I'm a sucker for the morbid. Whilst I like medical and mental health related non-fiction, I have a guilty pleasure for the more macabre books. I find how people have dealt with death throughout history fascinating, particularly the associated rituals and beliefs, but also how the body naturally reacts to death in a physiological sense. See Severed: A History of Heads Lost and Heads Found and also Being Mortal by Atul Gawande.
I was blown away by Smoke Gets in Your Eyes - not only is it a much deeper and wider examination of death practices than expected, it's actually written very, very well.
Summary/synopsis: From her first day at Westwind Cremation & Burial, twenty-three-year-old Caitlin Doughty threw herself into her curious new profession. Coming face-to-face with the very thing we go to great lengths to avoid thinking about she started to wonder about the lives of those she cremated and the mourning families they left behind, and found herself confounded by people's erratic reactions to death. Exploring our death rituals - and those of other cultures - she pleads the case for healthier attitudes around death and dying. Full of bizarre encounters, gallows humour and vivid characters (both living and very dead), this illuminating account makes this otherwise terrifying subject inviting and fascinating.
Caitlin Doughty is apparently relatively famous in the field of, I don't know, death people? She's most renowned for her YouTube channel, Ask a Mortician, as well as founding The Order of the Good Death, which promotes a more natural acceptance of death. Before all this, however, she started out at Westwind Cremation and Burial as a crematorium operator, responsible for moving soon-to-be-cremated bodies into the incinerator and all the associated tasks, of which there are a surprising amount. The anecdotes she recounts are somehow both hilarious and mildly disgusting, and at certain points I definitely laughed out loud.
This is not a book for those of a sensitive disposition. We read about decay, leaking and mechanisms for keeping the eyes of the deceased firmly closed (spoiler alert: they use caps with spikes on). I like that about this book though. I like that it goes slightly beyond the realms of propriety to explain the details that I had never considered were an issue. For me, the most interesting chapter dealt with the bodies of babies, both pre- and post-term, and the associated problems. It wasn't exactly pleasant reading, but it was fascinating and I have respect for the author for discussing what most people would rather brush under the carpet.
Caitlin Doughty speaks with respect and humanity throughout. Although her book made me laugh out loud at points, the book never makes fun of the deceased or their families, and it appears that the corpses were treated with respect at the material time as well. Mishaps happen, of course, but not through any carelessness or lack of compassion.
This humanity underlies the 'agenda' of this book and the issues that Caitlin Doughty currently works to highlight. She writes that there is a culture of death denial prevalent in the modern world. Where death was previously accepted as a natural fact of life, attempts are now made to hide ourselves away from the very existence of death, as evidenced by the multi-billion dollar cosmetic industry, the rise of embalming and the ability to cremate your loved ones via the Internet.
She supports family members preparing their own deceased for burial, as decomposition and decay are inherently natural and cannot harm us. By being afraid of the sight of death, we are denying what is an absolute fact of life.
Less than a year after donning my corpse-coloured glasses, I went from thinking it was strange that we don't see dead bodies any more to believing their absence was a root cause of major problems in the modern world.
Corpses keep the living thethered to reality. I had lived my entire life up until I began working at Westwind relatively corpse-free. Now I had access to scores of them - stacked in the crematorium freezer. They forced me to face my own death and the deaths of those i loved. No matter how human technology may become our master, it takes only a human corpse to toss the anchor off that boat and pull us back down to the firm knowledge that we are glorified animals that eat and shit and are doomed to die. We are all just future corpses.
Whilst I can't say that I enjoyed the latter chapters as much as the former sections where the author discussed her day-to-day life as a crematorium operator, this book really made me think and I can't get these issues out of my head. Whilst I found a few of her ideas a little too out-there for me, like her desire for her corpse to be left in the open to be devoured by nature, I feel that this surely proves her entire point. The concept shouldn't make me uncomfortable and it's not 'out-there' at all - after all, it's entirely natural and it's only very recently that such endeavours stopped being the norm. It's a lot to think about.
