love to watch Jane Austen-y movies together. From sixth grade on, I became obsessed with Pride and Prejudice or The Importance of Being Earnest, and my friend quickly fell in love with them when I introduced them to her about 2 years ago. Since then, we make a point of watching these movies together. One day, on iTunes, I got a bit carried away watching movie trailers, clicking through the "related movies" section, until I found a trailer for Girl with a Pearl Earring. I eagerly texted my friend after watching it, knowing this was one we had to watch. It turned out, she had it sitting in her basement, so we started watching it one day.

It was confusing, sort of boring, and practically a silent movie, there was so little dialogue. We stopped about halfway through, and next to nothing had happened. So we left it, not continuing for months afterwards.

Then, about a week ago, I was looking for a good book to read during school finals, and while browsing the family bookshelf, Girl with a Pearl Earring caught my eye. I took it for finals, and quickly finished it. It's the story behind the famous Vermeer painting, of the girl and the circumstances which led to her being painting. It's a quiet story, so I suppose the absence of dialogue in the movie fits, and a well crafted and imagined one. The problem exists in the hinge of the story: that Griet, the "girl with a pearl earring," and her master, Vermeer, have a special, almost romantic relationship.

They barely talk: she's a serving girl in his household, he's a painter who works all day in a locked room. She feels a special connection to him and his paintings, an awe of his brilliance, which is entirely understandable since he's Vermeer, of course. But for some unexplainable and odd reason, Vermeer also is attracted to her. How is it possible that Vermeer would take an active interest in the feelings and thoughts of a normal servant girl, not really out of the ordinary, all before painting her? Griet's feelings of admiration are understandable, her slight crush on him excusable, but Vermeer's interest in Griet as anything other than a painting subject: that is where the story loses it's grip on reality. And that's a shame, because the relationship between Griet and Vermeer is one on which the story hinges.

The other problem with the story is that it's just that: a story. I finished having read an interesting story, but wondering what the point was. What moral was there to be drawn from this book? Don't be seduced by your master? Marry for security and don't bother with love? There is no great theme in this book or purpose other than simply the story, and that is definitely the book's worst failing. This book will not change anyone's life; it won't leave the reader thinking afterwards; it won't speak to the deeper humanity within us. As my father and our family friend are always saying, "Good books tell the truth about the human condition." What does this book say about the human condition? I found nothing. So, I have to conclude that this is not a good book.

Additionally, I haven't finished the movie yet, though it isn't promising. We'll see if it's better than the book, although movies rarely are. And though I didn't learn anything or think deeper about this book, I did learn exactly what not to write, and how careful the balance between a good story and a true story must be walked.

The Memory Keeper's Daughter

I am a lefty. It's not something I define myself by, or an interesting fact I would share about myself, but somehow, people will undoubtedly notice and comment on the fact. When I was in kindergarten until second grade, learning to form letters and numbers, teachers would attempt to teach me how to grip my pencil or form my letters the right way, not backwards. During this time of my life, I got a lot of comments on my left-handedness from classmates. The most memorable one was in second grade, when a know-it-all told me that being left-handed meant I had a twin in the womb, but he or she died during the pregnancy.

Haunted by this, I went home and thought long and hard about what it would have been like to have a twin. I felt like I should have remembered losing this twin in the womb, or felt some sense of loneliness as I grew up alone. With a twin, would I have been less social? Would we dress alike? Would he or she have shared my love of reading, or would we be opposites? I would have had an automatic best friend and advocate, a partner in crime and someone else to fight with in our already large family. The idea was appealing, but after some time, I decided I was content to be alone, myself.

Imagine how you would feel if you actually did have a twin who had died at birth. Or was still alive. That's one of the situations explored in The Memory Keeper's Daughter, a Jodi Picoult-esque novel chronicling the ripples of a decision made by Dr. David Henry on the night his wife, Norah, gives birth to twins, one with Down Syndrome. Dr. Henry, on realizing that the girl, Phoebe, has Down's Syndrome, quickly hands her to Caroline, the nurse for the delivery, and tells her to take the girl to an institution for children like her. Instead, Caroline disappears with Phoebe to raise her as her daughter. David tells his wife that their little girl was stillborn, and raises their son Paul as though this were the case.

The effect that this decision has on each of their lives is explored thoroughly and for some, painfully, in this book. Norah sinks into depression, anger, and frustration, David into similar emotions which drive them apart. Their sinking marriage in turn causes strife for Paul in his teenage years, driving him to bad decisions and resulting in overwhelming loneliness for the entire family. Conversely, Caroline meets a man, Al, and happily marries him, raising Phoebe with tender love and care. The opposite pictures of family life, from happy and loving to distant and affair-ridden, speak of the deepest kind of irony: that David Henry thought his family would be happier without his daughter.

