"H is for Hawk" by Helen Macdonald

Somehow I’ve ended up reading several memoirs recently, which is a little unusual for me, mostly because I tend to find memoirs sappy or over-indulgent. Or maybe I just don’t read good memoirs. Anyway, I thoroughly enjoyed Lab Girl, probably because it gave me insight into a field in which I have little knowledge, and the same goes for H is for Hawk. Because, I mean, who knows anything about falconry?

The subject matter--and Macdonald’s take on the practice--is of course what gives Hawk its allure. Though Macdonald is a modern-day practitioner, the practice obviously evokes bygone eras of British countrysides and gentility, and so the vision of a modern woman flying a hawk feels utterly anachronistic.

Hawk is many things at once: an introduction to falconry; a memoir of a woman coping with the loss of her father; a reflection on author T.H. White’s disastrous attempt to train a goshawk. Somehow all three disparate genres come together into a book that feels cohesive, though perhaps slightly muddled when her grief over her father starts to drown her.

I was recently discussing the book with a friend, and she remarked that it made her want to be able to train a hawk. I felt the complete opposite: it made me feel like hawking was an utterly wrong endeavor. And I don’t mean that as criticism of its practitioners, as it seems like modern hawking is (or can be) done humanely, but as a recognition that the hawk is a wild and feral creature, and taming it for our personal enjoyment seems somehow unjust to its power and independence. On the other hand, Macdonald argues that by training hawks she has an appreciation and understanding of them that I, as a casual observer, can never have. Point taken.

I think H is for Hawk is likely to be appreciated by a broad swath of people: falconry novices and experts; nature lovers; and literature devotees. It’s a bit of a weird book, down a path rarely taken.

"Let's Pretend This Never Happened" by Jenny Lawson

Though I'd never heard of Jenny Lawson or her blog before, Let's Pretend This Never Happened came on my radar as a funny memoir, so I was game. The book covers Lawson's childhood in Texas with her taxidermist father and patient mother through her marriage to Victor and the birth of her child Hailey. Each chapter is a new story, most of which are centered on her family's strange habits, Lawson's anxiety and OCD, and her absurd arguments with her husband.

On the down side, you can see the blog origins of Lawson's writing. Some of the stories and particularly the style can get repetitive, especially Lawson's hyperbole about injuries and fear of death. But, then, I was often laughing out loud and even reread portions of chapters to my husband--so all that previous stuff didn't really matter. I think I was most hysterical during her OD'ing on laxatives/rapist in the bathroom story, though her anecdotes from her time in HR were also fabulous. Helpful photos accompany the stories, which are always appreciated.

Let's Pretend This Never Happened isn't great writing, but it is funny, especially if you empathize with or, perhaps, occasionally share Lawson's quirks.

"In the Sanctuary of Outcasts" by Neil White

Here's the plot to a book.  Would you want to read it?

Neil White, a privileged, educated white Southerner, is found guilty of bank fraud and sentenced to one year in Carville, a cushy minimum security prison.  Throughout his ordeal he is well-supported by family, friends, and even inmates, and he is able to see his two loving children every weekend. In his memoir, he takes the reader through the course of his sentence and self-reflective journey as he realizes he can't change who he is--but maybe he'll try not to make so many mistakes in the future.

The answer: no. It's boring, self-pitying, and self-indulgent. Publishers, too, must have realized that there's nothing worthwhile in that story.  So, instead, In the Sanctuary of Outcasts is sold on the one part of White's story that is compelling: Carville, White's prison, was also the U.S.'s last leprosarium, which was home to about one-hundred leprosy patients who had lived there for decades.

As a reader, I was drawn in to all the fascinating story possibilities this situation provided. Like most people, my idea of leprosy is the "unclean" beggar image from the Bible.  I had no idea it still existed or how the U.S. treated (and continues to treat) persons with the disease.  I had so many questions. What were the lives of the patients like? What were their histories? How had their lives at Carville changed over the decades? How had they created their own society within the institution? They had been forcibly removed and quarantined as young people but now, elderly, they chose to stay. And now their home was being invaded by convicts--how did that make them feel? What kind of tensions were created in such a situation?

