Review: From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler

Programming note: I took a little forced hiatus from reading due to some major life and health reasons, which really, really impacted my reading habits. More soon, when I can stomach it. Feeling rusty but let's get to it.

5 stars. In this beloved 1967 children's story/urban fairy tale, Claudia Kincaid and her younger brother Jamie run away and settle in at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City. Resourceful and delighted by their freedom, they quickly find ways to stay clean, fed, and "educated," for the most part. And even better - helpful, to the Met, as they try to help prove that its latest acquisition is actually a piece of work by Michaelangelo. 

Can you imagine this story had it been written today? In modern times? There's no way - it's an interesting thought exercise that only leads to depressing outcomes. Despite feeling very classic, and more classic every time I read it, many of the lessons and feelings it evokes still resonate. It's funny, too, looking back on this and wondering if it even partially inspired an interest in art history and museums. I didn't even know how to pronounce Michaelangelo when I read it the first time, but maybe it sparked something that still burns decades later.

It's really nice to see the kids' competence and intelligence on full display. They each have slightly different approaches to problem-solving, but they do fit together nicely. They are so witty, and smart, and capable, and driven by wonderfully relatable motives. I know this isn't considered a perfect piece of writing - complaints about the narrator's role, for example, and the plot structure - but I didn't spend a single minute considering any of that while reading. I was way too entertained.

Looking for more of this energy in 2024.

From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler on: Amazon | Bookshop.org | Goodreads

Review: The Willows

5 stars. I found this terrifying. Everything about it: its familiar premise, the fresh path it carves, its tidy, concise plot, its words and sentences and sequences, its ending... it really spooked me. I would have loved to study this in a class and dissect it until I know what makes it tick, or until I discover that it bloomed from the magic of right time, right place, right idea, right author. The word that comes to mind is masterpiece.

It's a simple predicament: our unnamed narrator and his Swedish companion, after having traveled many miles via canoe on the Danube, stop for the night on an isolated island absent of life except for many crowded willows. They set up camp, gather some driftwood and settle in for the night. Soon it becomes clear, quite predictably, that something isn't quite right with the island - the river is rising, the wind is deafening, the willow branches sway, and something else... something otherworldly... doesn't want them to leave. 

It does sound a bit cheesy. In fact I think I went into this expecting cheesy. Or maybe I was expecting cliches. It's so much more than that. "There was a suggestion here of personal agency, of deliberate intention, of aggressive hostility, and it terrified me into a sort of rigidity." I was not ready for the crazy cosmic twists and turns this story takes - and yes, I know some folks argue that it isn't horror, it's weird, but often I find weird horrifying, so I'll say it's both. It's deeply unsettling, disturbing, creative in a way I haven't encountered before. It's very, very obvious that the author maybe... wanted to believe, or wanted to be open, or was sort of... daydreaming up the situation as though fantasizing. It almost felt personal. Which gives it that extra disturbing edge.

I find it really fascinating that packed into this short story is so much psychological self-analysis. The narrator is telling us the story from the future, recalling a memory, and he details almost every twist or shift of emotion he experiences, sometimes in the length of a second or a moment. From awe to disbelief to dread to confusion to "curious excitement" to mistrust to fear to deep, existential terror - we are along for every step of the ride. "Yet what I felt of dread was no ordinary ghostly fear. It was infinitely greater, stranger, and seemed to arise from some dim ancestral sense of terror more profoundly disturbing than anything I had known or dreamed of."

What I also admire is that, for all the atmospheric detail included, there's very little context about the characters. They are virtually without identity. We're told again and again to include context around characters - especially in horror - so the emotional stakes feel high. This proves that technique less required. The author peppered in just enough clues, but really it's his insane adeptness at writing terror that makes it irrelevant.

That ending!

The Willows on: Amazon | Goodreads | Bookshop.org

Review: O Caledonia

5 stars. I hardly know what to say. Unusual, dark and deeply entertaining, O Caledonia needs to be more widely read and studied. It's one of those books that speaks loudly and deliberately about being a young woman - one of those books that offers many profound moments but few profound answers. A lot like life itself. I loved it. Would call it an after dinner drink to Jane Eyre, a cleanser to The Awakening, a complement to Rebecca.