Accompanied by beautiful prose, the characters' lives undergo a complicated journey, hard to follow, and very sad. To watch one family fall apart is miserable, while at the same time, I wished for even more telling of Caroline, Al, and Phoebe's happy life. Though the story, at times, drags or feels pointless, the language always is rich and full of imagery, making it more enjoyable. However, the language felt a bit out of place within the grittiness of the story, and often, descriptions seem to be contradictory or repetitive. The attempt was appreciated; the execution, a bit off.

The trouble is, at the conclusion of the book, there is no real redemption for many of the characters. The ending, while satisfying enough, doesn't promise a change in many of the lifestyles, and forgiveness, while possible, doesn't seem near. Realistic in some ways, yes, but I longed for a full solution to many of the problems. Funnily enough, though, perhaps the best part of the book was the very end, when (**SPOILERS**) Phoebe and Paul meet. To watch his prejudices regarding Down's Syndrome melt away and change was the most interesting and beautiful part for me. Society still as a whole seems to be prejudiced against Down's Syndrome, and I know I certainly am. To look at them in a book without the label of their face, just as their dialogue and surroundings certainly made me rethink my perspective on Down's Syndrome. I was reminded that they have thoughts and feelings just like mine, they just express them in a different way. It was a great, eye-opening moment.

But couldn't the rest of the book have been similarly themed? I felt the author missed so many opportunities to create a truly meaningful portrait against Down's Syndrome prejudice, or just as a way to educate the audience about it. But the book got bogged down in the depression and problems of the other characters, without spending enough time on Phoebe or her life. With this addition, this book could have been pushed past simple fiction and into a much more powerfully moving book.

So Brave, Young, and Handsome

Due to this increasing free time and a generous Border's gift card, I've gained more time for reading, which is clearly reflected in the frequency of my posts recently! (It should be noted that my newfound obsession for the TV shows Doctor Who and Merlin has been fostered by this time, as well!). Last Friday, straight from school, my friend and I went to Borders so I could spend a giftcard I had. I bought 3 books: So Brave, Young, and Handsome, Sandition and Other Stories (the unfinished and early works of Jane Austen), and The Goose Girl, a favorite of mine since 4th grade, my original copy of which I lost and gave up trying to find it. The bibliophile within me sighs contentedly when I walk into Borders; I could spend hours browsing, finding new books and seeing what others are reading. The atmosphere is so quiet, and being surrounded by so many possibilities... well, it's like being in a time machine with every galaxy spread out before you, waiting for you to choose which one you want to go to (Wow, I really have been watching Doctor Who too much!).

Before I embarked on my Borders Adventure, I went to my 9th grade English teacher for book recommendations. She gave me two, one called Peace Like a River, and the other about climbing Mount Everest. Upon finding Peace Like a River, I realized the title sounded familiar and wondered if we owned the book, so I called my dad to ask. He informed me that he had just bought the book for my Christmas present, on recommendation from a good friend of mine! I was still interested in the author, so I bought another book of his: So Brave, Young, and Handsome.

Reminiscent of Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman (another TV show obsession of mine), So Brave, Young, and Handsome is a bit of an old Western novel. It follows a writer, Beckett, who cannot seem to follow up his best selling debut (which seems a little autobiographical of Leif Enger, the author, seeing as Peace Like a River was so successful) and Glendon, an older ex-train robber who sets out on a journey to apologize to Blue, his wife who he left years before. Glendon brings Beckett with him from Minnesota to California, through floods and sharpshooters and all the while, chased by Charles Siringo, a former Pinkerton agent who has been looking for Glendon for over 20 years. Along the way, they meet a brilliant cast of characters and take some unexpected twists.

The plot of this book is rather wandering, mimicking the journey of Glendon and Beckett, sometimes together, sometimes apart. It's not a typical old Western: indeed, it actually pokes fun at the typical western style. All the ingredients for a Western novel are here: an outlaw, a romance, a dangerous pursuer, and more. The combination of them, however, results in an original and beautiful tale of love, redemption, perseverance, and quiet beauty. Perhaps the best part of the novel are the characters: my personal favorites are Hood Roberts, a teenage boy dying for adventure, and Charles Siringo. These two characters are endearing and surprising, although entirely different. Hood feels like any other teenage boy, one who desperately wants the glamorous life of an outlaw. He's just a boy, and it shows in his actions, both endearingly naive and frustratingly foolish. His own story unfolds as a sub-plot, and the reader is kept away from the action until the very end. But his story is heart-wrenchingly sad and pitiful. You fall in love with Hood Roberts from the moment he begins to speak.

