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Dandelion Wine
Don't ask me where I came up with the notion that this book has a plot. I read Dandelion Wine in high school and remembered it fondly - if wrongly. It's not so much about a kid named Douglas as it's about a summer named 1928. But that's all ok, because my recollections of the style and flavor were right on, and that's what really matters with writing as poetic as this. Makes you want to lick it up like an ice cream cone.
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It takes a special kind of aplomb to make a reader fall for a sharp-edged character, and I can't remember the last time anyone carried it off as well as Eloise McGraw. With a personality palpable as burlap, Saaski the changeling somehow comes across as lovable as she is fierce, even as she tumbles and blunders through a life that seems utterly foreign to her. The fantasy is just the way I like it - grounded in a robust old world setting that makes fairy folk seem matter-of-fact as moor grass. Meanwhile, the grudging affection that takes root in Saaski's family unfurls at just the right moment to wrench your heart sideways. Quite possibly the best re-read of the year.
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There's nothing like the right book at the right time. The Yorkshire setting and dialect paralleled The Moorchild, and sour little Mary Lennox is a worthy companion to Saaski. Plus all that business about "the magic" hit me right when I was willing to digest it. (Although I sure didn't expect to find the philosophy of The Secret in a children's book nearly 100 years old.)
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Pollyanna
Say what you will: I like the Disney version better. The characters and the core situations are all there, but the novel's plot is. . .flabbier. A lot goes on in isolation that I'm used to seeing piggybacked into compact scenes, and plenty more happens offstage, conveyed only in conversations between Nancy and Old Tom. Disney has honed a knack for distilling and streamlining that sort of thing like no one else, and once you've seen the story team at their best, it's hard to go back. In this case they managed to preserve the character dynamics and the emotional arc of the plot at the same time. And that says nothing about what Hayley Mills brings to the picture.
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Elske
I've had a doozy of a time figuring out why I like this book so much. With its restrained style and limited access to the characters' inner lives, a number of readers have complained that they felt detached from Elske. Stepping back to consider objectively, I can see where they're coming from - that sort of thing usually drives me bats. But in this case, where others wind up disengaged, I find myself fascinated. Even when they don't say so, I'm sure I know what the characters are feeling. What they do say, and the way they say it, tells me everything I need to know. It's like watching really good theatre, the kind without voiceover or soliloquy, where the tension between the surface and what lies beneath simply crackles. How does Cynthia Voigt do that, without a stage, and without actors? If I find out, I'm not telling - at least not until I've learned to do it myself.
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The Red Tent
SO glad I still love this book. (I'm always kind of chicken to return to something I read before I turned all snobby and discerning.) Didn't rate it as highly this time around, but that's mostly due to losing the element of surprise. Once again, The Red Tent makes me want to return to Genesis and see just where the lines between Bible and novel begin to blur. I've also seen some criticism I wasn't aware of before, but...I don't care. I like this story because of how it makes me feel, not because of how accurate it portrays the era.
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The Storm in the Barn
Opened this book and immediately said Ooooooh. Super, super art - sort of soft and rawboned all at once, with an appropriately dusty palate. And then I got a little muddled by the story, because I didn't realize that our hero Jack is NOT part of the family that moves out of town on pages 12-15. I didn't do so well interpreting some of the interior barn panels, either. What can I say? My graphic-reading abilities aren't always top-notch, which stinks, because I was too busy groping for my bearings to appreciate the unique blend of history and folklore Matt Phelan's quilted together. Phooey.
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Escaping the Tiger
My rating may not look impressive, but here's the thing - my grandma was in the hospital the whole time I was reading Escaping the Tiger. The very fact that the story engaged my attention sufficiently to keep me coming back for more probably means this is a better book than I was able to fully appreciate. Four things I did notice: 1. The beginning is rocket-powered. 2. Even though the refugee camp setting is deliberately stagnant, there's no sag to the plot. 3. Every now and then, a turn of phrase commands admiration. (Her fingers felt like freshly set custard...) 4. Not many escape stories concentrate on what "freedom" actually entails, focusing more on fleeing than its aftermath. (Available in March)
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Under Three Tsars
Meh. Probably my least favorite imperial memoir. The narration comes off as oddly detached and impersonal, in part because many of Narishkin-Kurakin's stories of pivotal events are actually relayed second hand. (The fact that she heard these stories from Grand Dukes and Duchesses doesn't make them any more exciting, nor more detailed than most history books.) Narishkin also eschews the sort of cozy anecdotes I look forward to hearing from those who've enjoyed the private company of royalty. Moment of snark: while this is one of the least sappy tsarist memoirs I've read, it could just as easily have been titled "Look at all the famous Russians I knew!"
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The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde
This must have been a whopper of a thriller, back in the days before "Jekyll & Hyde" was common parlance. Nowadays the plot's been pretty well spoiled by Hollywood, so it's hard to work up a whole lot of suspense. In fact, I'd never realized the original story is more mystery than horror. The film versions tend to focus on the last chapter, expanding on Hyde's dirty deeds, which Stevenson avoided elaborating on. The Hollywood approach jazzes things up, but yanks the rug out from under the mystery almost immediately.
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You know what's even better than reading Fire? Listening to it while driving amongst burning bushes and flaming maple trees. Also, I think this recording cures headaches. (Or at the very least, quieted my whining and thrashing enough to let the ibuprofen do its job.)
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The Moorchild
