Susan Abar's Against All Odds

Our life as mortals is but a breath in

length.  We are no different than the

flowers- beautiful and delicate, sturdy

and hearty- dropping petals one

by one, until the last breeze, the last

breath, takes away the last petal, and 

we return to dust.

-Susan Abar

April 23, 2007

Since we were iced in yesterday, I thought it would be the ideal time to read Susan Abar's Against All Odds:  Two Pennies, A Rainbow and A Woman Called Mercy, a gift from woman blessing Carol Cottingham.  Not knowing what the book was about, I was intrigued with not only the subtitle but the penny glued into place on the title page.
Reading further, I discovered the author has met more than her fair share of adversities in her adult life beginning with the loss of her job, which, in turn, was followed by a breast cancer diagnosis.  Written from the heart, the author accurately states what the loss of her breasts represented:
 
My eyes tracked the still-healing horizontal scars that crossed my chest like two six-inch dashes marking the place where my breasts had been . . . breasts that once nourished my babies . . . breasts that once defined me as a woman.  (19)

For me personally as a reader, I connected not only with her thoughts, but in the fact we had identical breast cancer diagnoses, estrogen positive inductile carcinoma, which had both been initially misdiagnosed as cysts.

The only problem I had were the wrong words used in the text such as, "As the months past"  (47) and "the write decision"  (29).
 
Without giving too much away, her cancer diagnosis did not end with her breasts.  So, Against All Odds is not only a telling of a miraculous medical journey, but, more importantly, a journey of Abar's faith resuscitated through the discovery of two pennies.  

Anderson Harp's Retribution Book Club

Alpha males anyone?  If this question interests you in the slightest, then Anderson Harp's Retribution is the novel for you.  Protagonist Will Parker, a retired district attorney, takes the occasional deep undercover mission to relieve himself of his predictable life far in the woods and to fuel his adrenaline addiction.  This particular secret operation finds Parker fighting for his life in the mountainous border of Afghanistan and Pakistan.

If a fan of visual imagery in writing, look no further:

A man from the village representing the elders went there the following morning and found the walls covered in sprays of blood- the floors as well.  He stepped into a puddle of black, congealed blood, which stuck to his shoes like molasses.  Flies swarmed around the room, occasionally landing on his cheek, even as he brushed them aside.  The bodies had been pummeled by bricks found nearby, covered in the same sticky blood.  (86-7)

Written in a third-person narrative, the political commentary sprinkled throughout is unwavering:  

The Americans have a better chance of breathing life back into those two dead bodies, Yousef thought, than of changing these people [of Pakistan].  (87)

Tears welled in the corners of my eyes as the English teacher within embraced antagonist's Robert Trantham's approach of reading in reverse, "The old editorial trick caused one to see things in a different light.  Misspelled words stood out if you read a paragraph backward"  (384).

For the purposes of book club, one may serve "cold kupus and grah"  (111) or Dom Perignon and chilled caviar as served in first class on Qatar Air.  Personally, I would definitely avoid the chewing gum Parker favored, and instead, opt for the "tea and sweet biscuits"  (44).

Nothing Personal Book Club

Do not let the title of Mike Offit's Nothing Personal:  A Novel of Wall Street scare you off if you are not a fan of numbers, trading, and most importantly, Wall Street.  Offit is able to break down junk bonds, prepayments, and mortgage-backed securities in such a manner even I understood what was being discussed and wholeheartedly continued to turn the pages.

Hooked on page three by the characterization of a microeconomics professor teaching at Columbia Business School, I liked the subtle humor and accuracy in Offit's writing:

. . . Corelli rarely tried to enliven the material, having long before decided that, even in so inexact a discipline as his, he would grade generously those who simply recited his lectures on all exams without thinking or dissension.  This practice would, he reasoned, prepare them well for life in most of corporate America. 

Furthermore, Offit's descriptions of Pebble Beach brought to mind my friend Denta's love of the Monterey Bay area:

The verdant green of the grass, deep blue sky, and boiling ocean water combine with the misty sea spray, salt-infused air, sunshine, and puffy clouds to make a tableau so rich and inspiring that a well-struck shot reverberates with the harmony of something divine.  (200)

The protagonist, Warren Hament, an up-and-coming salesman on Wall Street who finds himself entangled in a murder mystery is certainly likeable and has quite a way with the ladies.  Va va va and voom!

