about the book...

I should probably warn anyone who read my review of The Prince of Tides and went immediately to the store to buy a copy:  there is some pretty brutal, graphic violence in the book. Obviously I hated reading these portions of the book, although the violence is a huge impetus in the plot.  There were, however, parts I just about skipped over.

The book is still recommended by me, but with a big fat R rating spread across the front.

"The Prince of Tides"

Because I am always looking for the next good book to read and because I feel like most of the books I begin are actually a bit disappointing, I think I'll begin writing book reviews as blog posts every once in a while. I know that to be a good writer one has to read good writing. It's a sort of teaching once you're out of college. However, considering the current state of my life I have precious little time to read. Therefore it takes an expertly written book to captivate me and hold me prisoner until the bitter end.

I was recently recommended The Prince of Tides by Pat Conroy. Published in 1986, the year of my birth, the book was widely acclaimed and in 1991 made into a movie starring Barbara Streisand and Nick Nolte. 

If you are looking for a worthwhile read, a book that will make you smirk and laugh aloud, a book that will make you turn 50 pages before you realize any time has passed at all, a book whose drama will roam like a tiger in the front of your mind even when you aren't reading it, a book that will make you cry soft, quiet tears, you just may want to pick up The Prince of Tides.

There is something about this story, told in its narrative excellence and quality of description, that is utterly captivating. It is the story of the Wingo family, told by the youngest son Tom.  Tom, his twin sister Savannah and his brother Luke endure a childhood full of confusion, mystery, defeat, trauma, excitement and, most of all, camaraderie. It is the story of secrets and competition in a small southern town and relationships both deep and dysfunctional.  It is brilliant, absolutely brilliant, and I devoured each and every page.

hhg  vb bj,. <---that was Mark

A good friend and I decided to read this book together.  We haven't had a chance to discuss the book yet, but via text she told me she found the book "good but disturbing."  It's true. The plot isn't comfortable or "happy." In fact, I have spent a few nights a little restless thinking about the events of the novel with all of the strange plot twists and unnerving male characters, the wild setting of the book and the bizarre relationships and philosophies.

For four days I've been circling around and around, trying to figure out just what it is that is so beguiling about the Wingos and their ramshackle history.  It is a story of humanity that doesn't feign beauty where it is vile. In some vein each of us carries threads of pain and humiliation, betrayal and suffering. But when it's all over, when the season of pain has come to a close, after all of the secrets and words and wounds, a rich ribbon of love between the Wingo siblings is redeeming. And a story tied with that kind of ribbon is the best kind of story because that is what we are each seeking in our stories, isn't it?

late august.

In late Augusts back in my memory it has been so hot that the asphalt breathes up under your shorts and the soles of your flip flops seem to melt.  Indebted to this time of year solely because of the birth of my precious baby brother and friend, I usually spend the month of August sweaty and ready for autumn.

Last weekend in Pittsburgh we were delighted when a cold snap moved, it seemed in deliberation, down from Canada and covered over western Pennsylvania. We spent the nights with the box fan running in front of the window in the upstairs hallway to bring in the coolest, silver air I've felt in months. I didn't realize how constricted breathing has been until that night breeze moved in over my covers and eased my respiration, forcing me to bring quilts up around my neck and dream outside of summer. 

In autumn, it always surprises me, the haze of heat rises up into the atmosphere for good and every natural color is richer, darker. Back in Winston-Salem the J. Nissen building changes from red to brick red and the Third Street sign seems to glow in green and white. I am completely transfixed by the state of the world in fall. 

Sur la Table is a store that specializes in housewares, mostly kitchen. During a massive downpour in the city on Friday, we ducked into the store front and looked around at pink and green mixers, a variety of box mixes for brownies and red velvet cupcakes with cream cheese frosting straight out of Santa's house at the Pole. I purchased a set of nine miniscule cookie cutters shaped like leaves and acorns to make sugar cookies and ice them with orange and yellow and brown icing and sugar.  I have to wait, but not for long.

...It is finally September, the base of the rise toward fall. Today the temperature has peaked at 75 degrees, down from last week's 88, and I'm sitting under an awning in the shade in long sleeves.