White's memoir does address some of the latter questions about the relationships between the patients and inmates (spoiler: there wasn't much of one; they didn't like the inmates), but it mostly ignores the early questions. Although White claims he interviewed all the patients, we hear very little of their stories. And though White spends a lot of time lauding his relationship with Ella, an elderly black patient in a wheelchair, it's not quite clear why she had much of an effect on him--other than saying so would help sell books. The reader is given little idea of what Carville was like from the patients' point of view.

In fact, early on even White admits that he's more interested in his own story than the story of the leprosy patients, which, unfortunately for me, I did not care about one bit. White spends far too much time mourning his downfall and whining about his "good intentions."  We even see his "good intentions" fall flat in the book; he spends about a chapter "thinking about" the negative connotations surrounding leprosy and wondering if he can do something about getting it renamed (and by the way, it's already called Hansen's disease). Then he forgets about it and the topic is dropped. And he goes back to his journey of self-discovery.... blech.

In the Sanctuary of Outcasts is an easy and fast read, but I would not at all recommend it if you're interested in the lives of the patients who carried out their entire lives there.

"The Color of Water" by James McBride

Summary: The Color of Water is McBride's memoir and tribute to his mother, a Jewish woman who left her family, married a black man, and sent twelve children to college.

Musings: The Color of Water was, for me, another memoir of a family with a fascinating history put together in a story that didn't quite work.  On the one hand, the book is a unique portrait of a determined woman living in a highly prejudiced era.  Raised Orthodox Jewish by her rabbi father, Ruth only wanted to get away, and when she found love, she let nothing stop her. She married a black man when doing so was highly dangerous. She never let people's prejudices get the better of her or her children, frequently reminding her kids that the only things that mattered were education and God.  The book alternates between McBride's and his mother's points of view, and I enjoyed the parts by Ruth the most, as her feistiness and determination were evident, even as she retold her early life as an old woman.

McBride's portion of the book was less compelling.  The various points he narrates didn't seem tied together, and although he talks frequently about his identity issues, I felt he was telling about them rather than showing.  Parts of the narrative were repeated, and it often seemed like I was rereading earlier sections of the book.

The prose dragged somewhat, sometimes filled more with generalizations than story.  I wanted to know about McBride's own journey and relationship with his mother, but the two pieces didn't fit together for me.

I know The Color of Water is a highly-praised and positively reviewed book, so I feel in some ways that I must have missed something that others picked up on.  There are interesting detail about the difficulties of interracial relationships in the early 20th century and the way in which each person constructs his/her identity, but the memoir did not come alive.

***This book qualifies for the POC Reading Challenge.

"All Creatures Great and Small" by James Herriot

Summary: Herriot's memoir of his first two years as a veterinary surgeon for the rural farms of the Yorkshire Dales in England during the 1930s.

Musings: I picture vets much like I picture doctors: in sterile offices with crisp lab coats and helpful technicians.  Herriot's world is nothing like this.  Taking place in rural farms nearly eighty years ago, Herriot's practice involves being on call twenty-four hours a day, arriving at farms in all forms of weather, stripping off his shirt, scrubbing down with water and soap, and getting down and dirty.  It's hard work, but it's clearly work Herriot loves, and his enthusiasm for his customers, patients, and town is infectious.

All Creatures is less a narrative than a large collection of short anecdotes about his practice.  Many of the stories evidence Herriot's admiration for the hardworking farmers.  I teared up at a touching account of a young farmer with just a few animals who stayed up for twenty-four hours rubbing down an ailing cow or a wealthy aging farmer with many animals who nonetheless had been daily attending to two retired horses for twelve years.  Even the difficult farmers--those who don't pay, those who don't trust vets--are detailed with good humor.  Herriot is also happy to describe his own shortcomings and small humiliations.

What sets the book apart is its overall warmth and optimism.  I find myself dragged down by daily annoyances (people, rules, responsibilities), but Herriot's book finds the good in every situation.  In fact, I find the best adjectives to describe the book are those words which normally make me groan and wince: heart-warming, touching, sweet.  The devout cynic within me struggled against the basic goodness of the stories Herriot tells, but in the end, I gave in.

Herriot is a simple storyteller, and each small chapter ended with me smiling.  In an age of modern conveniences and in which the family farm is largely nonexistent, it was also rewarding to read about a different time. 

Herriot's book is not a straight autobiography, as the stories are a combination of real experience and creative license, but I don't think that diminishes the pleasure of reading any.  It's a warm story that doesn't resort to melodrama.

