It’s important to mention here just how I learned about the fabulous Jodi. (BTW…I will refer to Jodi by her first name throughout this piece because a) I’ve met her b) she signed my copy of The Tenth Circle c) she used to teach 8th grade English, just like me, so I feel a cosmic connection to her.) Eight years or so ago, one of my friends announced that she was moving to Lancaster, PA. I couldn’t believe it. A fashionista who loved all things Scottsdale could NOT be moving to Amish country. But she did. Not long after my pal’s move, I ran across Plain Truth, the first Jodi book I ever read, in Borders. Coincidentally, that book is about the Amish. My planets were definitely aligned. I read that and every one of Jodi’s other books and like all of her other devotees waited, breathlessly, for the newest ones. I continue to wait that way for her books each year.
I just finished the new Jodi book, House Rules. What can I tell you? Was it one of my favorites? No. Was it one of her best (according to my humble but correct opinion)? No. Did I have to wait for a Kindle version? Yes (though this is not Jodi’s fault…read about that situation here: http://www.jodipicoult.com/ ) Did I love every word anyway? Absolutely.
Jacob Hunt, the House Rules protagonist, lives with Asperger’s Syndrome, a form of Autism. His diagnosis falls on the very high functioning end of the Autism spectrum so he can do some pretty incredible things: reconstruct and solve both fictitious and real crimes , memorize and recite—word for word—specific criminal cases and the laws and legal strategies used during trials, and communicate articulately (when he feels like doing so). The downside to his Asperger’s is, to say the least, is that Jacob cannot decipher most social cues, interpret nonverbal communication, hold a regular conversation, exhibit empathy, make eye contact, or control many of his actions. While these are hallmarks of Jacob’s disability, such traits are also exhibited by remorseless murderers. These similarities become problematic when Jacob is accused of brutally killing his special needs aide, Jess.
In House Rules, Jodi does her usual stellar job of introducing readers to the dreadful and concerning topics of the prevalence of Autism and challenges faced by the disabled, the shattered family unit, and the sometimes dysfunctional American legal system; a system that is definitely unprepared to serve the needs of the disabled. The “Ah-ha” moment in this one, though, is more blatant than shocking and some of the characters and subplots seemed to cameo for a flash and then disappear forever. Regardless, the book illustrated, perfectly, the difficulties faced by Asperger’s patients and their families and gave me a renewed appreciation for the people I know who currently endure the condition and challenging situation.
The biggest problem with Jodi’s books is that we wait for them to be published, devour them when they finally hit the bookstores and then must wait again. And that waiting, my friends, is exactly what I am doing now. Only 11 months, or so, to go.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Saturday, April 10, 2010
TH1RTEEN R3ASONS WHY (Jay Asher)
My doctoral student’s hired statistician killed himself last week. She met with him on a particular Friday to discuss histograms, standard deviations and the like and she never heard from him again. He was found dead in his home a week after that meeting.
After hearing of such a devastating incident, those of us who remain on the planet ask all of the usual questions: Was he depressed? Did anyone know he planned to do this? What was he thinking? Did we see the signs? Of course, there are no real answers. We speculate and then presume the one big thing (lost love, lost job, lost fortune) that could have resulted in such a tragedy.
Sometimes, though, there is no one “big” thing. TH1RTEEN R3ASONS WHY reveals that, sometimes, a series of little things—seemingly insignificant things—could result in a person ending his or her own life. And that is Hannah Baker’s story.
Hannah is already dead by the time the novel opens. However, prior to her suicide, she deliberately and systematically narrated thirteen audio tapes that reveal the thirteen incidents and people who tormented her to the point of self destruction. She packed the numbered tapes (and an accompanying map) into a box and shipped the package to the person responsible for Reason #1 with instructions to a) listen to all thirteen tapes, b) visit the place on the map that accompanies his narrative, and c) then pack everything up and ship the tapes and the map to the person responsible for Reason #2, etc. You can listen to the tapes here: http://www.thirteenreasonswhy.com/tapes.php .
Selfish narcissists, empathetic humanitarians and everyone in between should read TH1RTEEN R3ASONS WHY. Hannah’s chilling legacy reminds us that our words and actions definitely matter and that it is possible to be held psychologically accountable for the same.