I really, really recommend reading Smoke Gets in Your Eyes. Even the prose is written to a much higher standard than one would usually expect for a memoir-style work of this nature. It doesn't try too hard to be pithy, nor does the author come across as preachy or naive. I was disappointed when this book ended and I will happily and enthusiastically read anything Caitlin Doughty ever writes.
I feel like I should be sat here in my huge black-framed hipster glasses sipping from my hipster pumpkin spice latte while I jot down my cool-ass hipster poetry in my leather notebook. That's what hipsters do, right? I wouldn't know, as I'm so far from hip that I... use the word 'hip,' apparently.
If reading Murakami makes me a hipster, then so be it. At least I'll be a well-read one :)
(Don't worry, I haven't gone crazy. The above is for the benefit of certain people who are obviously jealous of my back-catalogue of important literature.)
Warning: strong language and discussions of sex scenes (although it's Murakami's fault for making it weird).
Plot summary: When he hears her favourite Beatles song, Toru Watanabe recalls his
first love Naoko, the girlfriend of his best friend Kizuki. Immediately
he is transported back almost twenty years to his student days in Tokyo,
adrift in a world of uneasy friendships, casual sex, passion, loss and
desire - to a time when an impetuous young woman called Midori marches
into his life and he has to choose between the future and the past.
I'm always apprehensive about beginning a Murakami novel, even though I usually end up really getting into it. I think I expect them to be difficult and demanding with obtuse philosophical essays, but they're not - they're actually incredibly accessible. I love how they're somehow mundane yet whimsical - the story is almost something that could happen in everyday life, but not quite.
I like the normalcy in these books. You hardly ever know what the point of his books are or where the hell it's going, but it almost doesn't matter as the journey is so interesting. Most novels only describe the important parts of a character's day; the events that are relevant to the progression of the plot. It takes a special kind of skill to describe every single unnecessary step taken and yet still make it interesting - Scarlett Thomas pulls it off quite well, but Haruki Murakami is the Master. In this book, the characters decide to go on a short journey... but only after buying those super-necessary and irrelevant train tickets! :)
There are obviously themes and suchlike in Norweigan Wood, as I doubt it would be as popular as it has become if it were left only to train-ticket-buying shenanigans. It's a particular depressing one this time, revolving primarily around loss, death and the process of moving on. Having said that, the novel itself never really seemed to get me down - the characters feature as literative devices only, so it's not like you get particularly attached. It's more of a discussion piece about loneliness so I assume the distance between the reader and the characters is intentional to simulate the theme.
I’m looking for selfishness. Perfect selfishness. Like, say I tell you I
want to eat strawberry shortcake. And you stop everything you’re doing
and run out and buy it for me. And you come back out of breath and get
down on your knees and hold this strawberry shortcake out to me. And I
say I don’t want it anymore and throw it out the window. That’s what I’m
looking for.”
“I’m not sure that has anything to do with love,” I said with some amazement.
“It does,” she said. “You just don’t know it. There are time in a girl’s life when things like that are incredibly important.”
“Things like throwing strawberry shortcake out the window?”
“Exactly.
And when I do it, I want the man to apologize to me. “Now I see,
Midori. What a fool I have been! I should have known that you would lose
your desire for strawberry shortcake. I have all the intelligence and
sensitivity of a piece of donkey shit. To make it up to you, I’ll go out
and buy you something else. What would you like? Chocolate Mousse?
Cheesecake?”
“So then what?”
“So then I’d give him all the love he deserves for what he’s done.”
“Sounds crazy to me.”
“Well, to me, that’s what love is…”
I'm bored with pretending I know what I'm talking about now, so let's talk about sex! Gross sex, in particular. I'd forgotten about the odd yet quite graphic sex that features in most of Murakami's books. It's just kind of awkward. I didn't make a note of the Norweigan Wood-specific... uhh... wood, but in 1Q84 there was a particularly memorable section about how 'he stirred my vagina with his penis like I was a cup of cocoa.' Awesome. Sign me up for that one :s
So everything was fine - I nuzzled happily into the story, finished it and then made a rookie error. I DID NOT IMMEDIATELY CLOSE THE BOOK. Why do I not learn!? Why do I persist in reading Epilogues and Author's Notes, even though I know they're going to irk me? What's wrong with me!?
