2006 in books

2006 is the first year that I’ve actually kept track of all the books I’ve read, though I’ve often done so for part of a year–usually the summer. To celebrate this dubious achievement, I’ve decided to let go of my usually secretive reading habits and reproduce the whole list, with a few largely uninformative notes.

Books with an R in front of them are things I reread; those with an L are ones I listened to. You’ll notice that I tend to reread a great many books.
Leaving You: The Cultural Meaning of Suicide by Lisa J. Liberman–I think I found this listed in the footnotes of another book, but I’ve forgotten what book that might be (here, I suppose, is where something like Google Book Search could come in handy).

R All New People by Anne Lamott

Revolting Librarians Redux edited by KR Roberto (now an ALA Councilor!) and Jessamyn West–I brought this along with me when I was interviewing for my current job, and I read some of it on the plane and some of it in the Irma Hotel in Cody. Note to Dominican: last I checked, your copy of this was missing, but I promise you, I didn’t take it. I got the one I read via interlibrary loan.

R Hard Laughter by Anne Lamott

A Couple of Comedians by Don Carpenter–Anne Lamott mentions Don Carpenter so favorably in her nonfiction that, after my little Lamott kick, when I ran into one of his books on the shelf at the Franklin Park Library, I had to check it out. It was pretty good–the story of a couple of guys who write for Hollywood, and full of the kind of unapologetic drug use that you find in the years before Just Say No.

L A Walk in the Woods by Bill Bryson–I started reading this around the time it was published, when it was sitting my mother’s bathroom. In the next few weeks, I’ll finish reading it, since we’re talking about it for this month’s book discussion. It was great fun to listen to.

Indigo’s Star by Hilary McKay–I feel much the way Your Fairy Bookmother does about McKay’s books.

The Friend Who Got Away edited by Jenny Offill and Elissa Schappell–I keep reading these anthologies of essays mostly written by affluent white New Yorkers, and I don’t know why, since they invariably piss me off. This one had an interesting premise, but I didn’t think any of the essays really worked.

The Boyfriend List: 15 guys, 11 shrink appointments, 4 ceramic frogs, and me, Ruby Oliver by E. Lockhart–a YA book with footnotes. I love footnotes.

Caribou Rising by Rick Bass–the book I got when my mom said one day at Prairie Lights bookstore in Iowa City, “Why don’t you pick out a book?”

Holes by Louis Sachar–I don’t know why it took me so long to get around to reading this. It was good.

R Winter by Rick Bass–This book starts in the fall, so it was a bit odd to be reading it when I first moved to Wyoming, at the very beginning of spring, but it seemed appropriate.

Sight Hound by Pam Houston–Pam Houston’s fiction has gotten more sentimental and less edgy over the years, but I think perhaps she’s a happier person, so while I mourn the loss of the voice that’s in Cowboys Are My Weakness and (particularly) Waltzing the Cat, I still find glimmers of it from time to time.

Oil Notes by Rick Bass–Bass is kind of an odd creature–an oil geologist turned environmental writer. Oil Notes takes place in Mississippi, where he lived before he moved to Montana, as documented in Winter.

I Am the Wallpaper by Mark Peter Hughes–a book I bought for the YA collection at my old library and finally got around to reading at my current library.

The Brief History of the Dead by Kevin Brockmeier–read on the recommendation of my friend Felicia. I’ve always been fascinated by people’s ideas about what happens when you die, and Brockmeier’s world of the dead is particularly appealing. And I’m down with any book where Coca-Cola takes a hit.

Astonishing Splashes of Colour by Clare Morrall–another excellent recommendation from Felicia. It could also get a subject heading of Living Apart Together, as the main characters are married but keep separate apartments, if only Sandy Berman had more sway over the Library of Congress.

The Cold Dish by Craig Johnson–who came to read in Meeteetse!

Torch by Cheryl Strayed–I read Strayed’s essays when they were appearing in literary magazines and The Best American Essays and loved them, and so I was thrilled to see she’d written a novel, which, I’m happy to report, was also good.

R Black Sun by Edward Abbey–one of Abbey’s favorites of his novels, and also one of mine, even though it does kind of read like soft porn in the wilderness at times.

L’America by Martha McPhee–a good book to read if you like reading about food, art, Italy, doomed relationships, and the children of hippies.

Everyone Else’s Girl by Megan Crane–chick lit, pure and unadulterated. There are worse ways to spend a Sunday afternoon.

