I Hate to Leave this Beautiful Place

I was initially attracted to Howard Norman's memoir "I Hate to Leave this Beautiful Place" simply due to the dual geographical coincidence of Norman's childhood spent in Michigan and his adult summers spent in Calais Vermont, a locale a mere few miles from where my library career began. Yet when a patron also mentioned that it was also a very good read, I finally took the time to pick-up this slender volume. And once I did, I could not put it down. This readability does not though, grow out of an arresting narrative arc. In fact, pinpointing the narrative arc of "I Hate to Leave this Beautiful Place" proves rather difficult. Instead, Norman's tale reads more like a collection of loosely related reminisces or episodes that are in his own words "incidents of arresting strangeness."

The first chapter of his life that Norman turns to, is a boyhood summer spent working in a bookmobile in Grand Rapids, Michigan. In addition to hours spent checking books in and out, Norman also spends time each day watching his absentee father while away his day at the counter of an apothecary.  

Chapter two finds Norman in Nova Scotia in a post high school wander where he falls in love with an intense and brilliant painter only to lose her to a plane crash. 

Eventually, in chapter three, Norman lands in the Canadian Northwest where he works as a folklorist recording Inuit stories. Slowly but surely however, these stories begin to work on Norman's conscious and these effects in conjunction with the ill-will of an angakok, a shaman, who hates non-Inuits, forces him to take leave of yet another beautiful place. 

Chapter four occurs in Calais, Vermont where Norman experiences a persistent and incurable fever that warps his grip on reality for months leading to the final and most assuredly strange chapter of Norman's life in which an acquaintance poet, who is house sitting Norman's Washington D.C. home for the summer, commits suicide after murdering her child within their home. Struggling with whether or not he and his family can possibly live in the house again, he finally determines that, as Robert Frost stated, "the best way out is always through."

This sort of understated, yet deep insight along with poignant literary and intellectual allusion are what give "I Hate to Leave this Beautiful Place" its power. Throughout his remembering and telling, Norman never foists his themes or acumen upon the reader. Instead, he allows his writing and those reading it to develop conclusions of their own. This ability to share in an experience and understanding while making it ones own is quite possibly the most satisfying aspect of "I Hate to Leave this Beautiful Place." However, it is more than rivaled by Norman's fantastic ability to capture the tragic and humorous and to present both to the reader in language that leaves one breathless. This is indeed, a highly recommended read.

Odd Duck

 Last week a friend from college whom I had not seen for quite some time stopped in for an overnight visit. We stayed up late into the night chatting and chuckling. The next morning when he headed back home to Detroit, my chuckling continued not just because I had had such a great time but also because my friend is such an incongruous character. 

A long haired lawyer, this friend is a graceful klutz, a shy motormouth, a brilliant dispenser of words and wisdom that never manages to follow any of his own good advice. He is, one might say, an odd duck.  Yet as he drove away and these notions ran through my head, an all together different thought quickly crossed my consciousness. Perhaps my friend might see me the same way I wondered. This idea did not come out of nowhere though. Indeed, it was the happy byproduct of just a few days previous reading of Cecil Castellucci and Sara Varon's delightful and quirky children's creation "Odd Duck." 

Part children's picture book, part graphic novel, part early chapter reader, "Odd Duck" is a wonderfully quirky creation that examines the life of Theadora who is literally, an odd duck. Refusing to fly north in the winter, Theadora frequently swims with a teacup balanced on her head to maintain posture in addition to being a reader of old books and a lover of mango salsa. Theadora though, finds nothing strange about these or any other of her habits. However, this perfectly "normal" life is interrupted when Chad moves in next door. 

Chad likes to dye his feathers, has no manners, exercises erratically, and fills his yard with strange music and art. At first appalled, Theadora and Chad slowly but surely become good friends until one day when a passerby calls one of them an odd duck. Both Chad and Theadora naturally think the insult was aimed at the other leading first to a fight before eventually, the understanding that being friends and odd ducks is just what makes them happy.

