Guest Review

Remember Loreen Niewenhuis? If not, check last week's post. Loreen has generously found time between writing, searching for a publisher, and walking around Lake Michigan, to send us this review. Thanks, Loreen.

I originally ordered this book for the store for our Brendo, who raised two lovely hedgehogs, Cleo and Chloe. What a pleasant surprise for us to find that this choice has been on many bestseller lists for weeks.

Review by Loreen Niewenhuis

This is not a book I would have plucked off the shelf, so I'm glad that a writer friend of mine recommended it to me. The title is intriguing, but the cover image is of a young girl, so I figured it was for a younger age set. Between the pages, though, I found one of the most engaging novels that I've come across in quite some time.

The main characters could not be more different: a 12-year old girl, Paloma (daughter in a very rich family), and the 50+-year -old woman, Renee, (who works as a concierge of the Parisian apartment house where Paloma lives). Nor could they be more alike. As a means of self-preservation, the both strive to hide their true, intelligent selves from the world. The interplay between these characters' thoughts, questions and longings opens up new world even before their friendship grows.

The voice of Paloma and Renee are well developed and Barbery masterfully peels back layer after layer to expose them to their very core. The apartment house is filled with interesting characters (and pets) to round out the story. This novel is rare thing, a book that is driven primarily by ideas. And, as Paloma searches for perfect, beautiful moments in order to realize that life is truly worth living, and Renee questions the merits of various philosopher's approaches to life, these ideas mesh together and expand the thoughts of the reader.

It is a true testament of a novel's power if the reader finds themself wondering about the characters long after the book has been finished. I find myself thinking about the many floors of that apartment house. what is everyone doing right now?

*****What am I reading? After closing the cover on The Club Dumas, I moved on to Dan Brown's new blockbuster, The Lost Symbol. Some of you may be disappointment that I boarded the popular bandwagon, but Dan Brown's subjects fascinate me. The Masons, in particular, have long piqued my curiosity. But, alas (another word we all should campaign to resurrect) after the mental fatigue brought about by the Perez-Reverte book, "Symbol" was just too heavy. Literally and figuratively. I will wait a year for the paperback, I guess, or for whirlwind in my brain caused by the intensity of the Dumas gaming to subside.

Instead, this week's title will be A High Wind in Jamaica by Richard Hughes. Any novel with an intro by Francine Prose has to be fine. To top that, The Modern Library named this book "one of the best novels of the twentieth century." Here's a snip from the back cover...."...Richard Hughes tells the story of a group of children accidentally thrown upon the mercy of a crew of down-at-the-heel pirates. A tale of seduction and betrayal, of accommodation and manipulation, of weird humor and unforeseen violence, this classic of twentieth-century literature is an unequaled exploration of the nature, and limits, of innocence."

Oh boy... have I made the right choice, here? I'll give it a shot, but may wind up reverting to some palatte cleansing young adult suff instead...perhaps the second installment of The Mysterious Benedict Society would be a better choice.

This is trade show weekend...days of getting lost on the endless one-way street in Minneapolis, lugging pounds of ARCS, catalogues and comp books to my car, and trying to hold back tears when I get overwhelmed at meeting some of my favorite writers. Full report in two weeks. In the meantime, my blog-saver, Steve, struck again with a impeccably timed post for next Monday.

Reunion Tour by guest blogger Steven Head

Please note: This is not the photo Steve sent with his post. Unfortunately, my lack of computer skills made it impossible for me to upload Steve's accompanying photo, which tells the story better than this one. But, you can get a feel for it just the same with this one. (Sorry Steve!)

Also, historians differ on the spelling of " Sacajawea. " Therefore, if you spelled it differently in a high school report, college essay, Masters thesis, doctoral disertaions, or just in personal writing, know that you are mostl likely correct, as is Steve.


And now...here's Stevie!

Earlier this month I went on a week long driving trip self-labeled the Reunion Tour. It was a one-person tour and did not re-unite with any specific individuals but a place. 50 year ago, as an elementary school kid, my family relocated from a uranium boom town near the Wind River Reservation in Wyoming. I have memories of that place and time. And there are also photos and slides. But I wanted to connect some of the dots of memory with reality.