'Haruki Murakami was shocked and depressed to find his normal six-figure readership exploding into the millions...' Oh, you can fuck right off with that one. It makes you sad that millions of people read your book? How dare you!? Do you know how many aspiring authors would kill just to have the six-figure readership and just how many of those people never even come close? You don't get to choose that only an elite few get the privilege of reading your precious novel because the rest are clearly too mainstream to understand it!
Alright, I cave. Murakami is clearly a gigantic hipster. And an ass. And no, I won't link to where you can purchase his book - you might buy it and therefore upset him.
A Mango-Shaped Space was the first of four full books I read over the Dewey's 24 Hour Read-a-thon period. I almost always try and use events like these to get through some of the older books on my TBR pile and this was no exception. In fact, the receipt tucked inside my copy tells me that I've owned this book since March 2012... well, I won't be owning it for much longer, that's safe to say.
Plot summary: Mia Winchell has synesthesia, the mingling of perceptions whereby a person can see sounds, smell colors, and taste shapes. Forced to reveal her condition, she must look to herself to develop an understanding and appreciation of her gift in this coming-of-age novel.
Good thing that's not a vague blurb or anything... But yes, basically, Mia has synesthesia, a condition thought to include Van Vogh and David Hockney as sufferors (and also allegedly Kanye West, but never mind that). I can sort of understand this as, while I don't see colours, I do associate them with certain things/people and can get quite stressed out when real life doesn't always conform. But I'll leave this train of thought here before I get angry comments telling me that OCD isn't the same as synesthesia (a fact of which I am very aware).
I do have a soft spot for novels about mental health. The Shock of the Fall was one of the best books I've read all year and I completely fell in love with The Silver Linings Playbook. However, you'll note that both those books are aimed at adult readers and A Mango-Shaped Space most definitely is not. The language is very simple, but that's fine as it's aimed at younger readers and I got used to that after a few pages anyway.
The problem is how easy the whole thing is. Mia decides for no apparent reason to mention her difficulties to her parents after thirteen years of not doing so and then has a diagnosis within three days? Yeeeeeah, I don't think so. I understand that middle-grade books are always going to have simpler plots than adult novels and that it's trying to reinforce talking to your parents about your struggles... but I feel it's setting children up to believe that mental health diagnoses are instant. I just don't want children to feel that its all in their heads etc. when they're told that there's nothing wrong with them (which they invariably will be).
*breathes* Issues? Who, me?
The other slightly role-modely issue with A Mango-Shaped Space is that I'm preeeeeeeetty (read: absolutely and completely) sure that synesthesia doesn't allow sufferors to guess people's moods or tell whether people are lying. Wow, that's insulting. I was flabberghasted and I don't even have it. I mean, what is this book aiming for? 'Oh, I thought I had this because I can see music and taste sounds... but oh no, I can't have. I'm not additionally and randomly psychic, so there goes that idea.'
I can't wait to tell them about the acupuncture, which, cool as it was, did get to be pretty distracting. But if my abilities had been stronger tonight, I would have been able to see exactly what Adam was feeling when he kissed me. That could have been useful.
ARGH. Even if I agree to let the use of the word 'abilities' go, you would not have been able to see how he felt, regardless of how strong your symptoms are. You have an illness; you are not one of the X-Men.
Mia's also kind of a cowbag. While I did want her to get better, I liked her in absolutely no way at all. She's a horrible little primadonna. At one point she goes all mental about the fact that she boiled some pasta to go with some salad her mother made, and nobody thanked her for the salad. Really!? Did you thank your Mum for making the salad? Did you thank her the 56,000 times she's made you pasta!? And just like that I've realised why I rarely read contemporary YA- because I almost always side with the parents.
I appreciate what this book is trying to do, kind of. Synesthesia is rarely heard of and it must be comforting for children to have a novel they can read for reassurance that they're not crazy. The problem is a) it's more about a girl who happens to have synesthesia while she grieves over her deceased grandfather, and b) I really feel like it might give them the wrong end of the stick. Synesthesia makes you a mind-reader, remember?