"Odd Duck" won't though, just leave Theadora and Chad happy. Simple and sincere text paired with warm illustrations chock full of their own odd and delightful details will keep children of all ages entertained while also teaching them the value of friendship and being your own person. All told, this is a charmingly peculiar tale.

Code Name Verity

As the leaves put on a spectacular show and then drift away to slumber, as the sun heads off to its holiday home and spends less and less time in our hemisphere, I too have begun to spend more time with my feet up and a book in hand. While I love the hectic pace of summer, as fall blows and creeps in, I find I am ready for this slowdown and with it, an inward turn toward warm blankets and good books.

One of the first books I grabbed this fall was "Code Name Verity," a young adult novel by Elizabeth Wein. Having received heaps of praise in the past year, this World War II tale full of twists and turns, friendship, daring, and ultimately, tragedy, had been on my list for some time. Yet neither the recommendations or even the general awareness of the plot quite prepared me for this gripping tale.

Written in two parts, "Code Name Verity's" fist half spills forth in an epistolary format throwing us into the confession of our narrator, a female British spy captured in occupied France by the German gestapo tortured into submitting that which we read. Told in order to keep herself alive, this tale is the gripping narrative of a cunning, brash, flirty young woman's rise within the British forces leading up to her current mission. Yet it is also far more. In addition to giving us edge of your seat historical action, Queenie, our narrator and Wein our author instead, weave together an intricate tale of two great friends. For as it turns out, Queenie's tale is inexorably linked to that of her best friend Maddie's. 

Maddie too is a young women on the rise in the British forces, however, Maddie is Queenie's absolute opposite. She is a commoner that plays by the rules and is loyal to the end. She is also a terrific pilot and mechanic and it is this skill that finds her in France along with Queenie, left behind in the wrecked fuselage of the plane that flew them there. And it is Maddie's point of view we receive in the second half of the book as suddenly, all we believed we knew is turned upside down.

There is of course, far more to tell about this wonderful novel but in doing so, a fantastic finish would be utterly spoiled. Instead, I will leave you with these words of encouragement to take to your blanket and the now dark night. This is a gem of a book that provides history, action, friendship, love and most importantly strong, inspiring, and beautiful characters that you will fall in love with. Be prepared, you will undoubtedly want to read "Code Name Verity" not just once but twice.

Tasting and Touring Michigan's Homegrown Food

Ahhh, the season of abundance has arrived and it is utterly delicious. BLT's with fresh lettuce and heirloom tomatoes sitting next to a golden cob of local sweet corn competes with and complements blackberries, blueberries, and raspberries galore. More zucchini  than can possibly be snuck into unsuspecting recipes has arrived and loads upon loads of other fresh, local veggies and fruits all grown right here in the mitten state can be spotted at road side stands as well as in my meals. We, my fellow Michiganders, are lucky folks.

But of course like many of you I already knew, enjoyed and indeed basked in this knowledge as well as all of the goodness grown here in Michigan. Yet when Jaye Beeler's "Tasting and Touring Michigan's Homegrown Food" arrived on our library shelf, I wondered if this read couldn't possibly help me take my localvore habits to the next level. And it has and in far more ways than I expected.

Following an introduction that lays out our authors vision of both the availability of good local food as social justice as well as the premise of a road trip that takes in and then delivers the massive edible diversity Michigan has to offer, "Tasting and Touring Michigan's Homegrown Foods" strides off into the field followed by the orchard, the water, the dairybarn, the market, and finally the kitchen. Each of these locales is given its own chapter that moves from road stop to road stop providing gorgeous photos, personal stories from both the author as well as from either the farmers, cooks, and or proprietors in addition to plentiful facts and a list of resources that includes contact, geographic, and purchasing information. Sound like a lot? It is.