Unfortunately for his friends and family (or perhaps fortunately), the statistician didn’t leave a note or a YouTube video or a series of audio tapes to explain the reasons for his own suicide. His loved ones will never know the probably complicated reason (or R3ASONS) for his untimely death and will probably speculate about it for the rest of their own lives. Very simply, though, he has become and will remain a statistic. And isn’t that ironic.
After hearing of such a devastating incident, those of us who remain on the planet ask all of the usual questions: Was he depressed? Did anyone know he planned to do this? What was he thinking? Did we see the signs? Of course, there are no real answers. We speculate and then presume the one big thing (lost love, lost job, lost fortune) that could have resulted in such a tragedy.
Sometimes, though, there is no one “big” thing. TH1RTEEN R3ASONS WHY reveals that, sometimes, a series of little things—seemingly insignificant things—could result in a person ending his or her own life. And that is Hannah Baker’s story.
Hannah is already dead by the time the novel opens. However, prior to her suicide, she deliberately and systematically narrated thirteen audio tapes that reveal the thirteen incidents and people who tormented her to the point of self destruction. She packed the numbered tapes (and an accompanying map) into a box and shipped the package to the person responsible for Reason #1 with instructions to a) listen to all thirteen tapes, b) visit the place on the map that accompanies his narrative, and c) then pack everything up and ship the tapes and the map to the person responsible for Reason #2, etc. You can listen to the tapes here: http://www.thirteenreasonswhy.com/tapes.php .
Selfish narcissists, empathetic humanitarians and everyone in between should read TH1RTEEN R3ASONS WHY. Hannah’s chilling legacy reminds us that our words and actions definitely matter and that it is possible to be held psychologically accountable for the same.
Unfortunately for his friends and family (or perhaps fortunately), the statistician didn’t leave a note or a YouTube video or a series of audio tapes to explain the reasons for his own suicide. His loved ones will never know the probably complicated reason (or R3ASONS) for his untimely death and will probably speculate about it for the rest of their own lives. Very simply, though, he has become and will remain a statistic. And isn’t that ironic.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Shoptimism: Why the American Consumer Will Keep on Buying No Matter What (Lee Eisenberg)
Those of us who consider shopping cardio don’t need an entire book to tell us why we’ll “keep on buying no matter what”. An iPhone app or an automatically updated GPS leading us to the best sales at all of our favorite shops and someone to carry our bags to the car seems more useful. But since Lee Eisenberg took the time to write a book about one of my most beloved topics, I thought it was only fair to take the time to read it. I’m glad I did.
First of all, Eisenberg lives only steps away from the Magnificent Mile so when he identified this shopping Mecca as the locale for his initial research, he had me at hello. More important than geography, perhaps, was his explication of the psychology of shopping (really the focus of this book) and why we buy what we buy when we buy it. Who knew that shopping was such a science?
About halfway through this book, I reminisced about my more memorable March purchases:
• Sketchers Shape-Ups flip flops (functional and fashionable)
• Asics 2140 running shoes (even though I don’t run)
• Calvin Klein capri yoga pants (yes, I do yoga)
• Adrienne Vittadini spring outfit (professional, trendy and cute!)
• Tahari t-shirt (even trendier and cuter!)
• Burgundy Dior eyeglass frames that are adorned with giant silver “Ds” on each side (for Dior, I imagine, but conveniently also for Diana!)
And then I wondered what motivated me to buy these things. Eisenberg says it could be because:
1. Retailers have industrial-strength tools to monitor and adjust the zillion variables that influence my decision making (maybe)
2. I am impulsive and compulsive when it comes to shopping (not really)
3. I am a prisoner of desire (definitely not)
4. I am seeking instant membership in a community consisting of people who impress me as hip, rich and/or sophisticated (I am already hip and sophisticated…working on rich!)
5. I want to express myself (probably)
6. I find shopping fun and diverting—an escape from reality (definitely)
Analyzing my shopping habits proved more exhausting than the shopping itself. Throughout the process, I questioned my own motivation for buying what I buy and whether the “sell side” of retail had really infiltrated my psyche and manipulated me into my March (and years of previous) purchases. After several hundred pages of doing so only one question remains: Is Macy’s having a sale this weekend?
First of all, Eisenberg lives only steps away from the Magnificent Mile so when he identified this shopping Mecca as the locale for his initial research, he had me at hello. More important than geography, perhaps, was his explication of the psychology of shopping (really the focus of this book) and why we buy what we buy when we buy it. Who knew that shopping was such a science?