R The Monkey Wrench Gang by Edward Abbey

L Julie & Julia by Julie Powell

L The Amateur Marriage by Anne Tyler

Just Listen by Sarah Dessen–Reading a new book by Sarah Dessen is sort of like finding out that there’s an episode of My So-Called Life that you somehow missed.

Julie & Julia by Julie Powell–I wrote a bit about the differences between the audio and print versions a few months ago.

Twilight by Stephenie Meyer–my coworkers loved this. I was sort of unmoved.

The Time Traveler’s Wife by Audrey Niffennegger–which is just as good as everybody says it is.

A Complicated Kindness by Miriam Toews–did you know that “Maternal deprivation–Fiction” is a subject heading?

L Lonesome Dove by Larry McMurtry–it seems like everyone in Wyoming has read this book, or at least seen the miniseries. Since I had done neither, I decided to listen to it. It took a very long time, but it was worth it. I have heard that Wolfram Kandinsky’s recording of it is better.

Fun Home by Alison Bechdel–if graphic novels were more like this one, I could really get into them. Also, I encountered nine words in this book that I didn’t know, which is probably a record.

London is the Best City in America by Laura Dave–chick lit dressed up in a nice cover. Eh.

Walking it Off: A Veteran’s Chronicle of War and Wilderness by Doug Peacock–Peacock reflects on what it was like to be the model for Hayduke in The Monkey Wrench Gang, and relates many Ed Abbey stories. Recommended to me by the former Meeteetse librarian.

R Into the Wild by Jon Krakauer–for our first book discussion.

Eat the Document by Dana Spiotta

An Abundance of Katherines by John Green

Daisy Bates in the Desert by Julia Blackburn–I picked this book out for our second book discussion based solely on some reviews and on the intriguing sounding premise–a woman leaves Ireland to go to Australia in the early 20th century and, at age 54, goes to live among the Aborigines. It’s an interesting book, but not one I’d recommend for a book discussion, though I would have loved to discuss it in a writing class. I did, however, have the opportunity to use librarian blogger connections in prepping for the discussion: I asked CW if there was any way she could get an article about Daisy Bates from an Australian newspaper for me, and, through the wonders of modern technology, the article got from microfilm in Australia to my inbox in Wyoming a day or two later. So cool!

Walking in Circles Before Lying Down by Merrill Markhoe–a book in which dogs talk.

You’re Not You by Michelle Wildgen–set in Madison, which I’ve only been to once, for the first National Conference on Media Reform, but which feels like an old friend anyway.

Postcards from Ed by Edward Abbey, edited by David Peterson–a disappointingly slim collection of Abbey’s correspondence.

R The Door Into Summer by Robert Heinlein–I read this book whenver I get really sick, as I was right after my birthday until right after Christmas (perhaps with the same bug that got the Librarian Avenger–I’m glad the librarians won).

R The Outlaws of Sherwood by Robin McKinley–McKinley is my favorite writer, and I’m quite fond of this retelling of Robin Hood, though I know many people who don’t much care for it. I just learned all about the difference between different kinds of retellings (adaptations, versions, fractured fairy tales) from the ESSL Children’s Literature Blog, and you can, too.

The Last of Her Kind by Sigrid Nunez–another book I found while browsing the subject heading “Radicals–Fiction.”

L Girl with a Pearl Earring by Tracy Chevalier

A Fabulous Creature by Zilpha Keatley Snyder–an odd entry in the Snyder ouvre–kind of good, but I can’t think of whom I’d recommend it to.

Marley & Me by John Grogan–I was reading this over Christmas. I was near the end one evening when I started crying. “The dog is dying!” I said to my mother. “That’s why I almost never read those books,” said my mother. “The dog always dies.” Grogan is overly wholesome for my taste, but the book is funny as well as sad. I once heard Adam Hochschild give a talk about learning to write from a newspaper editor in San Francisco who encouraged him always to put a dog in a story. It’s not bad advice.

I also read a great many blog entries, a lot of articles in newspapers and the New Yorker and The Nation, and a handful of zines.

planes, trains, and automobiles

I live a long way from just about everywhere.  (When the New York Times claims that they have nationwide home delivery, what they really mean is “nationwide home delivery if you live in a relatively populated place near a coast or major urban area.  They do not mean Meeteetse, WY, or even Cody, or, for that matter, most of the state of Iowa.  The Cody library usually has the Times about 3-4 days after it comes out, because someone who lives in Cody and gets it by mail, 2 days late, brings it over when he’s finished.  I know, I know, you can get it online.  And I do.  But I still find their advertising offensive.)