Yet at no point does "Tasting and Touring" drag and neither does it attempt to be all encompassing. This is accomplished through Beeler's enthusiasm, obvious passion for good, local food, genuine interest in the stories of those that grow, harvest, produce, and market these foods, and Diane Carroll Burdick's wonderful photos. Additionally, Beeler's decision to introduce the reader to a wide range of foods stopping at only one of each type of grower, producer, or organization rather than attempt to provide an exhaustive list gives the reader a great starting point without overwhelming. This route does though occasionally leave regions of the state short changed and it does become a tad obvious that Beeler is a southwestern Michigander as her road trip frequently lands at such destinations yet despite this singular flaw, "Tasting and Touring Michigan's Homegrown Food" is a more than worthwhile read. I might even go so far as to call it mouthwatering.

Bo at Ballard Creek

With northern Michigan summertime madness in full effect, I decided that it was time for a much needed relaxing read. So, I did what anyone in my situation ought to do, at least in my opinion. I picked up a children's chapter book.

"Bo at Ballard Creek" by Kirkpatrick Hill caught my eye because, first and foremost, I heard a patron in the library describing it as a heartwarming and disarming modern version of "Little House in the Big Woods" a tale I greatly enjoyed oh-so long ago. Like "Little House," "Bo at Ballard Creek" is more a series of episodes than a straight story.

Set in a 1920's mining camp in Ballard Creek Alaska, "Bo" portrays one year in the life of our young, sweet, narrator Bo as she encounters and describes both daily life in the camp, and a string of small happenings such as the first time an airplane visits the camp, a run-in with a grizzly, and befriending an abandoned boy. And, having lived in that frontier known as Alaska for a spell as well as having studied the state's history, I can safely safe that "Bo at Ballard Creek" depicts all of this in a manner that is authentic and yet wonderfully and naively upbeat.

Yet "Bo at Ballard Creek" is not just a comforting and rose tinted throwback. Instead, Hill presents his intended audience with a highly valuable lesson about family. For Bo is an orphan being raised by two papas as she describes them. Now this isn't the modern twist you may be thinking of but is instead a true to life depiction of the historical gold mining reality. Some of those that rushed to that untamed wilderness naturally didn't have a missus and just as naturally, some of these solo adventurers made the wise decision to throw their lot in with others for all kinds of reasons. In "Bo at Ballard Creek," the given reason is safety and camaraderie. Arvid and Jack, the two papas, have formed a team to keep each other company and wisely, to keep from getting killed in that wild, untamed, not-yet state.

And it's a good thing they did because when Mean Millie, a "good time girl" dumps her unwanted baby in their arms, they will need all the help they can get to raise baby Bo as she is dubbed. Help arises of course, in the form of every single individual in the mining camp and eskimo village that the Ballard Creek mining camp lies next to. It is this depiction of that old saying "that it takes a village to raise a child" that "Bo at Ballard Creek" brings home but just like the tale itself, it does so in a manner that is both genuine and yet idealistic at the same time and it this combo, this ability to be true yet buoyant that makes "Bo at Ballard Creek" a great read for all ages.

The Initiates

As a literati that recently moved to an up and coming wine country, I was both very excited and just a tad nervous. You see, I am a beer drinker. A malty stout, a crisp and fruity hefeweizen, a mouth puckering IPA, these are my nomenclature. I have read about them, brewed them, and of course, drank them in large quantities. Wine though, not so much. So naturally, in the past year, I have embarked on some research.

Slowly but surely, my wife and I have been making our way around Leelanau county's plethora of vineyards and I have enjoyed nearly every experience. However, despite countless descriptions and tastings of this or that variety, something was still missing. What I needed, was a book. Then I found "The Initiates" by Etienne Davodeau. Now, "The Initiates" is not a guide to how to drink and taste wine. Far from it in fact. Instead, Davodeau's marvelous work is a graphic novel both depicting and describing a cross initiation of sorts. More precisely, Davodeau, who is an award winning graphic novelist that lives in the Loire Valley of France home to the Coteaux du Layon vineyards, spent one year making organic, biodynamic wine with his vintner neighbor. In return, this neighbor, Richard, spent a year learning how to produce a graphic novel. While this doesn't sound like the education in wine I was craving, trust me, it is that and more.

