The Monday Book: AGE OF MIRACLES by Karen Thompson Walker

miracles I got this out of the library as a recorded book, not really knowing any more than the back blurb. (Our library is wonderful, but recorded books run heavily to thrillers, so anything that wasn’t one, I was interested in.)

Happy occasion, that, because I might not have picked this book up had I realized its vague science fiction premise. Jack and I listened to it together down in our cabin away from civilization, as a break from cutting wood and working on some writing and generally chilling out for Christmas.

The book has two main threads tied together as its theme: what if the Earth simply slowed down in its rotations, what would happen to all the ordinary people living ordinary lives? And what’s it like to be a sixth grader with a crush on a boy while the Earth is dying?

Jack commented more than once that he thought this was two separate books pulled together on the advice of a writing teacher – not that he was complaining, because he loved it. But the odd juxtaposition of sixth grade angst and “well, crap, this is the Apocalypse” works well in the way someone occasionally pairs orange and purple on the catwalk, and that works. It’s a compelling read, perhaps reminiscent of How I Live Now, but more carefully constructed. It’s also not really a teen book, but an adult one using a child’s innocence to tone down horror and fear.

It rushes to an ending that you think isn’t going to work, and that is actually pulled back from disaster by a symbolism so lovely, Jack and I cried. If you like “what happens now” books that aren’t driven by heavy action, if you like thoughtful stories about the inner workings of teenagers, if you are interested in the science of disaster, you’ll like this book.

We loved it.

The Between Books Blue Funk

dull bookWell, it’s happened. The miasma is upon me. After a string of really enjoyable reads, I am Between Books.

I know you’ve been there, that unhappy head space where you’ve got high, high expectations from having just finished a really enjoyable book (or, if one is lucky, a spate of three or four) and you’re tired when you go to bed because a bunch of new real-life projects are in the works, and you turn to your bedside table piled high with great choices ….

… and go flat. I like Sarah Allison’s writing–that matchmaking apple-flinger tree was one of the most lovable romance characters ever–and I admit readily the reason I can’t get into The Peach Keeper is me, not her. Or The Rebel Bookseller. It’s a great book with important things to say! So is Big Box Swindle. Each of these waits on the table by my bed, weeping softly. All of these are books I’ve looked forward to reading.

Sarah Nelson discusses in her memoir So Many Books, So Little Time how your mood and recent life moments must align in some way with what you’re reading, or you can’t get into authors even though you want to. Wise readers put them down and return later.

Usually the catalyst for breaking my Between Books Blue Funk is to read something completely different from what I normally choose. So the other night I grabbed a post-apocalyptic young adult novel, and settled in.

It didn’t work. The novel was awful, but not even awful enough to trigger the horrible-writing-response that lies dormant in all of us, inciting print-blood lust to rip the thing apart. This was more the toss-aside casual disdain of “oh, please.” In a badly-crafted amalgam of  Hunger Games goes on The Road, literary crimes are just way too obvious to ignite passion.

And so I sit, stuck. How could this happen to a bookshop owner, you ask, spoiled for choice an’ a’ that? Perhaps that’s part of the (first world) problem; too many choices reduces one to making none. Or perhaps this is the consequence of binge-watching the whole Season Four of Downton Abbey in one week. (Yes, we know, but we won’t spoil it for you.) I’ve let my reading muscles go slack.

Although I did get quite a lot of crocheting done.

Whatever the combination of reasons that have led to this winter of my book discontent, I hope it’s over soon. There are so many new writers and worlds to explore, I hate to fall behind.