But never is it clearer just how far away I am than when I decide to go someplace else, as I did over the holidays.  By some string of miracles, I avoided all the bad weather on my drive to Denver, flight to Chicago, drive to Iowa City, train back to Chicago (detouring to Morning Sun, IA to meet up with my friend Sara and her mom and stepdad and then proceding to Burlington, IA to catch the train), flight back to Denver by way of St. Louis, and drive back to Meeteetse.  I even made a little map on Google, though it’s somewhat deceptive, since some distances were as the crow flies rather than as the car creeps. 

Anyway, I mention all of this mostly by way of saying how thankful I am to have had such an easy (if long) trip, and how sorry I am for all the folks who got stuck at Denver International Airport.  I hope you are all home and sleeping on comfortable beds by now, and that the holidays are starting to be a good story and ceasing to be such a vividly miserable experience.  I mention it also, though, because I think it’s worth remembering, from time to time, that, as I’ve noted before, the world is not flat.  We don’t all travel at broadband speeds, and things like the weather often have a greater impact than we imagine.  I find that strangely comforting.

I hope that all of you who travelled over the holidays did so safely, and that the days were merry and bright, even if the nights were long.  Happy New Year!

librarianship in wartime

The Society of Archivists in the UK has posted a few entries from the diary of Saad Eskander, Director of the Iraqi National Library and Archives. You can get the diary as a Word document from the Society’s website. I’ve also created an online version using pasta.

You can read more history on the Library and Archives during the course of the war from The Memory Hole and the Christian Science Monitor. NPR also has a story from a few years ago about rebuilding the library, which, at this point, may need to be done all over again.

[diary link via SRRT list]

november round-up

November was a busy month, both for me and for the library. Here are a few highlights:

  • Many good things happened on Election Day this year, but for me the best one of all was that the cap tax passed. That means that Cody (our main branch) will get a much-needed new library, Powell (where another branch is located) will get a new pool, and Meeteetse will get a newly refurbished pool. As a librarian, a library patron, and a swimmer, I am thrilled about all of the above.
  • I put together a little website for the cap tax back in August, and it went live sometime in September. Because a) I like to do things cheaply and b) the cap tax committee was initially interested in having a blog (though that ended up not happening), I set up the site using WordPress.com. A look at the statistics for the site (the address of which was run regularly in the Cody Enterprise and was on all the propaganda publicity for the campaign) is a good way of getting a sense of what it’s like to live in a culture that is not as saturated by the internet as many places. The site had 2588 total views, with 234 views on its best day ever, and it had one incoming link. Park County has a total population of 26,664. I know that in many places, it’s crucial to do outreach on the internet and to find library users, or potential users, where they are. I’m glad we put the site up, but there was far more discussion of the cap tax on the op-ed pages of our local newspapers than there was online.
    Right after Election Day, I went on a short vacation to Moab, Utah and environs. There are pictures on Flickr, which I may someday arrange into a set, but don’t hold your breath.
  • Meeteetse’s six-man football team made it to the playoffs, although sadly not farther. Everyone in town had signs up wishing them good luck, including the library.
  • My friend Mitchell pointed out this intriguing reference-like service.

use it up, wear it out

make it do, or do without. . . . I learned that from my father, who was from Brooklyn/Vermont, but it works just as well in Wyoming, where we have many, many envelopes that have made many, many trips.

Let it not be said that we are frittering away the taxpayers’ money.

into the wild discussion

Last Friday was the first meeting of this year’s book discussion group here at the library. In the past, the library has always done one of the book discussions offered by the Wyoming Humanities Council, but this year we decided to do our own. The theme (roughly) is books in which people have adventures, and we started things off with Jon Krakauer’s Into the Wild.

I was extremely nervous going into this discussion, because I have bad memories of teaching undergraduates, which often (though not always) consists of standing in front of the class (or sitting in a circle with the class, if you want to be more 2.0), asking questions and then waiting during the long, pregnant pauses that follow, hoping that someone will have a) read the material and b) have something (anything!) to say about it. So I went in armed with background information on Jon Krakauer (from the online version of Contemporary Authors) and Chris McCandless (from around the web) and lots of questions.