With 265 pages of muted but breath-taking black and white illustrations and dialogue, Davodeau manages to not only thoroughly depict much of the process of making small batches of wine, but he also provides a look into the process of graphic novel creation and publication and the cultures and communities both exist within.

Yet where Davodeau truly shines, is his examination of craft. For both Davodeau and Richard are not only well known and respected within their trades, but both are also meticulous experts that pore their souls into what they do. It is the conveyance of exactly this depth through small moments and snatches of conversation amongst the display of both professions day-in-day-out tasks that makes "The Initiates" a spellbinding work that will capture any that takes the time to pick it up.

Swimming Home

It began with Arundahti Roy's novel that moved me to tears, lots of them. Her book, "The God of Small Things" was assigned to me in a class and when I, being so moved, went to my professor's office hours to commune with a kindred spirit, she casually mentioned that it had won the Man Booker literary prize and that I ought to peruse other such winners. On this advice I found my way not just to a few of the other winners, but to many of the books that had made the short list of finalist. This is a habit I have continued and rarely have I been let down.

Deborah Levy's "Swimming Home" was a 2012 Man Booker short list finalist that like many such others before it, was oh-so-satisfying. Now "Swimming Home" is not satisfying in that warm cup of tea on a cold night sort of way. Instead, it is most decidedly a cerebral shiver of secret joy for it is dark, deranged, erotic as well as strangely funny and nearly impossible to put down.

The tale takes place in a weeks time in France. Two couples that don't seem to particularly like each other have rented a villa for the summer. One couple's lives are spiraling into disaster due to the bancruptcy of their London antique gun and jewelry shop while the other couple's marriage is a facade held together by a thread. This second couple and their 14-year-old daughter are the main players in the story. They anyways, and the mentally unstable, naked nymph they all find floating in the pool when they arrive. Strangely, Isabel the wife, who is a famous television war correspondent, invites Kitty Finch the nymph, to stay. This invitation serves as the mechanism that turns the wheels of Levy's book as Kitty is in fact a mentally ill stalker of Isabel's husband Joe, or J.H.J, or Jozef, a famous philandering poet with deep troubles of his own.

All of the characters and indeed the whole of the story Levy creates is pulled together bit by bit in brief snatches of scenes that are at once rich and lean, expressive of the whole while never quite giving it to us until the end when she triumphantly and beautifully shocks us. Levy is a surgically precise master packing her sentences with layer upon layer of meaning yet also manipulating us through nuance and language. This skill, along with a story that shrewdly twists a standard plot makes "Swimming Home" a true treat.

A Monster Calls

Crafted out of an idea young adult author Siobhan Dowd was not able to bring to fruition before her death, A Monster Calls by Patrick Ness introduces us to numerous monsters as well as to Conor, the boy they both plague and may ultimately save. One of the beasts Conor faces is amorphous and duplicitous. It is his mothers cancer and it has turned Conor’s life into a shell of what it once was making him the target of both bullying and pitied ostracism at school as well as an adult in responsibility while still a child mentally. Yet it is also the cancer that brings the other monster calling. The literal monster.

Part Conor’s nightmare, part terror of the natural world given face and form, the monster is an ancient, craggy Yew tree from the cemetery next door come to life.  Awesome in size, anger, and power, this beast strangely arrives promising to help Conor. This help comes in the form of three stories that the monster will tell Conor one by one as he becomes ready for them.  In return though, Conor must tell this monster the truth. A truth that may be his undoing.  