Beginning and ending with her death, this book weaves together the childhood and adolescence of young Janet, woefully misunderstood in the Scottish countryside. Unable to embrace - and utterly repulsed by - the expectations of young women at the time, she finds comfort in solitude, animals and books. Though we are shown her clumsy coming-of-age and eventual demise with no mercy, the story itself is darkly funny, amusing and clever.

It's wonderful. I have so many questions. I would've loved to take a class on this and I hope it'll be added to every lit syllabus out there. Anyone need an idea for a term paper? I would've loved to dive into: her depth and intelligence as a supposed misfit; not just the nature of, not just the perpetrator of, but also the timing of her death (in her case, does falling in love = her fall of grace?); her family (odd, certainly not innocent, certainly as worthy of judgment at times as she is); her many classical references; her passions; her rejection of humanity; her gifts and failings and self-awareness... there are infinite avenues to explore, especially in a character study like this one.

The writing itself is brilliant. It's the perfect length. It's also well-paced, and full of entertaining episodes, all of them straight and to the point. I've seen a few others complain about an abrupt ending, but I found it appropriate. It's ironic at times, nasty at times, beautiful at others. Highly, highly recommend.

O Caledonia on: Amazon | Bookshop.org | Goodreads

Review: Harriet the Spy

4 stars. Oops, seemed to have stumbled onto something controversial. What book published in the 60s isn't going to attract some lightning, though? A couple of things: 1) I entered this having remembered reading and enjoying it as a kid but quickly discovered that every memory of the book was completely washed away by memories of the movie adaptation instead... SO, I read this - basically - fresh. 2) I actually understand all of the arguments here. I would just say that there's a difference between a "bad book" and a "book you don't like." Finally, 3) sometimes a book can have wonderful aspects and also not-so-wonderful aspects. Like maybe every book ever. Like maybe every person ever.

Published in 1964, Harriet the Spy is about Harriet M. Welsch, a precocious, intelligent, headstrong 11-year-old determined to be a spy or a writer or some combo of both. She records her observations and thoughts - unfiltered - in a notebook. It's really a coming-of-age story as we witness Harriet experience intense change, face consequences for her actions, and learn several lessons about how messy life can be.

I have to say I really, really enjoyed it. It's hilarious, clever and refreshing... a couple of reviewers have noted that Harriet was a hugely different type of female protagonist for the 60s. She still feels different today, in a good way. No, Harriet isn't sweet, docile, obedient, or filtered in any way. She's stubborn, loud, nosy, confused, extremely critical and judgmental - kind of a toxic friend, too. The ending didn't sit totally right with me, but I think it was the right ending for her, if that makes sense.

I don't think this book - or any book - should be taken as a literal guide for one's behavior. Of course redemption arcs have their time and place, but I think kids are smart enough to be able to distinguish between when a hero isn't acting heroic, no? And smart enough to navigate action and consequence when it isn't perhaps as straightforward? As it isn't typically IRL? Who knows. Not me. But I do know that reading this book was an endlessly entertaining experience that I'd recommend to kids and adults alike. It's a classic for a reason.

Harriet the Spy on: Amazon | Bookshop.org | Goodreads

Review: Something Wicked This Way Comes

5 stars. Wow. This one moved me to tears. It's so strange... I didn't even really enjoy most of this reading experience. I stopped halfway through to read two other books, because I was bored and confused and needed a break from the purple prose. But somewhere in the second half, I got hooked - or maybe things clicked - and boom, suddenly I was crying. The ending hit me right in the fucking heart, or the gut, or the feels, or something. I just really wasn't expecting that.

Something Wicked This Way Comes should attract readers of all ages and preferences. I feel like my eyes have been opened... I see its influence everywhere from Stephen King to Erin Morgenstern to Clive Barker to Neil Gaiman to Cornelia Funke. It's about the arrival of a carnival at Green Town, Illinois, and how two young boys' discover something dark and sinister under the bright lights and the colorful canopies. It's also about being young and being old and corruption and friendship and fathers and sons and determination and heroism and laughter and free will and... temptation.

