2014 in Books

I have spent the last few days devouring podcasts and articles about the best books of 2014. I haven't heard of many of the books discussed, but that doesn't stop me from greedily marking off new books to read and nodding with satisfaction at some of the choices.

I got a little thrill of delight to discover that I had read 4 of the New York Times Top 10 list for the year, and that there were among my favorite books of the year. They included:

All the Light We Cannot See by Anthony Doerr: I think this one may be on every single roundup of the year that I've seen--definitely a general audience pleaser.  I read it on my trip to Seattle for my grandmother's funeral in September. And I just got it to give to my mom for Christmas. Set mostly in Brittany, France, and a mining town in Germany, Doerr masterfully shifts between two stories.  Werner lives with his sister in an orphanage, and is destined to become a mine worker until he discovers his talent for constructing and repairing radios. He is recruited to become part of the Hitler Youth, where he develops a way to track down Allied forces who surreptitiously broadcast low frequency radio messages.   Marie-Laure is a blind French girl who is forced to flee with her father to a great uncle's home in Brittany during the invasion of Paris. Her father has devoted his career to working as the lockmaster at the Natural History Museuem. In order to nurture his blind daughter independence, he builds her scale replicas of their neighborhoods that provide her with the visual map necessary to navigate on her own.  Eventually, their paths meet up.  The writing is gorgeous and the characters shimmer in front of you. Wonderful.

Dept. of Speculation by Jenny Offill: I read this one twice in quick succession when AJ was out of
town with the boys and MJ was at band camp. I had biked around the lake and over to Chipotle and then brought my food to the neighboring park to sit and eat and read. The narrator is an unnamed woman who gets married, has a baby, struggles to maintain a writing career, and then to understand her failing marriage. The narration has a scattershot feel, a deliberate choice by Offill to help us understand her anxieties, frustrations, and anger. There are a few neat narrative tricks that were quite satisfying. And I liked this from the Amazon review: the novel "shimmers with rage and longing and wit." I also really enjoyed listening to the Slate book discussion about it.

Can't We Talk About Something More Pleasant? by Roz Chast. This one also drew me in and I sat and devoured most of it in one sitting. Roz Chast, the New Yorker cartoonist, has written a graphic novel memoir  about her and her parents as they  declined in health, suffered dementia, moved out of their Brooklyn residence of 50 years to an assisted living facility, and then eventually died in their 90's. As the only child, she feels a great deal of stress and anxiety in trying to care for them and deal with many momentous decisions, while at the same time confronting her conflicted feelings in particular about her mother. It is heartbreaking, genuine, and sublime.


The Sixth Extinction by Elizabeth Kolbert. I love Elizabeth Kolbert's environmental writing for the New Yorker, and this book expands on her work there. It turns out, as she aptly documents, that the world is in the midst of a massive dying out of many species due to rapid changes in the earth's atmosphere, oceans, and climate--populations of frogs in Central America, bats, coral, and rhinos are rapidly declining. She combines writing about the scientific discoveries around extinction and other historically relevant episodes with fascinating science reporting about what is being done to try to prevent species devastation. So so good. I absolutely loved her description of diving at the Great Barrier Reef, and am determined to go there someday before it completely disintegrates due to ocean acidification.

My other favorites from the year: This is the Story of a Happy Marriage, a collection of essays by Ann Patchett, The Invention of Wings by Sue Monk Kidd, and The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt.
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Harry Potter, the First Time Through

There are a new set of covers for the Harry Potter books. Have you seen them? They are lovely. Harry and Hagrid are strolling through Diagon Alley on the cover of book 1. We saw the whole series when Zane and I were in Barnes and Noble last week, picking up his free book that he earned from completing their summer reading challenge (don't get me started on Lego Ninjago books. I absolutely refuse to read those out loud.) Zane had recently started reading book 1, and asked if we could get book 1 with the new cover. I happily gave in.

This morning, Andy stopped by my desk (we now work for the same company) and handed me Zane's copy of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. Zane took it with him in the car when Andy dropped them off this morning, but he didn't want to wait until Andy got home tonight to get it back--about two hours after I pick them up. He's already on page 262, and though I wonder how deep his understanding is, I'm happy to see him embrace the wonder of Harry Potter.