A Monster Calls is a supernatural thriller, folktale, and despairingly realistic tragedy woven together. Although this combination sounds both ominous and out-there, it is precisely the marvelous pairing of these disparate elements that counters the difficult and depressing realism that a losing battle with cancer presents. It is also this unique combination that allows Ness to portray the emotional, mental, and physical complexities that a 13 year old in such a difficult situation must face. 

Told with a proliferation of staccato sentences and paired nearly page by page with deeply malefic and almost abstract black and white illustrations by Jim Kay, A Monster Calls importantly though, does not provide easy answers. Instead, Ness asks Conor and the reader to interpret truth, to pick from the better of multiple evils, and to realize that life is not simple. It is this crucial lesson that in the end not only helps Conor but will leave all readers and especially teens with a broader, more realistic look at the hard decisions and situations that life sometimes places before us.

The Dark

We all have unique fears. After not one, not two, but three separate incidents in which I cracked pistachio shells and then threw large bugs rather than nuts in my mouth, I now have a lingering fear of pistachios in the shell. This doesn't stop me from eating the tasty buggers mind you, but now I crack, cautiously examine, then gobble. Despite this and a handful of other quirky phobias, the fears that occupy the more prominent spots in my consciousness are those that I share with so many others. Indeed, it almost seems as if some fears are universal. And the dark is one of them.

Thus it was part morbid curiosity and part excitement that lead me to Lemony Snicket and Jon Klassen's picture book The Dark. The excitement stemmed from the fact that two great talents had come together to craft one book. The morbid curiosity, well, that came from my fear of the dark, a fear shared not just with many of you, but also with our main character, Laszlo.

Seen throughout the tale in a simple pair of blue footy pajamas, the somewhat austere Laszlo lives in a big house with "a creaky roof, smooth, cold windows, and several sets of stairs." Yet, he doesn't live there alone. Perfectly personified, Snicket has given portions of Laszlo's house over to the living, breathing, and talking dark. Sometimes the dark hangs out in the closet, sometimes behind the shower curtain, but mostly, it is found in the basement in a "distant corner...pressed up against some old, damp boxes, and a chest of drawers that nobody ever opened." That is until half way through the tale when the dark visits Laszlo in his room and calls him to the basement.

I won't give away the ending but I also won't leave you... in the dark. Instead, I will simply state that despite some wonderfully built tension and anxiety, Laszlo manages to conquer his fear in a manner that will help any young reader feel a bit more snug not just in the dark but also in a creaky house or strange closet.

This ending is a fitting culmination of the just-right, simple, and satisfying narration. However, it is not just the perfectly paced tale that makes this book a great read but rather, it is the pairing of this story with Klassen's clean illustrations that elevate it to a worthwhile read for those old as well as young. Klassen's spreads contrast abundant dark space with a minimal color pallete and simple lines that truly make the dark come alive and grow and in the end, recede. Together, this artwork and Snicket's story meld into a beautiful book that deserves a prominent and bright spot on any shelf.

The Hungry Ear: Poems of Food and Drink

I am not an ardent lover of poetry. In fact, by and large I find it all too easy to simply forget about this, as Wordsworth described it, spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings. Yet, every year as the snow melts and the plants, animals, and even humans that have slipped into dormancy begin to arise and sing, so too does my soul and that is when I find myself searching out this expressive genre. Perhaps that is why every spring I so look forward to the month of April designated as National Poetry month. 

However, likely due to my status as an infrequent reader, without fail I find myself struggling year after year to know where to turn.  And that is why this April, I was utterly elated to discover "The Hungry Ear" a collection of poems focused on, related to, and in praise of food and drink edited by Kevin Young.

I first picked up this collection simply because I was intrigued. Food and poetry? Where do these two seemingly disparate things meet I wondered? My intrigue was quickly quenched as even from a brief first reading, it is apparent that food and poetry not only meet again and again but are indeed, seemingly made for each other. As Young states in his introduction to the collection "food and poetry each insist that we put our own twists and ingredients in the mix: we make each dish, like a good poem, our own. With any luck, the result is both surprising and satisfying, exactly what we wanted, perhaps without even knowing it."