It's incredibly beautiful. I don't think I've encountered such gorgeous and unexpected prose since I read Lolita. The imagery is as haunting as it is whimsical and lush. It took some getting used to, but I'll miss those words floating around in my head painting vivid songs. I have associative synesthesia, and this writing might be the closest thing I could find that captures the way my brain concepts concepts and sounds and feelings with certain colors. The words have shapes and edges and corners. Reading this was like dancing inside of an orchestra made of many colors during a thunderstorm.

Originally published in 1962, this book does feature some out-of-date allegories, references and metaphors. And there's a thinly veiled thread of nostalgia running in between the lines, suggesting support for the imagined idea that America was a perfect dreamscape utopia in the 1950s (spoiler alert: it wasn't that). I've also read some fascinating reviews about how this book doesn't hold up at all, especially from an adult perspective. But that's partly why it made me so emotional, I think: like Stephen King's It, it strikes me as a story about the tragedy that is growing up, and I appreciate books that double down on that theme and then give it a solid kick in the teeth for fun.

I would've liked to have read this in college, for a class. I would've liked to have read this at age 13, when the battle between good and evil would've seemed brilliantly intense, and important. But here we are, age 30, disillusioned and cynical and skeptical and yet- and yet- or maybe because all of that- moved to tears by the written sound of laughter and Charles' parting thought that running with the boys, even if it killed him, would be worth it. Ohmygod I'm crying again. Thrilling, this one.

Something Wicked This Way Comes on: Amazon | Bookshop.org | Goodreads

Review: Wet Magic

5 stars. Well, I keep looking for a palette cleanser. Although instead of a bad taste, I want to scrub away reality. And the palette is in fact my anxious, exhausted brain. I keep looking for books that will, like, move me physically from this space to another. Books that will wash everything away.

Edith Nesbit did that for me so much when I was a kid, so I sort of had the idea to return to something reliable rather than try something new? And it sort of worked. I love her witty writing and clever characters. I adore the worlds she builds and her approach to writing about magic and the occasional meta details about stories and fairy tales. I love her ability to craft delightful, utter nonsense.

This one was always my favorite - a story about four children (and a tagalong friend) who rescue a captured mermaid. They are taken to her underwater kingdom and accidentally start a war with other oceanic creatures, which is a lot more delightful and a lot less scary than it sounds. I loved this one when I was a kid because I loved the sea and always secretly hoped I was actually a mermaid and would return home one day, like the well-adjusted super-reader that I was. 

Here's the thing: it didn't really hold up to my adult eyes. I still love it, and always will, but I enjoyed it more now from the perspective of: oh wow, she didn't just write tropes - she developed them. She originated them. Instead of feeling the pull of escape the way I did as a kid, I felt appreciation for her craft and for the influence she had on the fantasy genre. Which is not to say it was a bad reading experience, or a disappointment (not at all!), it was simply different and unexpected.

So, I'll keep looking. I'll poke around Dahl and Eager and Ibbotson and Keene and Hoeye and see if I can find a doorway that'll open enough for me to escape my current reality. Wish me luck. But ALSO - I do recommend this, especially for little ones, especially to be read aloud at bedtime, maybe on a trip to the beach. Don't forget to bring shiny pails and shovels and maybe, as the sun sets over a glistening expanse of ocean blue, you can whisper, just to see... "Sabrina fair..."

Wet Magic on: Amazon | Goodreads

Review: The Bell Jar

2019 CHALLENGE: 1 YOU HAVEN'T READ THAT YET?! PER MONTH 12 / 12

5 stars. I feel like a broken record at this point, but The Bell Jar is yet another book that somehow slipped through the cracks, making it perfect for this challenge. I was an English major, for Pete's sake. I took classes in Women's Lit. This is book is freaking important. 

The Bell Jar refers to the main character's sense of major depression from which she suffers for most of the novel. We meet Esther in New York, successful but feeling empty in the busy, glamorous city. When she returns home - without the urban distractions and without work - her mental state worsens. She feels suffocated. She chafes against society's expectations. She becomes fixated on taking her own life. 