Charles Siringo, a hard-as-nails, shrewd Pinkerton agent, chases Beckett and Glendon across the country. Beckett, by some odd twist, ends up traveling with Siringo for part of the novel. During this time, Enger brilliantly pulls the reader between hatred and respect for Siringo as he reveals more about Siringo's life and personality. Although you learn Siringo's weaknesses, the fear he inspires never fades, which is a truly difficult feat to accomplish. Even with his weaknesses, Siringo is a formidable foe, but entirely and utterly believable. He never ceases to surprise or have a trick up his sleeve, as is true of the end of the novel.

Speaking of which, the end of the novel was perfect. It was realistic, true to the style of the entire book, and satisfying enough. After arriving in California and talking to Blue, both Glendon and Beckett find a peace and purpose in their lives which didn't exist before. *SPOILERS* Although the reader wishes Glendon and Blue would instantly fall back in love and remarry, their relationship instead deepens on a different level. And though the reader wants Glendon and Blue and Beckett and their families to stay together, happy on the orchard, forever, Glendon's choice to turn himself in fits his new attitude and reformed ideas. Although it isn't the happy ending we wanted for Blue and Glendon, it's realistic and has some sense of closure.

Honestly, this book is filled to the brim with quietly beautiful quotes I wanted to underline and write down and post somewhere to remember. I think that's the best way to describe the entire book, actually: quietly beautiful. It's a peaceful story, it's calming, it's the sort of book to read on a porch and reflect on your life. If you're looking for a summer read, this is a great one if you don't mind "thinking books." This book is deeper than shallow chick-lit, with it's questions about guilt, perseverance, and forgiveness.

The Portrait of a Lady

As school winds down for the year and the promise of summer becomes tangible, I have lost all interest in doing any work. I come home, sit at my computer, and think, "I should be working on my English project." Instead, I usually spend too much time on Facebook. My self-discipline is slipping completely.

And apparently, it's not only that that's slipping. This month seems to have been marked by huge mistakes I've made: running over my phone, for instance, or telling a neighbor something I shouldn't have. With each one, the guilt and self-frustration piles up until I am constantly berating myself for my mistakes. I'm not saying I haven't ever made mistakes before: it's just that this month has been overwhelmingly full of big ones. Right now, everytime something like that happens, I just say, "Story of my life."

And actually, I could also say, "Story of Isabel Archer's life." Because in The Portrait of a Lady, by Henry James, the life of Isabel Archer is chronicled in 613 pages during the 19th century. Isabel begins life fresh, American, and idealistic, wanting nothing more than freedom. She is taken by her brisk aunt, Mrs. Touchett, to their estate in Europe. There, she meets her cousin, Ralph, their neighbor, Lord Warburton, and her uncle, Mr. Touchett. Ralph and Lord Warburton both fall in love with her, and Lord Warburton proposes. Henrietta Stackpole, Isabel's friend from America, comes to visit as well. After Mr. Touchett dies and leaves Isabel a fortune as a means to her freedom, she begins an exploration of Europe. But her exploration is cut short by the schemes of Madame Merle, a sophisticated, worldly woman, and Gilbert Osmond, a poor painter. Isabel falls directly into their trap, marrying Osmond, and winds up miserable for the rest of her life.

Isabel has three marriage proposals in the beginning: one of Mr. Goodwood, from America, another of Lord Warburton, and a third, unspoken one from her cousin Ralph. Yet in the end, it is Osmond she chooses to marry, a mistake which changes the rest of her life. Isabel's freedom is entirely cut off by Osmond, her ideas crushed, and her existence embittered. And all this plot is told in 500 pages.

The majority of The Portrait of a Lady is the above summary, with the plot peeking in between characterization and internal monologues and everyday happenings. I very nearly gave up many times, but told myself I would finish: I was so close, it would be a waste of all my time put into the book to quit now! And finish I did, triumphantly, after 2 1/2 months of reading.

Fortunately, the book ends with an excellent twist: and it's only here when you realize that something has been a little off about each character's actions... you've suspected their motives before, but never the motives behind those motives. (I know, it's a little confusing). And it's also at this point when you realize just how well drawn each character is. They aren't sketched or skimmed or left vague and open-ended: they're filled in and shaded and a finished work. The twist is subtle, though, nothing mind-blowing, but the perfect revelation to end the book with, to justify the final actions of the book. That being said, I don't think the twist justifies reading the entire novel.

Such a long novel justifies a long review, so there are two more topics to be covered. The first is the clear message of the novel. The contrast of Isabel, a fresh American, and Osmond or Madame Merle, all old and cultured Europeans, is constantly mentioned and discussed, not only in conversations but in the narrative as well. The novel clearly was written in a time when the "Old World" and the "New World" were encountering each other and mingling with uncertainty. I'm sure that in the time period, such an exploration of this was fascinating, but I feel the point was over driven.