And this collection is most definitely surprising and satisfying. Organized first seasonally and then further broken down by activities that occur within each season, wonderful selections such as Ruth Stone's "Pokeberries" and Billy Collins "Osso Bucco" are found underneath categories like First Harvet and Meat and Potatoes. Those though, are just two of the many categories and poems and there are certainly oh-so-many more. To be sure, this thick collection, like a good meal, presents a vast array of tastes to be savored bit by bit. Fortunately for me, April is just getting started and who knows, perhaps this year my poetry diet will last just like the "Hungry Ear."

In Zanesville

Like everyone else, I enjoy books full of action, books portraying astounding characters, books that take me to a foreign place, books that fill me with suspense, and books that put me in situations I will never actually find myself in. However, the books that frequently strike me most deeply do none of these things. Instead, many of the tales that stick to my ribs and leave me full long after I have finished them, portray life as it is lived by the most of us; a process of experiencing, navigating, and learning from both small horrors and more importantly, small wonders. "In Zanesville", a 1970s coming-of-age tale by Jo Ann Beard is precisely one of those books.

A 2012 Alex Award winner, an award given to books that appeal strongly to both teens and adults, "In Zanesville" is indeed so much about the average life, that the main character is never given a name. She could be me, or she could be you. But who she really is, is a watcher and a follower making it through her 14th year of life, the ninth grade, an alcoholic father, and a mother on the edge of meltdown by doing what many of us did during our teenage years. She hangs out with her best friend known as Flea, she babysits, she spys on the neighbors and at the center of this novel, she experiences life's constant but humble wonders and horrors. 

These wonders and horrors include discovering boys as well as how wrong one can be; suddenly realizing that marching band is for dorks and quitting right at the start of a parade; getting noticed by the popular crowd and nearly losing one's best friend because of it; and being overjoyed to see your father because his depressive drinking made you worry about suicide.

Yet perhaps the greatest wonder of all, is Beard's ability to make every character full, utterly believable, and true. This is accomplished by a pitch perfect tone, a dry sense of humor, and by the author spending time developing every character readers come in contact with. It is a remarkable feat and it is this as well as Beard's celebration of life as most of us know it, that sets "In Zanesville" apart. 

Dust to Dust

Call it a twist of fate or more likely, call it simple coincidence, but not half way through my last read, Bruce Catton's history of Michigan, our state Library released the 2013 List of Notable Michigan Books. This annual list presents a fantastic mix of adult and children's fiction and nonfiction written by Michigan authors or set in our wonderful state. And in yet another... twist of coincidence we'll call it, it just so happened that one of the listed books that most intrigued me, Benjamin Busch's "Dust to Dust," was currently displayed on our new nonfiction shelf. So I grabbed it. Then devoured it.

And indeed, "Dust to Dust" is a book for devouring, digesting, and breaking down to its elements. For that is precisely what Busch does. His memoir does not simply present the recollections of a life lived according to the strictures of time but instead, bends and blurs a life of memories around a series of elements of his own - arms, metal, water, soil, bone, stone, blood, and ash. Busch uses these constituent particles to tie together his memories but also to get at the core of life and more specifically, the impermanence of life. 

For instance, in discussing his childhood in upstate New York, a location and temporal period that a large portion of the book is focused on, he details at one point, his attempt to overpower nature and a river by building a stone damn across it only to eventually watch his days work wash away.

Impermanence, power, and of course nearly all of his elements including dust, blood, and ash are key players in what is another central role in Busch's life and book, that of a Marine serving two tours in Iraq. Much like Busch's childhood that was spent alone digging and building forts in the woods, his adult Marine life finds him doing the same as the ideal soldier yet still isolated and now, wondering what it is all about.

