Posts tagged as Notables

I continue in my reading of the American Library Association Notable Books List with "Inside Scientology: The Story of America's Most Secretive Religion" by Janet Reitman.

Reitman is a journalist/writer who was inspired to write this nonfiction book after she began writing a feature article on Scientology for the "Rolling Stone" in the summer of 2005. Her interest had been piqued by the actor Tom Cruise, a prominent Scientologist who often speaks out regarding Scientology.

Local readers may recall that Scientology's founder, L Ron Hubbard, was born in Tilden, Nebraska, in 1911.

Reitman describes the evolution of Hubbard's concept of "Dianetics" to the church of Scientology that exists today. I hesitate to attempt a brief description of the framework of Scientology. Foundational ideas include a belief that people are immortal souls who come back to the earth over and over. A practice known as auditing leads people to move past traumatic events that keep them from reaching their full potential. Scientology holds strong positions against much psychiatry and the prescription drugs it uses; they consider their own processes as much more successful. As people progress through auditing into upper levels of the church, they typically pay more and more money to move forward. Reitman sees money as central to the story.

Reitman seems less interested in the belief system behind Scientology, and more interested in the structure of the church, the personalities who run it, and how it raises money.

The view that she presents is primarily from outside--Scientology's leaders did not speak with her. She relies heavily on former Scientologists, those who have left the religion, to get inside views of the structure of the church. She describes people who left the church having been treated shabbily or worse, detailing in particular the death of Lisa McPherson in 1995.

She gives an overall picture of a "church" in quotes, which she implies is actually a business that uses the cover of religion to shelter money. Further, she reveals how the personalities who head Scientology, first Hubbard, and now David Miscavage, shape the church in sometimes bizarre ways. She presents Miscavage as a sheltered young man who came to lead the church in his 20s, ill prepared for the job. She details many ways in which his direction seems irrational.

Yet she concludes with optimistically-toned interviews with young people currently engaged in Scientology.

I expect that the Notable Books committee chose this title because it brings forward information on an important topic of interest to many readers. I would point out that Reitman sometimes employs language that seems biased, describing Hubbard as a huckster, and using terms such as "concoction" that carry laden meanings. I would have preferred more measured reporting.

Even so, I'll recommend this to readers who prefer nonfiction and who like to read about current events and issues. I was struck by the parallel stories of a belief system on one hand, and the personalities behind it on the other. That is where much of the energy in this book lies--in the end, it is a story about people.

"The Memory Palace: A Memoir" by Mira Bartok falls into the category of "memoirs by women with mentally ill mothers." Others in this category include "Liars' Club" by Mary Karr and "The Glass Castle" by Jeannette Walls. I picked it up because it's on this year's Notable Books List from the American Library Association. And--I'm a sucker for a memoir.

Here are the basics--Mira Bartok and her sister ended up changing their names and moving to cities away from Cleveland to separate themselves from their mother, who was seriously mentally ill. Bartok became an artist and writer. After a serious car accident and traumatic brain injury as an adult, she decided to take a few steps toward reconnection with her mother who by then was homeless as well.

This book stands out from the others because Bartok includes excerpts from letters that her mother wrote, and she includes pictures of her own art. These deepen her story. Her telling isn't chronological, but it does make sense somehow, as she describes the reconciliation, and then backs up to tell what came before.

Bartok employs the image of the memory palace partly because she had to reconstruct her own ability to remember. She suffered a traumatic brain injury in 1999 at age 40, and lost much of her short term memory. She describes the memory palace as a way of remembering by creating an imaginary space where each item within the space represents something one wishes to remember, an apt description of her writing here.

As I look back on the reading and reflect on what images I will keep of this book, I will recall Bartok's description of when she first saw her mother behaving oddly in a way that was seriously wrong, and her immediate understanding that it was something to hide. The saddest to me was that Bartok seemed to show great talent at the piano; her mother had been a prodigy. But the disorganization of the entire household kept Bartok from continuing with lessons just as she was progressing to serious music.

Bartok struggles with guilt and shame. Yet there is also a sense in which she and her sister keep their eye on the light at the end of a tunnel, knowing that their only hope is that light. Nothing here is easy, but much of it is richly focused on life and hope.

I confess that as I read this, I often silently thanked my parents for being so by-the-book in getting me to bed on time, feeding me three square meals each and every day, and insisting on a sense of order. I chafed at that, but "The Memory Palace" reminded me that there's nothing lovely about the kind of mental chaos that puts children in true danger. I'll recommend this to readers who love memoirs, who seek stories of resilient children, and who want to know more about families without bedtimes.

"Destiny of the Republic" by Candice Millard is subtitled, "A Tale of Madness, Medicine and the Murder of A President." In this American Library Association Notable book, Millard tells the story of President James Garfield, who was elected in 1880 and died in 1881.