For those of you unfamiliar with the Wind River Reservation this is a large patch of land south and east of the Tetons and Jackson Hole, and is named after the Wind River which flows out of the Wind River mountain range. Backpackers and hikers may be familiar with the Wind Rivers since the craggy spine of this range forms the continental divide for a long section.

If you are in Wyoming and want to do something it almost always involves driving someplace. And not the distance between Manitowoc and Two Rivers, more like to Green Bay or Milwaukee. My memories include a number of driving trips but my childhood sense of space and time made them all seem like epic journeys. One goal of the Reunion Tour was to sort out the geography. Most days involved a planned drive to the south, east, west, or north. A drive into hilly gold mining country, to hilly reclaimed uranium mines, to ancient Indian petroglyphs and rock formation, to diversion dams, to picturesque mountain tourist towns, and the reservation.

The reservation was the high point of the trip. At some point in the late 1800's the Shoshone tribe entered into an agreement with the government for a large patch of land. Over time the size and shape shrank and the Arapaho tribe was temporarily assigned to the location. The temporary turned to permanent, and although there were battles involving the two tribes, they get along with little difficulty.

If the Shoshone tribe is ringing any distant memory bells it is probably because Sacajawea, the Indian woman instrumental in the Lewis & Clark expedition, was a Shoshone. And this brings me to the high point of the tour. Outside Fort Waskakie, named after Shoshone Chief Waskakie, is the Sacajawea cemetery. There is a statue, flag, and signage, as well as the grave site of Sacajawea and her sons. Good historic stuff. But it is the cemetery that was the delight.

A sea of white crosses fill the space and native grass covers a number of the graves on this treeless gently sloping hillside. In front of the crosses are mounds of dirt, just like in the old western movies. A patchwork of graves have a shrine like quality. Rock or brick surrounding the red dirt mound, covered with colorful artificial flowers, toys and trinkets and coins and objects. There are a few traditional granite carved markers, and some custom decorated crosses. Scattered about are white painted head and foot post of brass beds. This is not your grandmothers cemetery of tended green grass expanse dotted with granite grave stones and controlled floral displays under a canopy of mature trees.

The other goal of the trip was to reconnect with the people and language of the area. When I arrived in Manitowoc some 20 years ago I quickly noted the distinctive dialect and common expressions, so different from the language sounds of the plains. Clearly the wild west, which was where I was at, had to have an equally distinctive sound. But as I listened to restaurant and bookstore and gas station conversations I could have been anywhere in the plains. No nasal twangs, elongated vowels, idiosyncratic pronunciations.

My recollection of the area involved real life cowboys and Indians, with cowboy boots, cowboy hats, and western cut shirts. Either the cowboys have all died or the costumer has replaced the boots with exercise shoes, the hats with ball caps, and mother-of-pearl snaps and slant pockets with arrow stitched shirts with off the rack mass produced goods. I only saw one woman with cowboy boots and a full skirt and her hair was a color of orange that god did not create. The Indians were a little more fashion conscious with western cut shirts and blouses, silver and turquoise belt buckles and jewelry, but the pierced eyebrows and ipods clashed.

After eight days and over 2,200 miles I was left with an empty feeling. I had seen the land and experienced the vast emptiness of Wyoming, sagebrush and desert parsley and pronghorn antelope punctuated by red earth and rock thrust up here and there. But the people I had come to observe were boringly common. Part of me wants to think if I could have stayed longer the flavor and texture and unique viewpoint of life in the mountain west would be revealed. Perhaps television and Wal-Mart and Indian casinos have homogenized these people. And the memories of an adolescent boy of the cowboys and Indians and colorful characters is all that is left.