"Monique and the Mango Rains" by Kris Holloway

Summary: A memoir of a woman's experience working with a midwife named Monique as a Peace Corps volunteer in Mali from 1989-1991.

Musings: Monique and the Mango Rains, a straightforward and informative nonfiction read, provided a interesting glimpse into the lives of Peace Corps volunteers and the lives of the people of Mali.  For both topics Holloway is an even-handed narrator who describes her time with Monique without pity or condescension.

The book celebrates the skills and triumphs within the village while also acknowledging the people's lack of accessibility to medical care and nutrition.  Monique, a bright and energetic young midwife, is the star of the story.  Her optimism and tireless energy match well with Holloway, who shares her passion.  Their close friendship shows how universal relationships can be.  Holloway also has an interesting perspective as a Peace Corp volunteer.  Unlike other Westerners (doctors, for example) who might come to African countries to help, Holloway has no real expertise to offer--just a willing body and mind.  Because of this, she is able to learn and assist while not imposing her beliefs of how things should be done.

One of the issues Holloway especially focuses on is the sexism in the village and the way in which it limits women's options. She works with Monique in these areas, providing regional information on the dangers of female genital mutilation and assisting the village in gaining access to birth control, but in all these instances changes come from Monique's work.  The one area Holloway does directly intervene in is ensuring that Monique, not her father-in-law, receives her salary, but clearly Monique benefits from an intervention that, according to social custom, she could not easily do herself.

Holloway writes simply and directly, so I found the book engrossing and quick.  I'll admit to knowing very little about many African nations, and although Monique and the Mango Rains provides just one viewpoint of one specific place, I enjoyed its fair depiction of the author's time there.

***This book qualifies for the TwentyTen Reading Challenge (completing the "Up to You!" category) and the POC Reading Challenge.

"Stitches" by David Small

Summary: Small's memoir, in graphic novel form, concerns his childhood and his distant and silent parents.  At a young age, David is subjected to multiple x-rays by his radiologist father, which later cause him to develop cancer.  When the cancerous growth on his throat is finally removed, David is left with only half his vocal cords and a raspy voice.  David finally finds confidence and release through a kind therapist and his art.

Musings: Other than reading Maus as part of a freshman college seminar, this is the only graphic novel I've read.  Graphic novels are still something of a mystery genre to me, but I saw Stitches reviewed somewhere (I really wish I could remember where), and I was intrigued.  Last year it was also nominated for the National Book Award under "Young People's Literature" (a somewhat dubious categorization, as others have pointed out).

One of the first things that struck me was the difficulty I had reading this kind of literature.  I'm naturally a fast reader, but I tried very hard to look at the pictures slowly and carefully.  Some pages were entirely pictures (no text), so I especially had to refrain from racing through them.  Even with that, I finished the book quickly.  Making the switch from text to art was a huge challenge that I wasn't quite able to overcome, despite the detail to Small's drawings.  None of this is to deride Small's work in any way, but rather a commentary on my experience with the book.

One of the things Small was most successful with was evoking a mood through his smoky black and white drawings.  A feeling of dread accompanied the book, especially throughout David's early childhood.  I was afraid of what would happen next, even though the book is not action-oriented.  The shadows that fall across the characters' faces add an extra sense of something ominous hanging over the page and the reader.

Small is especially adept at capturing the expressions of a lonely, withdrawn, and angry young boy.  Anyone who works with teenagers knows the amount of negative emotion that can be conveyed simply through a look (the most common expressions being of apathy or disgust), and the range is seen in Stitches.  The ability to communicate through looks is of course a metaphor for the book itself, as David uses his art as a means of expression rather than his voice.

I'm not sure this is a book that most teenagers would appreciate or like; it lacks a traditional plot line and definable characters.  I wouldn't even classify it as a book I liked, although Small's drawings are provocative and his story interesting.  It's just too different for me to have a firm grasp on, but I'm glad I read it.

"The Glass Castle" by Jeannette Walls

Summary: A memoir of Walls' life growing up poor in the American southwest and West Virginia.  Raised by parents who believed in extreme self-sufficiency, Walls' family lived a transient life, often living without adequate housing and food.  The book focuses largely on her parents, who managed to raise intelligent and (largely) successful children while failing to live a traditionally successful life themselves.

Musings:  I've heard of this book for quite awhile, but it wasn't one I had actively sought out.  But, I was looking to take a YA break and also bring in more nonfiction to my reading list, so this seemed like a good choice.