For me, the problem of Nothing Personal lies in the numerous mispellings throughout this novel [i.e. anecdotess (104), omlet (152), and drive (302) instead of driven] and awkard wordings "Just as long as are not connected . . ." (319) which detracts from the reading.

For the purposes of book club, crabmeat salad would be a welcome choice as it was Hament's choice when schmoozing for the first time with an MD (managing director) from Weldon Corporate Finance after a game of squash.

Who's Afraid of the Big Bad Book?

I liked how stuff looked real.  I like how it was kind of Halloween.  I liked how it had fairy tales in it.  I liked how they had mustaches on their faces.  I liked at the end how Goldilocks had a wig on, and she could never get in the house because there's a lock.  I liked how Cinderella was the only nice girl.  I liked the title.

By Colette

Pink Me Up

I liked how they were wearing pink.  I liked the title.  It gave me an idea that we could dress our daddy up in pink.  I liked the cute carrot.  I liked the pictures.  I like the cat.  I like her pink bed.

By Colette

Junie B. Jones Toothless Wonder

I read Junie B. Jones Toothless Wonder. I was laughing out loud when Junie B. never puts her tooth under her pillow but when she did I was surprised. She put her tooth under her pillow because she thought that there was a tooth witch and the tooth witch was going to bite into the tooth like an apple but the next morning she got up and she got cash. Then she went into her brother's room and the tooth she lost went to her brother. This book helped me remember when I lost my first tooth. 

By Emma Patrick

Growing Concerns Book Club

When author Rhonda Tibbs told me about Growing Concerns: An Eco-Horror Anthology edited by Alex Hurst, I was more than intrigued.  Halloween being my favorite holiday where dressed as a witch I scare all of the neighborhood children and shriek at the top of my lungs while touring haunted houses, I knew this was a must read.  If looking for fear in the form of words on a page, not an easy task for an author I might add, Growing Concerns, a short story anthology which makes one view plants, flowers, and soil in a whole new phosphorescent light should be the next book added to your reading list.

Beginning with Leahey's "The Wisteria," the "hook" begins with the bitter conversation of a married couple:

Charles leaned out the back door and pointed an accusatory finger, "Dammit, Gia, look at this!"

It was obviously my fault.  I had no idea what he was talking about, but still, it was clearly my fault, "What is it Charlie?"

My husband's scowl twisted his handsome face into an ugly mask.  He hated being called Charlie.  I liked to pretend it just slipped out but really, I did it just to annoy him.  (Loc 62 of 4094)

Thus, the tone of a decaying marriage set the stage against a backdrop of full of life (literally) purple blooming wisteria.  So, I can now with all certainty type, any notion of planting wisteria near our own deck in the hopes of a shade canopy have withered. 

Furthermore, reading the tales of these devout gardeners made me second guess any thought I ever had of joining a garden club.  In Magas' "Journal 6 of 8:  Techniques in Grafting," gardening takes on a new level of commitment, "He bled a little where his scalp split, but blood is good.  The plants like blood  (Loc 382 of 4094). . . It's a strange realization to come to- finding that you feel more for a dying plant than you do for a dying human being"  (Loc 487-8 of 4094).

In addition, the vivid descriptions in Cady's "Those Were Days of Roses," enchants all of a reader's senses:

The front lawn yawned open like a bloated black tongue, thick tufts of black and green weeds spiking out of oozy quicksand and steaming black mud, the hiss of snakes and the gurgle of swamp gas as a slow, foul breeze blew out of the innards of the estate . . .."  (Loc 2339 of 4094).

Growing Concerns, beyond a shadow of a doubt, would have matured to a five out of five rating from me if it were not for the missing articles sprinkled throughout the anthology as well as incorrect verb tenses as in "choose" (Loc 893 of 4094) instead of "chose."

Nevertheless, for the purposes of book club, tomato pie comprised of     ". . . late-planted heirlooms.  Followed by sauteed bell peppers and squash, white corn, and a fresh mint tea" (Loc 3594 of 4094) would be sure to satisfy the herbivore within us all.  However, bear in mind, a restful night's sleep after such a feast may not come to fruition.