*****My trade show weekend in St. Paul was busy and fun! Of course, Mike Perry was on hand and sends you all his regards. A special "hello" goes out to Pat and Margarette! Thanks to Mike, I spent some time with Neil Gaiman, also. I'll drop names in upcoming posts, along with a few fun stories. Occasionally, I am asked why I don't post pictures of myself on Fine Print. Well, here you go...a picture of me talking with Mike. No, I am not wearing a disguise. The bearded guy kept trying to butt in to our conversation. See how annoyed Michael looks. Mike and I got to catch up later, without the interloper!

What am I reading? High Wind in Jamaica made its way to the top of the pile...but A Guide to the Birds of East Africa weaseled its way in. More later.,

Wake Up and Smell Lake Michigan

Wake up calls come in funny ways, don't they? Almost always arriving unannounced, they frequently represent an omen of sorts, prodding us to get off the couch and do something before it's too late. Recently, I discovered that these messengers to one's psyche sometimes call out with laughter and awe as well.


Two weeks ago, author Loren Niewenhuis and her brother, Phil, dropped by the store in the afternoon. We spent some time talking about books, wondering where the next Hemingway and Steinbeck are hiding. Loreen had emailed the previous week to say she would be in town, and since an out of town friend and I were planning to catch up over dinner, I had invited Loreen and Phil along. We met for dinner later that night, Jacque, Terri, Loreen, Phil and I, and boy, am I happy the group thing panned out. Never ever ever - not even when I was intensely studious and my brain synapses were firing at rapid speed - would I have been able to hold up my end of the conversation with these two.


My goodness! Loreen, who was just finishing a journey around Lake Michigan laketrek.blogpsot.com is amazingly, modestly bright, and I believe she can do anything she puts her mind to. Her degree is in some complex science area, and she spent time doing bone marrow research. The strong draw she had to writing prompted her to earn her MFA in Creative Writing. Loreen's short stories have been published in several literary anthologies, and she is currently shopping for a publisher for her novel.


Then there's Phil, who, for most of the night, let Loreen take center stage. Again, modesty won out, since we had to pry this information out him. It seems that Phil is a composer. He doesn't write cheery little jingles, or angst ridden folk songs, he writes symphonies. And they have been performed by major orchestras. How about that!


Now, both Phil and Loreen were gracious, never letting on that they recognized that the breadth and depth of my knowledge on any single subject is weak. Honestly, compared to them, the level of my questions fell somewhere between "What's your favorite color," and "Wanna hear a story about my dog?" Thanks to Terri and Jacque, both fascinating individuals with lots of life experiences, we all had a fine time.


So, what alarm went off in my head that night? The one that says, "Hey, you are one lucky duck.!" I live in my own little Mount Joy here at the store, and interact with such remarkable people. The members of my book group, theatre buds, customers who have become friends, and the writers who drift in and out, bring wealth to my days. Because of them, my worries are few and my days are filled with the anticipation of what will come next.


Check out Loreen's blog, and watch for her published account of her walk. She is in love with the lake, and that is why she walked. As she spoke, I couldn't help but recall Thoreau's words, "I went to the woods to live deliberately." There is passion in her eyes and voice - in her whole being - as she speaks about the beauty of the lake and the environmental issues affecting it. She spoke of the people she sought out along her journey, some home townies like us, and others who understand and share her emotional connection to Lake Michigan. Loreen's walk ends with a huge celebration on Saturday, September 26th on Chicago's Navy Pier. She is walking the last 100 miles of the planned 1000 from September 21-26. Surely, there will be a big tub of warm Lake Michigan water for her to soak her tootsies in when she arrives.




What am I reading? Still working on The Club Dumas, the book upon which my Johnny Depp's "The Ninth Gate" was based. The movie left me with tons of questions, all of which are being answered in this book. If you enjoyed The Shadow of the Wind, you'll like this book. It's one of those moody pieces about people, societies and desires most of us don't know exist unless we read about them. Who would ever think that people are willing to risk their entire fortunes, and perhaps their lives, for a single, hand written chapter of a book? Can you imagine a job where you are hired to travel the world to unravel a literary mystery, without totally knowing who you are working for, or why? I have to finish this soon. Loreen sent me copies of her short stories, and, I am honored to say, she also send me a copy of the manuscript of her novel. After reading the first chapter, I knew I wanted to read her medical mystery straight through, so it will have to wait a while...a short while.