Read a more positive review of A Mango-Shaped Space at Hearts At Play - this review also explains how synesthesia works much better than I did!
I... don't understand. I genuinely and utterly feel like I've missed something with Tell The Wolves I'm Home, as I don't feel moved, tearful or even a little sad. I mean, I didn't hate it but it's a profound 'meh' from me on this one, if such a thing isn't too much of an oxymoron.
Plot summary:
There's only one person who has ever truly understood
fourteen-year-old June Elbus, and that's her uncle, the renowned
painter, Finn Weiss. Shy at school and distant from her once inseparable
older sister, June can only be herself in Finn's company; he is her
godfather, confident, and best friend. So when he dies far too young of a
mysterious illness that June’s mother can barely bring herself to
discuss, June's world is turned upside down.
At the
funeral, she notices a strange man lingering just beyond the crowd, and a
few days later, June receives a package in the mail. Inside is a
beautiful teapot she recognizes from Finn's apartment, and a note from
Toby, the stranger, asking for an opportunity to meet.
A
the two begin to spend time together, June realises she's not the only
one who misses Finn, and if she can bring herself to trust this
unexpected friend, he might just be the one she needs the most.
I really like the idea of this plot - older relative dies of AIDS and a close younger relative discovers his secret gay lover. It just really appealed to me as something slightly different and I care quite a lot about HIV/AIDS and the associated hysteria in the 1980s. Except I nearly gave up after twenty pages. Tell The Wolves I'm Home is horrendously emotionally manipulative - I've read My Sister's Keeper and it wasn't THIS bad. It's not even subtle - you're really, really bashed over the head with the Sad Mallet to the point where I felt that AIDS was being used almost.
In the end I was glad I persevered. I got into it properly after roughly a third of the book or so, when the drama had settled down and the character growth began. There were plot points I liked and some (more) that I didn't, but occasionally I saw some nice touches that gave the book a bit of character. The room in the basement, for example, or the portrait.
The problem was, I hated everyone. I know that's almost the point of a book like this one - I was shocked and almost offended by the general attitude and ignorance towards AIDS. I know it was basically prompted by fear of the unknown illness, but June's family's treatment of Toby just angered me. So yes, manipulativeness aside, I understand my dislike. Unfortunately I also hated June, which is most probably not the point.
She's annoying, wet and sulky. Theoretically she's fourteen but I struggled with thinking of her as anything but around ten years old. My biggest issue with June, though, was her relationship with her uncle. Not necessarily that she had feelings for him because I'm sure that's natural, but that everybody knew and encouraged it. Why did nobody, including him, deal with that in a sympathetic and understanding manner? I don't see it as necessary - the plot would have worked just as well with a close uncle/neice relationship, so why shove that in there?
Let's move on to Greta. Again, she's over-done and unrealistic. I'm used to stroppy teenagers in fiction but she's too over-the-top and just becomes an irritatingly Actual Bad Person. Also...
Spoilers below. Highlight to read.
What the hell is with the whole 'Oh, I'll just lay down in the woods and dramatically cover myself in leaves because I know June will be psychic enough to decide she has to find me?' crap. WHAT IS THAT!? I think that stuck out as the most unrealistic and over-dramatic part of the whole novel. Which takes some doing.
Spoilers over.
I think I'm done with ranting about the characters. I know I've spent most of this review discussing them, but they spoilt the book for me. They're just the standard stereotypes of loner girl, bitchy sister, kind uncle, distant mother but then with bits of unrealistic weirdness thrown in.
I guess my main point about Tell The Wolves I'm Home is that it tries too hard. If the story had just been simply about a girl whose uncle died of AIDS and so she sets out to befriend his secret lover, that would have been fine. I would have been moved and affected quite naturally, but this way was too forced and I ended up irritated. As you may have noticed.
