Who Killed My Daughter?, by Lois Duncan, Delacorte Press, 1992.
Through Facebook, I knew Ms. Duncan in her final years. I knew she broke her back around Thanksgiving of 2015, and had surgeries but was in unbearable pain -- always. I knew that her daughter, who would have been my contemporary, was murdered at the age of 18 in 1989. I knew that her daughter's unsolved murder weighed heavily on her.
She knew about my young son through the stories I shared. She even gave me writing advice on the book I was writing, and which I tabled after her death -- until now. During the last few months of her life, she sent me a signed copy of this book. I didn't read this book right away, and, after she died, I didn't feel like I could read this book at all -- until last week.
Even after all the conversations she and I had about writing, I didn't know how much ESP affected her. I knew that the local police department botched the murder case, but I didn't know how badly. I didn't know how much her youngest daughter's murder tore apart her family -- until I read the book.
When I first heard about Lois' death, I thought "At last she will know who killed her daughter". As I read this book, that feeling became even stronger. As much as I enjoy Lois' other books, I can't say I liked this book. This book was not written to be 'liked'. It was written to try to solve her daughter's murder case. It was written to bring closure. I didn't 'like' this book, but I do feel like I owe it Lois to go back to the book I was writing at the time of her death. Lois, over the course of her life, inspired many fledgling writings. Maybe her final advice to me was to see that through this book.
I am the cat, don't forget that, text by Roy Blount, Jr., photographs by Valerie Shaff, Harper Collins, 2004.
I would have thought I could not possibly go wrong with a book featuring both cats and poems, especially in the merry month of . . . er . . . April, so I bought this book. Alas, I did not exactly go 'wrong', but neither did I go 'right'. To be sure, the photos were delightful, although some were slightly contrived; and the poems were contrived, although some were slightly delightful.
Life Studies/For the Union Dead, by Robert Lowell, Noonday Press, 1992.
Most of these poems were very well-written, with breath-taking tempos and cut-glass phrasing. I almost always appreciated the jarring but oddly appropriate word choice, and the intricacy of the phrasing. But, with very few exceptions, I felt like I was wallowing in teen angst as I read these. A few poems turned outward, as in Dropping South: Brazil, and For the Union Dead, but far, far too many turned inward, and reading those poems was quite draining.
Five Complete Miss Marple Novels, by Agatha Christie.
Some of these Miss Marple stories are stronger than others, but The Mirror Crack'd and The Body in the Library were pretty much perfection. And the other three were well-worth reading.
Because of Winn-Dixie, by Kate DiCamillo, Candlewick, 2001.
I've read many other books by Kate DiCamillo before, and have loved or liked them all, but I had never read Because of Winn-Dixie -- until now.
My third grade son's Literature Class because reading this in school. He loved it so much, he wanted his own copy, so we bought one. When he finished the book, he wanted the movie, so we bought a copy of that too.
It's hard to explain why this book, or any of Kate DiCamillo's writing, stand out. Certainly she isn't afraid of difficult topics, but neither are a lot of other writers. She also isn't afraid to give a not-quite-perfectly happy ending, but, again, neither are a lot of other writers. If I were to guess, though, I would say that one reason her writing is so accessible and enjoyable is that her main character(s) are not perfect. They may mean well, but they don't get everything right, just like most kids.
Rapid Eye Movement, by Istvan Banyai, Viking Books, 1997.
I am reviewing this book during National Poetry Month because this book felt like poetry without words. It also felt like a tribute to Winsor McCay and his Nemo. I have to admit that I didn't completely understand it -- my dreams perhaps are not as close to me as Mr. Banyai's are to him -- but my nine-year-old son, whose imagination and dreams have sparked many stories, understood this book perfectly. So I guess I also have to admit that I was not the target audience for this book. Dreamers, however, will love it.
Dr. Spock's Baby and Child Care, by Benjamin Spock, M.D.
This book is helpful -- I will allow that -- but I wouldn't use it at a 'baby care bible'. It is a reference, but it is no replacement for a parent's instincts. Also, please, please, please, do not compare your child to another child of the same age. Children do learn at different rates. For example, my son tried to walk just before he turned one. He fell. He did not try again for another four months. Then when he walked, he never fell down. He learns like that with everything. He might be slower to grasp a concept, but once he does, he masters it. So make this book a guide, not a 'bible'.
The Secret Garden, by Frances Hodgson Burnett.
This book is a classic. It deserves to be a classic, but that doesn't mean it is perfect. It is, at times, so sweet it makes your teeth ache. It is, at times, so simplistic a six-year-old could spot the plot. But then there is the ending. The ending makes everything worthwhile.
Russian Folk Tales, by James Riordan, Oxford University Press, 2000.
I have long thought that all fairy tales are derived from the story of Cupid and Psyche (or, from the source, The Golden Ass). This book does not disprove my theory.
It was interesting to recognize Russian versions of familiar stories, like Cinderella, and East of the Sun and West of the Moon, and even Baron Munchausen. I don't think the telling of the stories was quite as dynamic as it could have been, nor were the illustrations as engaging as they could have been.
You Might As Well Live, by John Keats, Simon and Schuster, 1970.
This book was well-written, and I learned much about Dorothy Parker from reading it. It did, however, also prove the adage that some troubled people use wit to make the world a little less bitter for everyone.
Three Mrs. Murphy Tales, by Rita Mae Brown, Wings Books, 2003.
Two thirds of this book aren't bad. I would skip the final section, unless you think that the Civil War was fought over "states' rights".