Finally, after his tours and then years spent reprising his combatant role as an actor on shows such as the Wire, Busch brings his family to Michigan and it is here we come to both Busch's final waypoint and our reason for its inclusion on the Michigan Notable Book List. As a current resident of the state, Busch ends his book spending his time cleaning up the detritus from an old farm in the heart of lower Michigan as well as cleaning out the same from his now dead parent's home. 

If all of this sounds a tad depressing, it is. Busch's book is truly a pensive rumination on a life slowly returning to its very make-up. But, like many great warrior poets before, Busch spins a story that is as much elegy as memoir and it is this poetic elevation of the basics and decay of life that is "Dust to Dust's" greatest strength.

Michigan: A History

 

Having read nary a word of Michigan history since the required 5th grade study of our great state (well, perhaps I am exaggerating just a tad), I decided it was high time I stepped over to the fantastic Michigan section of the Library to bone up. Yet as I stared at our long and quite overly stuffed Michigan shelf, the myriad spines began to look and feel a bit overwhelming. So I did what any wise reader would do and asked a librarian for help.

Specifically I was looking for a history that did not get bogged down in dates and details, an overview if you will and as a lover of literature, I wanted it to read like a story as well. Within a mere ten seconds of my query, I had the late Bruce Catton's "Michigan: A History" in my hand. Now I was a  trifle skeptical at first as the book is a mere 196 pages and has an awful photo on the cover to boot but, knowing that it was penned by a fellow Petsokey-ite who had also happened to win the Pulitzer Prize, I cracked the cover anyways. And I was instantly hooked.

Just as I had hoped for, "Michigan: A History" does not dawdle too greatly on the details but instead traces the state's overarching themes and it does so in style. Catton is both a romantic and a great writer and these traits lead to a history that reads a bit like a ballet that utilizes one specific melody to tie together diverse movements. By this I mean that Catton, rather than simply describing the inhabitants and industry of each of the state's periods instead, posits the notion that the history of our state, and indeed our nation is based on a cycle of wholesale exploitation of apparently boundless resources, the inevitable let down when the resource of the time dries up, and the ingenuity that springs forth.

It is with this refrain that Catton is able to tie together the fur trade, logging, mining, the railroads, and the auto industry as well as all of the other economic, social, political, and environmental twists and turns of our beloved home. It is the cycle of boom and bust Catton claims, that ties us together as people and ties us to this state.

Altogether it is a fantastic and sometimes fanciful take on this wonderful place and it is for that very reason, that this was the perfect history for me.

The Yellow Birds

The dawn of 2013 marked the twelfth consecutive year that our nation has been involved in violent conflict with another country. That is terribly depressing.

Even more depressing though, is the fact that like an endless monologue, this continuing violence has sometimes for me, I will admit, occasionally slipped into meaninglessness. And as terrible as violence of this magnitude is, that is not okay. Thus when something comes along and jars me out of the reverie that is everyday life and reminds me that there are those that have not, are not, nor never will enjoy such reverie again, I am thankful if always a little shaken.  Kevin Powers book "The Yellow Birds"  was exactly one of those things.

A veteran of the Iraq war, Power's "The Yellow Birds" has evoked a lot of praise and rightly so. The book tells the story of Pvt. Bartle, 21 years old, a true soldier, well trained and numb to the horrors he must accomplish. But it is also the story of Murph, a sensitive 18 year-old that Bartle has promised to keep alive, a promise that is broken. This death and death in general is not the focus of "The Yellow Birds" though. Instead, it is how Murph's death comes to be and how meaningless and meaningful death can be, that the story revolves around.

Yet the route to understanding is anything but straight as Powers jumps in time and place from the past to present, from Iraq to Virginia to Germany to New Jersey, and from deserts to deserted buildings to rooftops to dreamscapes to places we, as readers, do not want to go. And while this narrative style of pulling together fractured pieces sounds frustrating, it isn't. Instead, not only does it oh-so-perfectly match both the state of war and the state of our narrators head, but it serves to make the reader an active participant in both a story and a war that we might otherwise shy away from. All told, "The Yellow Birds" is a necessary jarring but is a jolt that is both lyrical and tragic like a nightmare that is so vivid it is at once haunting and beautiful.