Blame Charlotte for this one. Well actually, The Universe Versus Alex Woods is amazing, so perhaps it should be go thank Charlotte for this one. I wasn't going to bother until I came across it in Waterstones and reminded myself how much she loved it. It almost makes up for the time she made me read Hope: A Tragedy. Hey, I said almost.
Plot summary: Alex Woods knows that he hasn't had the most conventional start in life. He knows that growing up with a clairvoyant single mother won't endear him to the local bullies. He also knows that even the most improbable events can happen - he's got the scars to prove it. What he doesn't know yet is that when he meets ill-tempered, reclusive widower Mr Peterson, he'll make an unlikely friend. Someone who tells him that you only get one shot at life. That you have to make the best possible choices.
So when, aged seventeen, Alex is stopped at Dover customs with 113 grams of marijuana, an urn full of ashes on the passenger seat, and an entire nation in uproar, he's fairly sure he's done the right thing.
For some reason, I'd assumed that The Universe Versus Alex Woods was a fantasy book. Maybe I'd confused it with The Long Earth by Terry Pratchett and Stephen Baxter (I don't know how, but the two do meld together in my head) or maybe the word 'Universe' in the title implied cosmic connections. Maybe I'm just terrible at reading blurbs, who knows? In any event, it doesn't matter what my expectations were because the actual book wildly surpassed all of them.
You know when you open a book and a feeling of contentment washes over you, like a little voice whispering 'Yeeeeeeah, we're going to get along just fine?' This book is the epitome of that feeling. I started to read that chatty, rambly tone and was hooked by the second page.
The tone reminds me of a more casual Scarlett Thomas. It's more accessible and relaxed, but goes off on tangents in a similar way. By that, I mean that it feels as though the narrator is actually telling you a story - when a friend sits down across from you in a coffee shop, they rarely manage to give you a perfect timeline of events. Instead they may also tell you some interesting facts about something pertaining to their story or they'll slip in a few irrelevant details. The Universe Versus Alex Woods is just like that - Alex will go off on a tangent to tell us about homeopathy, Tarot cards, meteorites or anything else that strikes his fancy. It never feels like an essay within a book, however; it blends in seamlessly with the story and is always relevant and interesting.
It just works so well. Alex obviously goes through a series of events that are very unlikely to happen to those of us sitting at home, but Gavin Extence manages to make it seem more believable by weaving in little bits of normality. Mr Peterson, for example, writes to Amnesty International as a hobby. It's a very mundane and lifelike thing to do, which clicked in my head as just being kind of perfect for the character. It talks about the normal things that aren't usually mentioned in books and the contrast to the very exotic beginning is wonderful.
It's possible to find order in chaos, and it's equally possible to find chaos underlying apparent order. Order and chaos are slippery concepts. They're like a set of twins who like to swap clothing from time to time. Order and chaos frequently intermingle and overlap, the same as beginnings and endings. Things are often more complicated, or more simple, than they seem. Often it depends on your angle.
I think that telling a story is a way of trying to make life's complexity more comprehensible. It's a way of trying to separate order from chaos, patterns from pandemonium. Other ways include tarot and science.
The moment I'm about to describe is the culmination of one set of chaotic circumstances and the starting point for another. It's a moment that makes me think about how life can seem highly ordered and highly chaotic all at the same time. It's an ending and a new beginning.
I had no idea what the central theme of this book was and it came as a surprise that it was such a serious, controversial issue. Don't get me wrong; it's executed beautifully. It never actually comes right down and agrees with any particular side of the debate, but the author has clearly done an awful lot of research on the procedure and moral viewpoints involved. Why yes, I am being very vague, but in this case I think it's better to read the book without really knowing 100% what I'm talking about. You'll survive.
If I had one complaint, it's that the relationship between Alex and Mr Peterson is supposed to quite deep, but we never really see it develop into that. We're just told that it's there without ever really being shown. It's a minor fault, but one that I think would really have helped us to understand Alex's moral predicament in relation to the last paragraph.
I hate that I'm never going to get to read The Universe Versus Alex Woods again for the first time. There's an odd mix of the mundane and the strange that fits together with the casual tone perfectly. Add that to the hands-on approach to such a huge moral issue and the result is an amazing book that I can't wait to reread.