My rant of the week...About two years ago, I got dish Network and was all pumped about the selection and quality of channels. Not so anymore. The programming has changed dramatically, many channels are repeated, and more and more infomercial, and home shopping channels spring up every day. OK, so last weekend, I decided to inventory exactly what I am getting, and you'll never guess what I found. I now have an entire channel devoted to Klondike bars, and another that is all about Country Crock margarine. Crock is right!

Can you indulge me for one more mini-rant? Please? I get my gas from a station that plays music and ads at the pump. Today, I was assaulted by an ad reminding me that winter is on the way, and I should be sure to remember they can supply me with all the warm drinks I need to combat those below zero days heading our way. Really. We live in Wisconsin. Must we be reminded of what's coming?

Until then, I will enjoy the beautiful weather and watch the leaves turn shades of orange. I will look forward to snow days, held captive indoors with bad TV, a good book, and coffee I am capable of making for myself. And, I will find a new mini-mart...one without a doomsday prophet.

The City & The City by guest blogger Steven Head

Some of you may recall I received two copies of The Gargoyle in a 24 hour period a while back. The source for one of those copies put The City and The City by China Mieville in my hands about 10 days ago. It came at just the right time.

After ten pages I checked the front of the book to make sure it was not translated from another language into English. No such indication. I kept reading, confused about where the action was taking place geographically, some sort of German - Arabic blend. And whether certain words were made up or English slang I did not know. But is was a mystery, there was a dead body, and there was a detective narrator. I kept reading.

In bits and pieces I was able to determine the narrator was in Beszel (with an accent over the z, which I will refer to as B) which may be a country but might just be a town. But, and here is the strange part, there is also Ul Qoma (UQ) which may be a country or just a town, but parts of B and UQ overlap. The same streets have two names, one B and one UQ. Parks have two names, one B and one UQ. And even though they overlap, the only approved way to move from B to UQ, or vice versa, was through Copula Hall.

Let me share one more little curiosity about B and UQ. Those in B or UQ could not interact or acknowledge those in UQ or B, requiring unseeing and unhearing. The places where B and UQ overlap are referred to as crosshatching. You can only imagine the kinds of mental gymnastics required to drive and unsee cars and pedestrians from the other world without slamming into them.

The entity that keeps the citizens of B and UQ in their respective universes is Breach, an omnipresent, all-powerful law enforcement agency. Of course B has it's policzai and UQ has it's militsya, but Breach has authority over all IF there has been a violation of the 'stay in your own world' protocol.

Our narrator detective discovers the body of a graduation student from UQ in his B territory. While he finds it curious, he hopes to turn it over to Breach. But somehow a breach has not occurred and ends up in a co-operative operation with a UQ counterpart, in UQ. The investigation takes them to the Bol Ye'an digs, an archeological site where students are extracting antiquities from UQ ground.

By now you may be either interested, confused, or both. No matter, there is still more. The dead girl was a vocal advocate for Orciny, the hidden city in the crosshatching of B and UQ where a separate, powerful, and near invisible controlling group operates. However, Orciny is universally acknowledged as a fairy tale. To this add the Unifs (unificationists) and the Nats (nationalists), the USA who recognizes B but not UQ, and the Canadians who favor UQ but recognize B.

Lump all this together and you have a political thriller as well as a detective story. Of course our B and UQ lead detectives arrive at a place where they trust no one except each other, suspect they are in deeper than they want to be, and are questioning beliefs and assumptions like never before.

One one level this is just a story with a beginning, middle, and end. I also think this book is allegoric in nature and Mieville is commenting on contemporary existence. Are there parts of your town that you do not see even when they are right before your eyes? Or certain people, or types of people, who are invisible to you? Or thoughts and viewpoints you simply un-exist?

I have no idea if this book will achieve the status of Huxley's Brave New World or Orwell's 1984, or if this is even what Mieville was attempting. China has labeled himself as part of the New Wierd, whatever that is. Check it out, or don't.