Debo Band

It begins with a slow shimmer, a quiet build akin to an orchestra tuning up in which hints of the whole subtly make themselves known. That subtlety though, lasts a mere ten seconds before the funky fusion, or what might best be described an an ethnic musical party kicks in. This is the Debo Band and they are certainly not the authors of any sort of book.

They are of course, musicians and their excellent self titled album is one of the first pieces of music I have checked out of our CD collection. Call it a fortuitous occurrence or the benefits of a quickly scan-able collection, but howsoever you describe my rather random selection of this album, the one adjective phrase that must be applied is great grooves.

Based out of Boston but primarily drawing on traditional and modern Ethiopian music, the Debo Band is a highly eclectic group of 12 different musicians that pull together a disparate mix of jazz, funk, folk, brassy swing, Celtic melodies, klezmer, and most importantly, Ethiopian influences. Led by Danny Mekonnen, an ethnomusicologist born in Sudan but raised in the U.S. as well as French raised Ethiopian Bruck Tesfaye who sings in Amharic, the official language of Ethiopia, the Debo Band in a mere 11 tracks, somehow manages to make the exotic sounds of a place far away sound not just accessible, but fantastic.

While strong original songwriting combined with unique reprisals of a broad range of traditional Ethiopian songs is a major reason for this success, it is the seamless and adventurous blend of so many different styles and instruments that makes the Debo Band's self titled album a great listen. In the first four songs alone the audience is exposed to psychedelic guitar riffs, sweaty nightclub speed percussion, an accordion solo, tinny horns, the deep pounding of a sousaphone, the unique riff of an electric violin, and the whispered croon of a great voice. Oh, and the album is only just getting started.

The Further Tale of Peter Rabbit

Like my former smaller and younger self, I am still a tremendous fan of picture books that are full of whimsy, beautiful illustrations, and fly-by-the-seat-of-their-pants rapscallions. Thus, also like the younger me, I still adore Beatrix Potter's tales of Peter Rabbit. You can imagine my excitement then, when a few months back, I heard that the actress Emma Thompson would be authoring a modern addition to this series entitled "The Further Tale of Peter Rabbit." Now, with said addition in hand, or rather in both hands as it is far larger than the palm sized originals, I can proclaim my enthusiasm thoroughly fulfilled.

Written some 80 years after the last entry in the fantastic original series, Thompson's tale begins with a droopy eared Peter Rabbit squeezing under Mr. McGregor's garden gate to "steal a lettuce" in an attempt to cheer himself. Once in the garden, Peter's nature gets the better of him when, tempted by the smell of onions wafting out of a interesting basket, he climbs in, gobbles the "excellent sandwiches of cheese and pickle" found within and promptly falls asleep.

With the set-up now complete, the tale truly begins as the napping Peter is whisked off to Scotland where he meets a massive black rabbit in a kilt, dines on a giant Radish, and becomes involved in a Scottish game of strength involving heaving the same giant radish among other adventures. Sound like a marvelously fun caper? It is.

Yet the appeal of "The Further Tale of Peter Rabbit" does not emanate simply from a fun story. While I am sure Emma Thompson's prominence was a major reason for her authorial choice, her panache, cheekiness, dry-wit, and ability to invoke a Potter-esque Victorian voice give this modern adaptation much of its life. Top that off with, yes, the further addition of Eleanor Taylor's charming illustrations and you have a divine book perfect for the young and young at heart.

All of that being said though, while "The Further Tale of Peter Rabbit" is most certainly a fun and wonderful addition to the Potter canon, it's focus is indeed fun as it does stray away from the depth of lesson and reality that some of the works in the original series brought forth. However, with a final sentence that hints at the possibility of further, further adventures, this sort of depth may very well come.