About halfway through this book, I reminisced about my more memorable March purchases:
• Sketchers Shape-Ups flip flops (functional and fashionable)
• Asics 2140 running shoes (even though I don’t run)
• Calvin Klein capri yoga pants (yes, I do yoga)
• Adrienne Vittadini spring outfit (professional, trendy and cute!)
• Tahari t-shirt (even trendier and cuter!)
• Burgundy Dior eyeglass frames that are adorned with giant silver “Ds” on each side (for Dior, I imagine, but conveniently also for Diana!)
And then I wondered what motivated me to buy these things. Eisenberg says it could be because:
1. Retailers have industrial-strength tools to monitor and adjust the zillion variables that influence my decision making (maybe)
2. I am impulsive and compulsive when it comes to shopping (not really)
3. I am a prisoner of desire (definitely not)
4. I am seeking instant membership in a community consisting of people who impress me as hip, rich and/or sophisticated (I am already hip and sophisticated…working on rich!)
5. I want to express myself (probably)
6. I find shopping fun and diverting—an escape from reality (definitely)
Analyzing my shopping habits proved more exhausting than the shopping itself. Throughout the process, I questioned my own motivation for buying what I buy and whether the “sell side” of retail had really infiltrated my psyche and manipulated me into my March (and years of previous) purchases. After several hundred pages of doing so only one question remains: Is Macy’s having a sale this weekend?
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Wintergirls (Laurie Halse Anderson)
Once upon a time on a PAC-10 campus not far from here, an arrogant English professor named Dr. Donelson required his students (myself included) to read and write about what seemed like hundreds (but was probably only fifty or sixty) of young adult (YA) novels in one semester. Donelson read every YA book ever published, or so it seemed, and therefore proselytized that good English teachers needed to do the same. Maybe because we were afraid of his wrath, maybe because we were looking for As in his class, or maybe because we really loved those books as much as Donelson did, we read. And we read, and read, and read.
Many years and many credit hours later, Dr. Donelson retired. Still, though, I continue to read YA books--now for entertainment rather than for grades—and sometimes find that I like “kid books” better than those written for us adults. Wintergirls is one of those books.
Wintergirls is a book about two anorexics: one is dead, one is not. The dead one, Cassie, haunts the one still living, Lia, (who is also Cassie’s former BFF) and, in a bizarre attempt at rekindling the friendship, attempts to lure Lia into the afterworld. Cassie’s spirit appears unexpectedly and at inopportune times. She taunts Lia and encourages her to dangerously restrict calories and fluids which Lia does despite the fact that she was previously hospitalized and is being monitored for the same throughout the story.
Most disturbing to Lia is the fact that Cassie called her—thirty-three times—on the night she died. But because the girls hadn’t spoken in the months that preceded the tragedy, Lia did not answer the calls (we girls tend to hold grudges), consequently feels responsible for Cassie’s death (who wouldn’t?), and strongly considers joining Cassie in the spirit world (bad idea).
Wintergirls is a well-choreographed dance of opposites: living and dead, comfort and insecurity, friends and enemies, sanity and insanity. Even the words on the pages dance with each other as Lia’s true thoughts and feelings are often written, crossed out and then replaced by whatever she “should” be thinking. This self-editing, something most of us do unconsciously, is artfully illustrated (literally) throughout the book and reminds readers that while all feelings are authentic and valid, expression must be monitored at times.
If themes surrounding adolescent anorexia, afterlife, relationships, and complexities of modern life interest you, read Wintergirls. But maybe eat a sandwich beforehand.
Many years and many credit hours later, Dr. Donelson retired. Still, though, I continue to read YA books--now for entertainment rather than for grades—and sometimes find that I like “kid books” better than those written for us adults. Wintergirls is one of those books.
Wintergirls is a book about two anorexics: one is dead, one is not. The dead one, Cassie, haunts the one still living, Lia, (who is also Cassie’s former BFF) and, in a bizarre attempt at rekindling the friendship, attempts to lure Lia into the afterworld. Cassie’s spirit appears unexpectedly and at inopportune times. She taunts Lia and encourages her to dangerously restrict calories and fluids which Lia does despite the fact that she was previously hospitalized and is being monitored for the same throughout the story.