Finally, the ending. As the reader, you have such hope that Isabel will overcome her problems, her mistakes in marrying Osmond and refusing the others... only to be sorely disappointed. The ending leaves the reader with a pretty certain idea of what happens next, but comes rather abruptly and disappoints entirely.

The life of Isabel Archer is essentially a complete disappointment from her high aspirations. But I think that our lives, no matter what mistakes we make, can always be redeemed by God. Conversely, our aspirations probably won't be what we get... we just have to learn to make the best of our situation, which Isabel doesn't. And I think that's an important lesson I learned from The Portrait of a Lady: not to waste time whining or worrying about our lives and use the time and position we have wisely.

19 Minutes

I began this blog with aspirations of reviewing every possible genre, from children's to deep fantasy to classic to contemporary literature. I had planned to review Henry James' Portrait of a Lady next, but its 600-something pages slowed me down a little... that and the fact that new and exciting books cropped up that I couldn't wait to read. So while Portrait of a Lady sits on my nightstand, bookmarked 400 pages in and begging to be finished, I just read a new book. I almost didn't review it here, because I've already done a Jodi Picoult book, and as I said before, I wanted to have variety in my genres. But the message of this book begged to be written about. So Portrait of a Lady will have to wait a little longer, as I take another break to write about Jodi Piocoult's 19 Minutes.

High School. As a 16 year old nearly halfway through, I feel qualified to say that for some, high school is the best time of their lives. For others, it's the worst. And for some like me, it's just in between: some days, you wish you were just in college, already! and others, the exhilaration of being young and free makes you wish you could stay a teenager forever. And the there's the schoolwork, which is definitely on the "worse" end of the bargain.

Stereotypes abound about high school groups: the jocks, the cheerleaders, the dancers, the nerds, the foreign students... the lists goes on and on. Although my own school doesn't play so dramatically into these groups, it is a fairly true grouping. The teasing and enmity between some of these groups (the "cool" group and the "nerdy" group, for instance) varies from school to school: but what 19 Minutes addresses is "how far is too far?"

19 Minutes is about a school shooting. Peter, the shooter, is a skinny, awkward teenager who has been bullied since kindergarten. Josie Cormier, a popular, beautiful girl, is dating Matt, one of the boys killed during the shooting who bullied Peter. She was with her boyfriend when he was shot, but Peter spared her. Incidentally, Peter and Josie were best friends growing up: as were their mothers, Alex and Lacey. Alex, Josie's mother, is the judge who will seat the case. See how complicated it all is? But each life is woven together with the next in a complicated domino-chain of hurt and fear.

Bullying is something high school students are taught about in boring seminars or warning lectures. What we don't realize is that it is a commonplace act at school: we just don't call it bullying. As I read 19 Minutes, I felt convicted: haven't I laughed at a joke someone's made about the nerdy kid who sits alone in the corner? Haven't I listened to guys make fun of the freakishly tall girl in the hallways? Isn't there that girl everyone calls "Sasquatch" but no one knows her real name? It's all bullying, it's all demeaning another person, and that person deserves respect no matter how different from us they are. Peter, the shooter, was bullied his entire life, and I found myself actually crying at the boundless cruelty the other guys inflict on Peter just for fun.

I cried for Peter, but I empathized with Josie, Peter's childhood friend and a member of the popular crowd. She knew the right thing to do was to be nice to Peter, but when her boyfriend and his friends made fun of him, it was so hard for her to stand up for Peter. In fact, it was easier for Josie to go the other way and nod, laugh, agree passively. It's a choice that many of us make (myself included)... and we could never imagine the consequences. Certainly Josie never imagined that Peter would grow so angry and hurt that he would shoot those same kids that had teased him for 12 years. Honestly, it scares me how many students think it's harmless to tease another human being... or just sit by and let it happen. Every single human being deserves respect. Whenever Picoult writes from Peter's point of view, you feel his pain. You understand that his life has been ruined completely by the bullying. You understand that all that defines him is the fact that others don't like him. I could NEVER live my life that way: I almost feel that I'd crack the same way Peter did.

With that in mind, I definitely am changing the way I treat people at school. Reading this book absolutely opened my eyes to my own behavior and others. 19 Minutes is the kind of book that should be required for all high schoolers to read: it's that life changing-- but before I recommend it too strongly to teens, it should be noted that I felt the sexual content and language detracted from the storyline and were unnecessary. I almost wish I hadn't read those parts of the book. Some scenes are understandable to further characterize or explain... others are extraneous and too graphic for my taste. I feel the book could have been better without some of the inappropriate material.

Jodi's books usually make me think, but none as much as this one. I think that's because they are usually about adults and their problems or remote, obscure, .0009% chances of something, but 19 Minutes is real and relatable to my everyday life. I strongly recommend that a high schooler read this book: and see how they treat others afterwards.