Last night, at Family Home Evening, we were talking about Harry Potter. Maren and Toby has to work very hard to restrain themselves from telling Zane what was coming next, and gave several hints about future events. Earlier, I had a conversation with Zane about how as a baby, Harry had miraculously survived Voldemort's attack on his family, as well as a discussion of the power of the sorcerer's stone. At FHE, he asked if the reason why Harry was "the boy who lived" was because he had possession of the sorcerer's stone. What a good theory, right? He also asked if Snape was good or bad. To which we all chuckled--the enduring mystery of Snape's motives carries to the very end of book 7.

I love my little bookworm.  He also commented this week that he prefers "realer" books when offered the opportunity to read an ebook.  My thought exactly!
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Door County

This week, we went to Door County, Wisconsin, a little spit of land that juts up into Lake Michigan.  We had spent a wonderful 4th of July holiday with our dearest of friends in Shawano, and then decided to continue on to Door County on our own.

We stayed at a wonderful little place in Fish Creek called Julie's, which backed right on to Peninsula State Park. A peninsula on a peninsula.  We could literally roll out of bed and onto the bike trail in the park.

The first morning, we all biked together. The morning was filled with a few small annoyances, though.  Maren's bike tire was flat and would not hold air.  So we switched bikes and I rode Andy's, with Zane trailing behind, Maren took mine, and Andy headed to the bike shop across the street, not open for another hour.  The trail was full of mosquitoes, and for every small stop, we were swarmed.  Maren took a bad spill, scraping up her palm and twisting her ankle.  We stopped at the light house and then  made it to Nicolet Beach to wait for Andy to join us, where Zane and Toby quickly got soaked.  All in all, it was a good morning together and we enjoyed the ride.

Unsteady hand while riding

The next morning, however, it was chilly and drizzly and Andy had a work call, so I went out on the trail by myself, leaving the kids to watch TV.  I hadn't brought a sweatshirt, but luckily I was able to fit into a boy's size 10-12 (snug, but warm).  It felt exhilarating to fly down the trail all by myself, with no one to wait for, no kids jockeying for first position on the trail.  It might have been the weather, but the trail was virtually deserted.  The gray day only accentuated the leafy green cloaked forest, and I felt joyful and peaceful to be out.



When I got to the end of the peninsula, the beach was deserted.  A white stone walkway extended into the water on Nicolet Bay, and I biked right down onto it, then threw my bike down and lay prostrate on the white stone, starting to process all the sensations my body was taking in. The sounds of the shrieking gulls, the trilling song birds, and wind brushed leaves. The gray clouds with light bursting through in spots, the tall green oaks, birches, and maples, the steely waves, the islands in the distance. Then I closed my eyes to see what I could feel.  The wind blowing on my face, the coolness and solidity of the rocks underneath my legs and back. And then I noticed the pounding of my heart. And in that instant, a rush of awe, delight, and joy.  My own self, my body, me.  I was in a lush, alive, beautiful corner of the world, and I was part of it.  I was united with something much bigger and more majestic than just myself. And I felt so lucky to be there and to have that moment.

Looking out over the bay

It's been a challenging few weeks for me with sad and divisive news coming from inside my church.  I want my church to be a place where the Kates and other questioners have a home and don't feel stifled and bullied into silence or disengagement.  I feel a little at sea, wondering where and how I fit in. Being out there, on the bay in Peninsula State Park, was a glory and a grace.  I have no answers, but I have my beating heart, re-centered so often by the trees and the flowers, the sky and the stars, the wind and the waves.
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I Choose to Begin

"I love all beginnings, despite their anxiousness and their uncertainty, which belong to every commencement. If I have earned a pleasure or a reward, or if I wish that something had not happened; if I doubt the worth of an experience and remain in my past—then I choose to begin at this very second. Begin what? I begin. I have already thus begun a thousand lives."

- Rainer Maria Rilke, Early Journals

I choose to write again.  Yes.
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