Less internet = more books!
I'm probably forgetting some but oh well, this isn't a perfect historical record.
The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency by Alexander McCall Smith (reread) -- unmarried, fat, and wise Precious Ramotswe sets out to open up shop as Botswana's first and only lady private detective. It's a series of vignettes about her cases, loosely tied together by one ongoing storyline; the episodic cases remind me of some Father Brown books I've read, in that the stakes are fairly low, the people are fairly charming, and the mystery-solver uses common sense to save the day. I love the atmosphere and the friendly feeling; I love that Precious is ethical without being uptight, and I love that it's totally fat positive. I should really get around to the rest of the series, but I worry it goes downhill (as these things can do) and I don't want to spoil my enjoyment of the first one.
Wasted: a Memoir of Anorexia and Bulimia by Marya Hornbacher (reread) -- a recounting of a dizzying, manic, and painful adolescence and young adulthood spent careening among anorexia, bulimia, mental illness, family stress, drugs, and academic overachievement. I suspect the author would be exhausting and intimidating to befriend in real life, but I love getting to know her through her prose. She's engrossing and enchanting, making you buy in to the way she romanticized her diseases while stepping back just often enough to give some gravity to the situation. I could read her all day. I read this probably eight or nine years ago, and I remember seeing her as so adult and sophisticated; this time, all I could think was how crazy young she was for most of it. Man, you guys, the way the years pass by.
Wintergirls by Laurie Halse Anderson -- high school senior Lia deals with the aftermath of her estranged best friend's death from bulimia, which includes trying to hide her own continued anorexia and increasingly disturbing visits from her friend's ghost. This never really got off the ground for me. Lia is such a cipher -- she doesn't seem to want anything, or acutely not want anything; she has no interests and no goals; there's nothing to drive the plot forward. Also, there's a bit too much "let me show you my research" in the tone; for example, at several points Lia visits "pro-ana" websites, which add absolutely nothing except a feeling of the author saying, "You guys, look! I totally know about these! I'm down with the kids today!" Not horrible overall; I'm just left indifferent.
Brave Girl Eating: A Family's Struggle With Anorexia and Buliimia by Harriet Brown (yes, I was on a bit of a kick that week) -- part memoir of her daughter's diagnosis with and attempt to recover from anorexia, part thoughts on ED treatment and the Maudsley approach, part critique of the way anorexia is presented in psychiatric literature, and part critique of how our society's food issues do (and don't) play a role in eating disorders. Brown writes really well; the different subjects are blended smoothly, and it never feels disjointed or soapbox-y. Also, it's nice to read about the recovery side of an eating disorder, as opposed to most stories (like Wasted and Wintergirls, for starters) which linger on the being-sick part and sum up treatment in a couple "And then I got better the end" paragraphs.) I enjoyed this.
My Friend Leonard by James Frey (audiobook) -- fresh out of jail, freshly sober, freshly wounded by a personal tragedy, James Frey recounts what happened when he moved to Chicago and, with the help of a mobster who treated him like a son, attempted to rebuild his life. I didn't realize for a while that this was a memoir rather than fiction -- I thought Million Little Pieces was "the" Frey memoir, and that the main character being named James was just like how Tony Danza is always playing guys named Tony -- and I was enjoying it fairly well. But it being autobiographical soured it somehow. There's just something different about the way you describe yourself versus the way someone can describe a fictional character; a presumed-ego thing, I guess. I didn't feel like Frey thought that his story was interesting because he had such unusual luck (such terrible circumstances, but also such a uniquely wonderful gift of a caring, rich, well-connected friend looking out for him) but rather that he himself was so inherently interesting ... which is rather off-putting to me. I might check out Million Little Pieces just because it sounds like there's more suffering, whereas in this he mostly mopes around a lot. It wasn't bad, but it was fairly boring.