I typically have a difficult time with "rough childhood" and/or abuse memoirs because I find that their sensational stories are often used to cover up poor writing.  While I may sympathize with what the writers experienced, I can't read a story that is more "abuse porn" than literature.  Fortunately, Walls writes her story in simplistic and engaging prose that acknowledges her life's struggles and successes without becoming maudlin.

The story was still challenging for me most of the time, primarily because I felt such loathing for Walls' parents.  Although they are to be credited with raising intelligent children, I primarily saw them as narcissistic losers more interested in themselves than their family.  This is not a story about poverty despite parents' best attempts otherwise.  It is a story about a family in dire poverty because the parents are unwilling to consider others' needs before their own and sacrifice petty wishes for the broader good.  Individualism taken to a dangerous extreme.  The parents are not abusive by normal standards--they provide love and encouragement to their children and do not hit their kids--but their lack of physical care for their children is all the more egregious because of it.

Fortunately, this story has a happy ending.  All but the youngest child are immensely more successful once they move to New York and are able to live without their parents stealing their money and irrationally destroying their opportunities for success.  In fact, I felt my hatred for the parents lessening once the children were thriving and the parents were more nuisances than serious hindrances.

There are certainly many messages in here, but I reacted too strongly to the characters to consider them very deeply.  I'm glad I read the book, but I don't know that I enjoyed it.

"Reading Lolita in Tehran" by Azar Nafisi

Summary: Nafisi recounts being a professor of English literature in Iran. Nafisi combines her exuberant love of literature with her analysis of the various regime changes and crackdowns on women's rights, in particular, throughout the 1980's and 1990's. She struggles to teach fiction as fiction in a society where religious zealots attempt to eradicate all "Western" or "immoral" influences.

Musings: I initially didn't enjoy this book, primarily because I think I was misled by the inner flap summary. Nafisi (and the book cover) initially frame the book in terms of the small book study group Nafisi organizes in Iran of former students after she stops teaching. I expected the book to be about the book group and the young women in the group, but the book is much more about Nafisi's struggles as a professor and her commentary on the books she taught. The subtitle of the novel, "A Memoir in Books," is a much more accurate title since the book really is Nafisi's attempt to understand her life through literature.

Nafisi is an expert on Vladimir Nabokov, author of Lolita (in fact, her other published book is about him), and her idolization of the author is evident, especially throughout the first section of the book. I wasn't looking to get into critical theory, so I was somewhat turned off by her continual analysis of Lolita (especially since it's been quite a number of years since I read the book). Early on Nafisi emphasizes that she and the other women she discusses are not Lolita, but the book and Lolita's lack of independence is analyzed so often that it's difficult not to see Nabokov's novel as an allegory for Nafisi's situation.

Nevertheless, I grew increasingly interested in the book as Nafisi moved past Nabokov and into her experiences as a teacher. Unlike Zoya's Story, which took place in Afghanistan but covered many of the same themes, Nafisi's story is told in way that draws you into the characters and the events that happen. Nafisi's life is not a dry retelling of facts, but a woman's struggle to maintain herself and her beliefs. I most appreciated the ways in which Nafisi is open to her uncertainty and compromises. She originally stops teaching rather than be forced to wear the veil, but after several years she is drawn back toward teaching. She must decide whether it's better to refuse to teach on principle (she had said she would never teach wearing the veil) or go back and teach and try to improve upon the education of the young people of Iran.

Throughout the book, Nafisi emphasizes the importance of fiction and our ability to learn through reading. She struggles to make her students understand that characters in novels, like people, cannot be understood one-dimensionally. The rule of the land has labeled people as "good" or "bad," and Nafisi works to counter such simplistic evaluations.

I feel like I would need to read the book again to really have a full understanding all Nafisi has to offer. It's certainly the best book I've read so far to deal with many of the issues of freedom, independence, and women's rights in the middle east.

"Hurry Down Sunshine" by Michael Greenberg

Summary: A father's memoir of his 15-year-old daughter's sudden psychosis.

Musings: Interesting discussion of what psychosis is. I liked his use of literary allusions (particularly to other famous/genius/crazy writers) as a way to understand his daughter. He contemplates: if we diagnose mental illness as varying from "average," how do we distinguish between sickness and genius? Short and little action, but interesting.