As it turns out, I had a lively group of ten women who were ready and eager to dive into the discussion (and the cookies from the Meeteetse Chocolatier, which we got thanks to the generosity of the Park County Library Foundation), and I asked scarcely any of the questions I had prepared. The biggest surprise? At one point, I mentioned that Chris McCandless has a Wikipedia entry. “A what?” several people said. No one in the group had heard of Wikipedia. Sometimes it’s worth being reminded, in the midst of our discussions about making the library part of the online world, that not all of our patrons are online. As Jessamyn so rightly points out, part of the digital divide is not living in an Internet-aware culture. Part of being a librarian is realizing when that is the case and understanding when, and whether, it’s a problem. I love Wikipedia (for some purposes) as much as the next person, but I also think it is possible to live a full, rich, and satisfying life without it. And the library is here to serve both kinds of people.

Though I didn’t use most of my discussion questions, I thought I would post them for anyone else who might find them useful. They’re free to all under a Creative Commons non-commercial share-alike license.

Discussion Questions for Into the Wild

1. Did you find the book suspenseful? Why or why not?

2. Krakauer’s original article for Outside was called “Death of an Innocent.” He introduced Chapter 12, which includes Chris McCandless’s discovery of his father’s infidelity, with a quotation from GK Chesterton: “For children are innocent and love justice, while most of us are wicked and naturally prefer mercy.” Who is guilty in this story, if anyone? Do they deserve justice or mercy?

3. What do you think about

  • Chris’s relationship with his father?
  • the female characters in the book? (Carine, Billie, Jan Burres [p. 30, 41-46], Gail Borah [p. 63, Wayne Westerberg’s girlfriend]
  • the other adventerurers/explorers/crazy people? (Gene Rosellini [p. 73, attempted Stone Age living], John Waterman [p. 75, climber who went crazy], Carl McCunn [p. 80, guy who forgot to arrange plane to take him out], Everett Ruess [p. 87, Utah explorer], Papar monks [p. 97])
  • the structure of the book and its chronology? How does Krakauer go about telling Chris’s story?

4. Sherry Simpson writes: “Jon Krakauer made up a story about him, by way of telling his own, and every pilgrim since his death has shaped him into something different as well. I’m doing it right now, too.” How much of the story is McCandless’s, and how much is Krakauer’s?

5. Krakauer called his book Into the Wild, which, among other things, sounds a lot like Jack London’s Call of the Wild, one of McCandless’s favorite books. Thoreau noted that “in wildness is the preservation of the world.” What is “the wild”? Is it the same as wilderness?

6. Krakauer describes Chris as living in a “monkish room” but as wanting to feel the “raw throb of existence” and “wallow in unfiltered experience.” What do you make of that contrast?

7. The American Alpine Club estimates that there are about 250,000 climbers and 10-40 climbing fatalities in the US each year. Krakauer’s book Into Thin Air is an account of the deaths of 9 people on Mount Everest. What is it about extreme adventure that draws some people in? Is the pursuit of such extremes selfish or admirable?

Finally, as a last resort, I thought I might read this most famous passage from Walden, which isn’t quoted in Into the Wild but which very well could be:

I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practise resignation, unless it was quite necessary. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan-like as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms, and, if it proved to be mean, why then to get the whole and genuine meanness of it, and publish its meanness to the world; or if it were sublime, to know it by experience, and be able to give a true account of it in my next excursion.

Thoreau, from “Where I Lived and What I Lived For” in Walden

women and altruism: preliminary thoughts

I was thinking briefly about submitting a proposal for Five Weeks to a Social Library. I didn’t, primarily because the only social tool my library currently uses is Flickr, and I haven’t done much with it, and because I didn’t feel up to teaching myself screencasting on top of work, school, life, etc.

I just read Meredith’s post about the male/female ratio in the proposals, and the fascinating comments that speculate about why more women may have submitted than men. I don’t know the reason, and I’d be interested to see the survey, if they do one, but I will say this: Five Weeks is the first library conference (or conference type thing) I’ve ever even thought about submitting a proposal to, and I suspect that at least part of the reason I even thought about it was that I knew that the organizers were women.

I went to an all-female camp for about a million years, and I went to a college that, as we liked to say, is a women’s college that lets men in now, and perhaps as a result I’m often inclined toward projects that involve women doing things. But I am also somewhat disturbed by my reaction.