Some readers may recall Millard as the author of "The River of Doubt" which was a One Book One Lincoln finalist a few years ago. That focused on an episode in the life of Theodore Roosevelt. She excels at writing history as story.

Millard opens this story with a prologue that introduces us right away to Charlies Guiteau. Guiteau survived a collision between two steamships in 1880. His own survival when others died led him to believe that he was saved for an important purpose, and when that belief combined with his mental illness, it twisted itself into his intention to kill President Garfield.

Chapter One picks up at the United States' Centennial Exhibition in 1876, where James Garfield, a congressman, strolls the grounds with his family. Millard uses this event to introduce two key angles that will be highlighted when Garfield is shot--the work of Inventor, Alexander Graham Bell, and pioneering work regarding antiseptic procedures in surgery.

Millard spends enough time with Garfield's remarkable rise from poverty to presidency to set the context of the time, and to tell the parallel story of Guiteau's descent. The events following the shooting take up a good deal of the book, yet she doesn't lose the narrative's momentum.

I appreciated how much I learned in the course of this book. This takes several forms. The sense of the United States shortly after the Civil War, the personalities engaged in politics, the dirtiness of the politics, and the lack of cleanliness as it impacted Garfield, are staying with me.

This may not be the book for serious students of American history, but for readers who have a general interest in the time and who are unfamiliar with James Garfield, Millard unrolls a fine story. I'll recommend it both to those with that interest in American history, and also to fiction readers who are willing to try nonfiction "when it reads like a story."

You can read an additional review of this book in the library staff review section of our website, with thanks to Alyse at Bennett Martin Public Library.

Here's my short assessment of "The Art of Fielding" by Chad Harbach. It's a fine book with a fabulous first half. As a reader and evaluator, I'm so overwhelmed by the unfulfilled promise of that first half that I may be underestimating the second.

But to back up--this is a baseball novel combined with a coming-of-age story. Its focus is Henry Skrimshander, a remarkable shortstop. Henry's fielding ability is witnessed by a catcher who is able to wangle Henry a place at Westish College. Henry's magical talent transforms the team...until he loses it. And then his friends, his teammates, and all who have been introduced in this novel adjust their orbits around his misery.

Other aspects of the story include the life of a small liberal arts college, the first motions toward a gay relationship by the college president, the return of the president's prodigal daughter, and the coaching brilliance of that catcher.

Harbach is a wonderful writer, combining a sense of Henry's transcendent talent with the everyday details of college, of roommates, of part-time jobs. He takes an often wry approach, even as he describes scenes artfully, maybe wistfully. I thought to myself that he strikes the tone that I sense Jonathan Franzen going for, of telling a story with a clever voice, from a perch that allows the teller to know an awful lot, when the teller honestly likes the characters, warts and all.

I absolutely loved the first half of this book, with Harbach introducing characters in lovely order and a perfect pace. This part of the story seemed so clean, so lusciously straightforward and true. What happens after that just didn't live up to the promise. The drama of sexual betrayal, the ongoing suspense of Henry's inability to play, the awkward introduction of a counselor who untangles Henry's issues, they seemed like too many condiments on a perfect hot dog.

I can't bring myself to dislike "The Art of Fielding," and I do think it's fair to describe it overall as a good book, a fine baseball story. I'll recommend this to fiction readers, to people who enjoy contemporary settings, to baseball fans, and certainly to book groups. It's easy to see how it earned its place on this year's Notable Books list.

The 2012 American Library Association Notable Books List was announced last Sunday--and that made January 22 a Recognized Holiday at my house. I've got several notables checked out, a few more on hold, and I have finished my first--"We the Animals" by Justin Torres.

After last year's rants about LONG books dominating the list, I can ease up this year. In fact, "We the Animals" is only 128 pages.

It's a series of short stories told by the youngest of three brothers in a contemporary family. Their father is Puerto Rican, and their mom is anglo, both from Brooklyn originally, although the family lives now in upstate New  York.

The stories reminded me of Andre Dubus III's "Townie" in their mix of profound family chaos, fierce love, and edginess.

In one story, the boy is alone left too long at a Niagara Falls museum. To keep himself occupied, he ends up dancing in front of a film that nobody else is viewing, enjoying the movement and the lights on his body. He realizes that his dad has finally returned, and has been watching him, perhaps for some time. His dad realizes how "pretty" his son is. That begins the movement toward the book's end, as the young man realizes he's gay, and engineers his first sexual encounter.

When I finished this, I noted that I felt like I was either in the presence of genius, or needed a shower. The scenes in this book so often put the narrator and his brothers in situations that were dirty or grimy or slightly dangerous or mean. And yet there remained that sense of love and solidarity. How did Torres manage that?

Torres writes in a deceptively simple way that seems just to describe, but that also sets a tone.

I will recommend this to people who appreciate spare writing, who seek varieties of experiences, and who can tolerate edginess. I'll also bring it to the attention of book groups.