The last quarter of the novel follows her stay in an asylum, under the care of a patient and competent female psychologist who administers proper treatment. This feels very lucky. Having recently watched Unbelievable, it sometimes feels like victims either end up with a good cop or a bad cop (or a mediocre one), and it's just luck of the draw that can dictate the rest of their lives. Similarly, Esther first ends up with a mediocre doctor and then, miraculously for the 50s, gets a great one - paving the road of her recovery.

I don't claim to know firsthand what major depression feels like (and I try very hard to not take my mental health for granted - I'm lucky), but I've learned a lot about it through experiences and through my relationships. Not all cases are the same, but Plath's depiction of the sheer compulsive, depressive fog seems accurate and articulate. I could barely breathe reading those pages.

This wasn't an enjoyable read, exactly, but I do enjoy books that capture the tragedy of being a woman. There are many angles to explore here, reminding me of The Virgin Suicides and Girl, Interrupted and others of that nature. I'm sure there's a way to examine the mental illness theme without considering gender, but the sheer confusion of being a woman must be on the table. It's incredibly relevant, even today.

The Bell Jar is a must-read for anyone who has felt lost, confused, or imposter-y, for anyone whose care has been put in the wrong hands, for anyone who finds the world ill-fitting, for anyone who feels swollen against expectations, for anyone who finds society preposterous. It won't loudly solve your problems, but it will quietly take your hand in commiseration. Knowing Plath's life story, and how it ended, makes it that much more incredible.

The Bell Jar on: Amazon | Goodreads

Review: 1984

2019 CHALLENGE: 1 YOU HAVEN'T READ THAT YET?! PER MONTH 10 / 12

4 stars. Obviously it's insane that it took a challenge for me to finally read this. I absolutely loved it, and yes, it's absolutely devastating. Imperfect as it is, this novel really is relevant in terrifying ways. I have so many questions - I want to pick up even the most minor components and examine them closely.

I think we all know the premise (honestly, why am I even writing this review?), so I'll focus on a few things I noticed: first, the writing is strong. It's concise and accessible and clever. I know that some readers find the characters bland, but I didn’t at all. Regardless, I think they are tools - they don't have to be interesting to help make Orwell's point.

Second, I, like so many readers, found certain elements of the Party's methods incredibly familiar and scary. As I write this, my country's President continues to deny facts about his own past, and people believe him - or they adhere to the version of truth that suits them. Here's a quote: "If the Party could thrust its hand into the past and say of this or that event - it never happened - that, surely was more terrifying than mere torture and death."

The questions Orwell asks about surveillance, language, collective memory, propaganda and brainwashing are all eerily similar to the questions we ask ourselves today regarding social media, technology, and the media. I don't need to expand - I think we all know. We've seen it and heard it and felt it.

That being said, Orwell made the Party intelligent. He made Big Brother smart - smarter than, well, everyone else. In 1984, those in power have the means to stay in power, easily. The Party is diabolical and also totally triumphant. I don't know if, realistically, human leaders would ever be capable of exhibiting such self-awareness as O'Brien and achieve such long-term, widespread success. They're too busy tripping over their own egos.

Well, I guess we’ll see about that.

Third, I would like to read more about the character of Julia. She's so rarely mentioned in reviews and criticism (or is she? am I looking in the right places?) and she's interesting. I wonder if Orwell treats her fairly. I wonder if she's an echo of outdated views on feminism. I want more about Julia.

Undeniably this is a must-read classic (again, I don't know why I'm writing this review, or why it took me so long to get here; this is like, one of the most widely-read books ever, and I even took a class on Dystopian Literature if you can believe it). I thought it would be depressing, but it was sort of ... electrifying. It's remarkable Orwell wrote this in the 40s.

1984 on: Amazon | Goodreads

Review: Lolita

2019 CHALLENGE: 1 YOU HAVEN'T READ THAT YET?! PER MONTH 08 / 12

5 stars. I feel like my whole life I've been hearing about what this book is - what it is, what it isn't, why it's genius, why it's criminal, why it's controversial. And now I can absolutely understand the urge to pick it apart, word for word; it certainly inspired a bit of obsession in me. I'm super unsurprised that readers and writers everywhere blindly grasp at Lolita's coattails trying to feel, at least, genius-adjacent.