I read all the blog posts and comments and other bits of conversation that delved into the topics women and technology and sexism in librarianship as they were written over the past few months, and I wondered many of the same things. Where were the women on tech panels? Were fewer women being asked, or were fewer volunteering, and if that was the case, was it because of time constraints, or because they didn’t feel “techie enough”? Just who was responsible for representing women? Like many of you, I was pleased by Roy Tennant’s Library Journal column, with the exception of one bit at the end:

We need women in digital library positions. We need their unique perspective and their civilizing influence on the boys’ clubs that many library systems units, professional events, and online forums have become. But more than that, we simply need their talent.

It’s the second sentence in that excerpt that bothers me. I didn’t write about it at the time, but it came back to me now, because it relates to a bit of what bothers me about many of the theories on why more women than men submitted proposals to Five Weeks. It’s what bothers me about my own reasons for almost submitting, in fact.

Do we really believe that women are more civilized than men? As I recall, one of the arguments against women’s suffrage was that women didn’t need to be able to vote; they were already able to affect their husbands’ votes with their civilizing influence. Are women more likely to involve themselves in tech-for-good than in tech-for-tech? That seems more possible to me, but I’m going on hunch combined with Dorothea’s research, which, as she notes, is a bit old.

But regardless of the veracity of either claim, neither one helps the position of women in technology, in librarianship, or in the world. Tenant saves himself, somewhat, by concluding that we need women most of all for their talent. I’d like to live in a professional world in which women were judged first by their talent and only later by the content of their characters. Being a person who is civilized and altruistic is a good thing in the greater scheme of things, but neither one does much for your paycheck, at least if you’re female.

It sounds as though I don’t value good character. That’s not true. But I’d like to live in a world where it wasn’t the thing people thought women brought to the table.

Julie, Julia, and the case of the missing smoke

AudioFile describes Julie & Julia as a “seamless abridgement” of the book by the same name. When I listened to it a few months ago, I thought so too–or rather, I thought it was quite good–since I hadn’t read the book, I couldn’t make a comparison.

Julie & Julia: 365 Days, 524 Recipes, 1 Tiny Apartment Kitchen is the book that developed from The Julie/Julia Project, a blog written by a New York City secretary named Julie Powell who decided to cook her way through Julia Child’s Mastering the Art of French Cooking in one year. I ordered the audio version for the library because it got great reviews, and I listened to it on the way to and from ALA. It’s great–funny, full of arresting, slightly repugnant, but dead-on observations, like the one about trussed chickens looking like sex-crime victims.

Earlier this month, the book showed up in the rotation to our library. (There are three branches of the Park County Library System. A few books we all buy copies of, but when a book is purchased by only one or two of the branches, it rotates to the other libraries before coming home to rest. While you can always get a book from another branch sent to you, it’s nice to get a new collection to browse through on a regular basis at your home library. Since I liked the audio version, and since I was curious to see what had been abridged, I decided to check it out.

The audio book is 5 discs; the book is 309 pages–I didn’t think that much could have been left out. And indeed, I was right. There are two main things left out of the audio version: some occasional imagined scenes between Paul and Julia Child during their courtship and early marriage, and, well, how do I put this?–the debauchery.

There’s quite a bit of cigarette smoking in the book. There’s none, or almost none, in the audio book. There’s some drinking in the audio book, but there’s more in the book. Ditto mentions of extra marital sex.

The audio book is great–Julie Powell is a vivacious but exacting reader, which is good when you have to read a lot of French. I enjoyed listening to it; I laughed, I cried, the whole thing. But when I read the book, I couldn’t help but feel that I’d been oddly cheated–that my experience had, in some way, been censored. You don’t really miss any of the major story in the abridgement, nor do you miss out on how well Powell can frame a scene:

Over a period of two weeks in late December of 2002, at the exhortation of Julia Child, I went on a murderous rampage. I committed gruesome, atrocious acts, and for my intended victims, no murky corner of Queens or Chinatown was safe from my diabolical reach. If new so f the carnage was not widely remarked upon in the local press, it was only because my victims were not Catholic school girls or Filipino nurses, but crustaceans.

But you do miss, well, something. I finished reading with the odd feeling that the anti-smoking lobby has somehow teamed up with Time Warner AudioBooks–which, given news of late, might not be that surprising.

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