Most disturbing to Lia is the fact that Cassie called her—thirty-three times—on the night she died. But because the girls hadn’t spoken in the months that preceded the tragedy, Lia did not answer the calls (we girls tend to hold grudges), consequently feels responsible for Cassie’s death (who wouldn’t?), and strongly considers joining Cassie in the spirit world (bad idea).
Wintergirls is a well-choreographed dance of opposites: living and dead, comfort and insecurity, friends and enemies, sanity and insanity. Even the words on the pages dance with each other as Lia’s true thoughts and feelings are often written, crossed out and then replaced by whatever she “should” be thinking. This self-editing, something most of us do unconsciously, is artfully illustrated (literally) throughout the book and reminds readers that while all feelings are authentic and valid, expression must be monitored at times.
If themes surrounding adolescent anorexia, afterlife, relationships, and complexities of modern life interest you, read Wintergirls. But maybe eat a sandwich beforehand.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Generation Me: Why Today's Young Americans Are More Confident, Assertive, Entitled--and More Miserable Than Ever Before (Jean Twenge, Ph.D.)
Do you believe that self-esteem is more important than personal achievement? Do you believe that anything is possible regardless of one’s talent level or work ethic? Were you born after 1970? If you’ve answered “yes” to all three questions (or at least the last one), then it’s time to self-reflect.
Within Generation Me, Dr. Twenge, a San Diego State University professor, presents compelling data that identifies you folks born in 1971 and beyond as indulgent, spoiled, impatient, and unprepared for the realities of adult life in the 21st Century. Her commentary isn’t at all complimentary. But before you get really pissed off and refuse to read her book and before those who are older and wiser (ha) hail her a genius, understand this, too: Twenge blames your parents and your teachers (that would be us!) for making you indulgent, spoiled, impatient, and unprepared for the realities of adult life in the 21st Century. Intrigued?
Generation Me isn’t a pedantic opinion. It’s a compilation of longitudinal data collected through statistics, polls, personality test results, and more that presents a somewhat sad commentary on modern life in America. The book reads sort of like a tweaked dissertation—which it might be--so get ready to trudge through a mass of statistics and their somewhat redundant implications. Regardless, it tells an important story that really can give readers an epiphany or two about the obvious shift in American culture and why some things are now the way they are (especially relative to education issues like inflated grades, social promotion, non-participative parents, and the like) instead of the way those of us born prior to 1971 remember them.
I rarely read nonfiction. However, since reading this for our 2008 faculty book discussion, Generation Me has become my absolute favorite piece of recent nonfiction. I refer to it countless times in the classes I teach. But each time I do, I wonder which twenty-something or thirty-something student I’ll irritate. To date, no one has been offended nor has anyone filed related grievances so maybe things aren’t as grim as Generation Me would have us think. Let's hope.
Within Generation Me, Dr. Twenge, a San Diego State University professor, presents compelling data that identifies you folks born in 1971 and beyond as indulgent, spoiled, impatient, and unprepared for the realities of adult life in the 21st Century. Her commentary isn’t at all complimentary. But before you get really pissed off and refuse to read her book and before those who are older and wiser (ha) hail her a genius, understand this, too: Twenge blames your parents and your teachers (that would be us!) for making you indulgent, spoiled, impatient, and unprepared for the realities of adult life in the 21st Century. Intrigued?
Generation Me isn’t a pedantic opinion. It’s a compilation of longitudinal data collected through statistics, polls, personality test results, and more that presents a somewhat sad commentary on modern life in America. The book reads sort of like a tweaked dissertation—which it might be--so get ready to trudge through a mass of statistics and their somewhat redundant implications. Regardless, it tells an important story that really can give readers an epiphany or two about the obvious shift in American culture and why some things are now the way they are (especially relative to education issues like inflated grades, social promotion, non-participative parents, and the like) instead of the way those of us born prior to 1971 remember them.
I rarely read nonfiction. However, since reading this for our 2008 faculty book discussion, Generation Me has become my absolute favorite piece of recent nonfiction. I refer to it countless times in the classes I teach. But each time I do, I wonder which twenty-something or thirty-something student I’ll irritate. To date, no one has been offended nor has anyone filed related grievances so maybe things aren’t as grim as Generation Me would have us think. Let's hope.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Still Alice (Lisa Genova, Ph.D.)