The Camera My Mother Gave Me by Susanna Kaysen -- a slim and odd little medical memoir (I guess you'd call it) about the author's various attempts to find a cure to the increasingly life-limiting chronic pain in her vagina, while also dealing with her boyfriend turning into, basically, an emotionally abusive rapist, and her feelings of guilt and confusion over that. In life, things don't always take a neat and tidy narrative arc, so the fact that this lacks one is hardly a criticism of the author. It's light and disconnected, and I enjoyed it, but there's a limit at the same time to how fulfilling I could imagine finding it.
Manic: a Memoir by Terri Cheney -- told in an un-chronological series of incidents that nevertheless succeed in telling a complete and straightfoward story, this memoir explores both the terrifying highs and the unbelievably dark and painful lows of bipolar disorder and the ways in which she managed it, tried to manage it, and managed her life even when she wasn't able to manage the disorder at all. Her prose is incredibly deft, transporting you right along with her, letting you see the strange logic in the heat of the moment (or the chill of the black depression) and the slippery, ephemeral understanding and stability in the times in between. I really loved this book.
The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo by Stieg Larsson (audiobook) -- a financial reporter whose reputation has been ruined by a rival and a young hacker who's probably on the autism spectrum with a painfully difficult past team up to solve a thirty-year old mystery, stumbling on a modern-day serial killer in the process. The trashy airport-reading-murder-mystery I was hoping for is buried in there, and I think I'd have enjoyed it well enough I'd read it in print form. and could skim. But the pacing is just interminable when heard aloud. It takes nearly 11 hours to reveal the central mystery! Before that it's endless "Blomkvist talked to Erika. He went for a walk. He did some research. He talked to Vanger. The cat came to visit. It was cold. He went to bed. He woke up. Blomkvist talked to Erika. He went for a walk. He did some research. He talked to Vanger. The cat came to visit. It was cold. He went to bed." Aaaargh. I'll probably read the others in the trilogy eventually, but definitely not in audiobook format, unless I just get really desperate at work (I have free access to them through a co-worker's shared iTunes).
The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency by Alexander McCall Smith (reread) -- unmarried, fat, and wise Precious Ramotswe sets out to open up shop as Botswana's first and only lady private detective. It's a series of vignettes about her cases, loosely tied together by one ongoing storyline; the episodic cases remind me of some Father Brown books I've read, in that the stakes are fairly low, the people are fairly charming, and the mystery-solver uses common sense to save the day. I love the atmosphere and the friendly feeling; I love that Precious is ethical without being uptight, and I love that it's totally fat positive. I should really get around to the rest of the series, but I worry it goes downhill (as these things can do) and I don't want to spoil my enjoyment of the first one.
Wasted: a Memoir of Anorexia and Bulimia by Marya Hornbacher (reread) -- a recounting of a dizzying, manic, and painful adolescence and young adulthood spent careening among anorexia, bulimia, mental illness, family stress, drugs, and academic overachievement. I suspect the author would be exhausting and intimidating to befriend in real life, but I love getting to know her through her prose. She's engrossing and enchanting, making you buy in to the way she romanticized her diseases while stepping back just often enough to give some gravity to the situation. I could read her all day. I read this probably eight or nine years ago, and I remember seeing her as so adult and sophisticated; this time, all I could think was how crazy young she was for most of it. Man, you guys, the way the years pass by.
Wintergirls by Laurie Halse Anderson -- high school senior Lia deals with the aftermath of her estranged best friend's death from bulimia, which includes trying to hide her own continued anorexia and increasingly disturbing visits from her friend's ghost. This never really got off the ground for me. Lia is such a cipher -- she doesn't seem to want anything, or acutely not want anything; she has no interests and no goals; there's nothing to drive the plot forward. Also, there's a bit too much "let me show you my research" in the tone; for example, at several points Lia visits "pro-ana" websites, which add absolutely nothing except a feeling of the author saying, "You guys, look! I totally know about these! I'm down with the kids today!" Not horrible overall; I'm just left indifferent.