So here's what Lolita is, for me: a profound, brilliantly-written profile of a rapist and his horrendous crimes. It's unlike anything I've ever read. And it's a captivating read.

[And because the world is ridiculous, I feel like I also have to spell out what Lolita isn't, for me: a tragic romance depicting forbidden love. I'm actually shocked it has been interpreted this way. Not once - not for a single sentence - did I experience any sympathy for the narrator. Not once did I consider Lolita seductive or complicit or consenting. Probably because I read this at an older age, and/or because I'm an ice cold unromantic, but also because, as we can define more easily now, there are many different types of rape, and rapists, and nonconsensual situations.]

The writing in Lolita is just so ... unexpected. The word choice. The dialogue. The completely distinct voices. It exceeded my very high expectations. I feel fulfilled. I feel like opening it up to page 1 and starting over. I feel like opening it up to a random page and dissecting a random paragraph. There are images here that will stick with me forever. I'm gushing and obnoxious and I know everyone already knows how great it is but I just loved it.

There is a thread of a fascinating theme here that I think is left unexplored sometimes: people, naturally, can't really be cleanly categorized into good and evil. There are certain extreme acts of great generosity or great harm that can put an individual in either, but for the most part, good people are quite capable of bad things, and criminals are quite capable of good things. I AM NOT EXCUSING A RAPIST, I'm trying to point out that Nabokov painted Humbert Humbert as a layered monster. Peeking into his brain is just so damn interesting. Lolita explores his inner nature ("He is horrible, he is abject, he is a shining example of moral leprosy...") with utter delight.

I think I'm going to read this again. Soon. It’s absolutely gorgeous.

Lolita on: Amazon | Goodreads

Review: One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest

2019 CHALLENGE: 1 YOU HAVEN'T READ THAT YET?! PER MONTH 07 / 12

4 stars. A month ago I was cursing my book challenge because I was like three books behind and feeling the pressure. I'm SO glad I pushed myself to keep going. This is exactly why I wanted to do this challenge, because there are so many books out there that I wouldn't necessarily reach for but need to read. And One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest is such a game changer.

This is a story told from the perspective of a patient in a mental institution. He is Native American, schizophrenic, and incredibly observant. (Seriously - this is one of the strongest narrative voices I've ever encountered.) He spends his days cleaning the floors under the watchful eye of the person in charge, a stern and oppressive woman named Nurse Ratched.

One day, there's a break in the monotony: a new patient arrives. To the shock and bewilderment of the patients and the staff, McMurphy is loud, brash, prideful, funny, charming, and determined to bring chaos to the strict order of the hospital. He latches onto Nurse Ratched, and the entire book tracks their spiraling battle toward a (sorry for the cliche) devastating conclusion.

“All I know is this: nobody's very big in the first place, and it looks to me like everybody spends their whole life tearing everybody else down.”

It's not necessarily an easy read, if that makes sense. It feels like something I'd need to read for school. It's thick and abstract and full of allegories and metaphors and triggers the tingly sensation that you're reading something with meaning. It explores huge, giant themes and feels way ahead of its time. It's a grand exploration of sanity, madness, chaos, order, society, power, expectation, repression, rules, rebellion, life, and death. I'm obsessed with the fact that I read this right after reading Fight Club. The two go hand-in-hand.

Other excellent things: each character is distinct and complex and full. Each patient suffers from his own specific ailment and acts accordingly on the page. The narrator undergoes an incredibly satisfying transformation. There's a tremendous sequence involving a jailbreak and an act of piracy. And the writing is incredible, and fair.

One not-so-excellent thing: the racist and misogynist undertones. I'm docking a star in honor of Nurse Ratched's wonderful breasts, which should never have been a defining characteristic of her identity as a villain. There's something really gross about the fact that the only female characters in this book are either completely evil or sex workers.

Still, everyone should read this book. No wonder it's a classic.

One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest on: Amazon | Goodreads