I hate to start this with a total downer but I had to read something while waiting for the new ones from Jodi (Picoult) and Jen (Lancaster). Both authors are favorites of mine and will release new books this spring. Actually, Jodi just released her new one, House Rules, this week. Yea! So exciting! Still waiting for Jen’s My Fair Lazy…
Anyway, I ran across Still Alice (Lisa Genova, Ph.D.) while in Costco one Saturday. Brian (husband extraordinaire) abandoned me in the book aisle so he could shop for wine. I didn’t buy the book that day. I wrote the title on the back of my Costco list and Kindled it later so I could have it for an upcoming PHX/SAN trip. Confession: Since Brian gave me the Kindle for my last birthday, I rarely read print books anymore. Another confession: While my Kindle is currently my FAVORITE tech device, I miss the feel and the smell of books. To get that “fix”, I visit Barnes and Noble on a semi-regular basis. One final confession: I needed a glass or two of that wine after reading Still Alice.
Back to the book…I finished it four days ago and its realistic portrayal of an academic’s (Alice Howland) descent into early-onset Alzheimer’s still haunts me. Alice Howland is a Harvard linguistics professor (how’s that for irony?) who becomes symptomatic during the prime of her life and in the midst of the career she loves. Alice’s horrifying symptoms, described by Alice herself, and her handling of her situation begs a few questions.
First, what do we do when our “services” (anywhere…at work, at home, in a relationship) are no longer needed? Alice must resign her position shortly after her diagnosis and the situation devastates her almost as much as the disease itself. What would we/will we do when personal circumstances result in unwanted change?
Second, who are we beyond our positions at our jobs? Alice was a Harvard professor. Who is she after her resignation? Who are we when we’re no longer working? What happens to our identities then?
Third, what is the condition of our relationships? Alice doesn’t truly know or understand one of her own children long before her disease manifests itself. And she doesn’t notice the distance that begins to separate her from her husband (also a professor). Should our relationships be reexamined, changed, or strengthened in the near future?
Thankfully, my family has not been plagued by this often hereditary disease so I don’t perseverate on the possibility of contracting it the way I sometimes do when I “WebMD” the symptoms of something I’m experiencing only to find a long list of related terminal illnesses. But this book scares the hell out of me, anyway, and it forces me to consider the difficult concepts of personal identity, self-worth, and relationship dynamics.
Still Alice is definitely worth reading. Brace yourself.
Anyway, I ran across Still Alice (Lisa Genova, Ph.D.) while in Costco one Saturday. Brian (husband extraordinaire) abandoned me in the book aisle so he could shop for wine. I didn’t buy the book that day. I wrote the title on the back of my Costco list and Kindled it later so I could have it for an upcoming PHX/SAN trip. Confession: Since Brian gave me the Kindle for my last birthday, I rarely read print books anymore. Another confession: While my Kindle is currently my FAVORITE tech device, I miss the feel and the smell of books. To get that “fix”, I visit Barnes and Noble on a semi-regular basis. One final confession: I needed a glass or two of that wine after reading Still Alice.
Back to the book…I finished it four days ago and its realistic portrayal of an academic’s (Alice Howland) descent into early-onset Alzheimer’s still haunts me. Alice Howland is a Harvard linguistics professor (how’s that for irony?) who becomes symptomatic during the prime of her life and in the midst of the career she loves. Alice’s horrifying symptoms, described by Alice herself, and her handling of her situation begs a few questions.
First, what do we do when our “services” (anywhere…at work, at home, in a relationship) are no longer needed? Alice must resign her position shortly after her diagnosis and the situation devastates her almost as much as the disease itself. What would we/will we do when personal circumstances result in unwanted change?
Second, who are we beyond our positions at our jobs? Alice was a Harvard professor. Who is she after her resignation? Who are we when we’re no longer working? What happens to our identities then?
Third, what is the condition of our relationships? Alice doesn’t truly know or understand one of her own children long before her disease manifests itself. And she doesn’t notice the distance that begins to separate her from her husband (also a professor). Should our relationships be reexamined, changed, or strengthened in the near future?
Thankfully, my family has not been plagued by this often hereditary disease so I don’t perseverate on the possibility of contracting it the way I sometimes do when I “WebMD” the symptoms of something I’m experiencing only to find a long list of related terminal illnesses. But this book scares the hell out of me, anyway, and it forces me to consider the difficult concepts of personal identity, self-worth, and relationship dynamics.
Still Alice is definitely worth reading. Brace yourself.