Brave Girl Eating: A Family's Struggle With Anorexia and Buliimia by Harriet Brown (yes, I was on a bit of a kick that week) -- part memoir of her daughter's diagnosis with and attempt to recover from anorexia, part thoughts on ED treatment and the Maudsley approach, part critique of the way anorexia is presented in psychiatric literature, and part critique of how our society's food issues do (and don't) play a role in eating disorders. Brown writes really well; the different subjects are blended smoothly, and it never feels disjointed or soapbox-y. Also, it's nice to read about the recovery side of an eating disorder, as opposed to most stories (like Wasted and Wintergirls, for starters) which linger on the being-sick part and sum up treatment in a couple "And then I got better the end" paragraphs.) I enjoyed this.
My Friend Leonard by James Frey (audiobook) -- fresh out of jail, freshly sober, freshly wounded by a personal tragedy, James Frey recounts what happened when he moved to Chicago and, with the help of a mobster who treated him like a son, attempted to rebuild his life. I didn't realize for a while that this was a memoir rather than fiction -- I thought Million Little Pieces was "the" Frey memoir, and that the main character being named James was just like how Tony Danza is always playing guys named Tony -- and I was enjoying it fairly well. But it being autobiographical soured it somehow. There's just something different about the way you describe yourself versus the way someone can describe a fictional character; a presumed-ego thing, I guess. I didn't feel like Frey thought that his story was interesting because he had such unusual luck (such terrible circumstances, but also such a uniquely wonderful gift of a caring, rich, well-connected friend looking out for him) but rather that he himself was so inherently interesting ... which is rather off-putting to me. I might check out Million Little Pieces just because it sounds like there's more suffering, whereas in this he mostly mopes around a lot. It wasn't bad, but it was fairly boring.
The Camera My Mother Gave Me by Susanna Kaysen -- a slim and odd little medical memoir (I guess you'd call it) about the author's various attempts to find a cure to the increasingly life-limiting chronic pain in her vagina, while also dealing with her boyfriend turning into, basically, an emotionally abusive rapist, and her feelings of guilt and confusion over that. In life, things don't always take a neat and tidy narrative arc, so the fact that this lacks one is hardly a criticism of the author. It's light and disconnected, and I enjoyed it, but there's a limit at the same time to how fulfilling I could imagine finding it.
Manic: a Memoir by Terri Cheney -- told in an un-chronological series of incidents that nevertheless succeed in telling a complete and straightfoward story, this memoir explores both the terrifying highs and the unbelievably dark and painful lows of bipolar disorder and the ways in which she managed it, tried to manage it, and managed her life even when she wasn't able to manage the disorder at all. Her prose is incredibly deft, transporting you right along with her, letting you see the strange logic in the heat of the moment (or the chill of the black depression) and the slippery, ephemeral understanding and stability in the times in between. I really loved this book.
The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo by Stieg Larsson (audiobook) -- a financial reporter whose reputation has been ruined by a rival and a young hacker who's probably on the autism spectrum with a painfully difficult past team up to solve a thirty-year old mystery, stumbling on a modern-day serial killer in the process. The trashy airport-reading-murder-mystery I was hoping for is buried in there, and I think I'd have enjoyed it well enough I'd read it in print form. and could skim. But the pacing is just interminable when heard aloud. It takes nearly 11 hours to reveal the central mystery! Before that it's endless "Blomkvist talked to Erika. He went for a walk. He did some research. He talked to Vanger. The cat came to visit. It was cold. He went to bed. He woke up. Blomkvist talked to Erika. He went for a walk. He did some research. He talked to Vanger. The cat came to visit. It was cold. He went to bed." Aaaargh. I'll probably read the others in the trilogy eventually, but definitely not in audiobook format, unless I just get really desperate at work (I have free access to them through a co-worker's shared iTunes).