Positively was one of the five books I allowed myself to buy after coming into money last week. It's special for that reason and (less logically) it's one of the four books of that five that was PINK! Somehow the accidental colour scheme amuses me no end, but hey, we can't all be sane.
Since the day Emerson Price and her mother were diagnosed as HIV positive, nothing has been the same. When her mother dies of AIDS, Emmy has to go live with the father and stepmother she barely knows, and she feels more alone than ever. Now she has to take pills by herself, and there is no one left who understands what it's like to be afraid every time she has a cold. But when her father decides to send her to Camp Positive, a camp for HIV-positive children, Emmy begins to realize that she's not alone after all, and that sometimes, opening up to other people can make all the difference in the world.
This is a tiny, very accessible book that deals with the adult issues of sexual disease, grief and acceptance in an easy manner. Think of it as Jodi Picoult for pre-teens. It's more about Emmy's grief over the loss of her Mother than about her life with HIV, but it still gets across how traumatising and scary the disease can be for a child.
Parts of this nearly moved me to tears, as my Mum is my favourite person in the whole world and the thought of something happening to her is more than I can take. Ms Sheinmel taps into that fear most people and uses it to place you in Emmy's shoes. Her pain is very real, very adult and very sad - it's not softened or sugar-coated. Instead, it's raw and brutal and I challenge you not to be shaken by it.
The plot revolves around Emmy pushing her friends and family away because she feels they don't understand what it's like for her and she worries they only tolerate her because of her illness. Eventually she goes to Camp Positive where she befriends other children with HIV and slowly realises that life goes on, despite her loss. To be honest, I did find her a little irritating and whiny at times but then I realised how realistic it would actually be. I've thought things very similar on occasion regarding my own illness, and I just don't think I'm used to having those thoughts accurately portrayed on paper.
Despite that, it's not a depressing book - a quick glance at the picture on the cover will tell you it's more about hope than despair. I finished the book with a smile on my face and it's sitting neatly on my shelf waiting to be read again one day when I'm feeling low.
I think it could have benefited from being a little deeper and a little more HIV/AIDS-centric, but Emmy's only thirteen and so the writing style fits her age perfectly. If Ms Sheinmel wrote a follow-up book when Emmy was a little older, I'd buy it in a heartbeat.
First, let me hold my hands up and admit that I haven't read Evermore yet. I have it on my TBR, but the premise of Radiance seemed a little more interesting so I started with that one. I mean, I knew it was a spin-off about the little (and deceased) sister of the main character in Evermore, but I wasn't aware of exactly how closely they intertwined. I'll write my review trying to bear in mind that omission, but consider this a kind of disclaimer.
Riley Bloom died, aged twelve, in a car crash with her parents and her beloved dog Buttercup. Her sister Ever survived – but that’s another story. Riley must let go of Ever and all the things that tied her to life – and discover what she’s meant to be in the afterlife. Riley is a soul catcher. That means helping the unhappy lost souls who stick around in the human realm to move on – and find their own place, over the bridge, in the great hereafter. With her spirit guide, Bodhi, and Buttercup by her side, Riley embarks on an adventure that will take her around the world – sending ghosts back where they belong, until she can finally make it there herself.
I love books that deal with the Afterlife, especially if it involves the deceased having to perform some kind of job to earn their keep. Even as a child, my favourite film was Toothless, the Disney film where Kirstie Alley is a dentist killed by a cyclist who's then forced to work as a Tooth Fairy in Limbo. So anyway, nostalgia aside, I love the concept. I just didn't think it was executed all that well.
One of my main issues was that the story just jumped right in there. I know I really should have read Evermore first (get used to me saying that - it'll be a frequent occurence in this review) but Radiance made a huge deal out of Riley taking a long time to cross over from the mortal world without ever showing it or explaining it. She was just suddenly there, in Here (the name given to the Afterlife to avoid affiliations with any particular religion, I assume) and being forced to attend her first day of school. This series is meant to be a spin-off, not a sequel, so I would have thought it'd be safe to start here.
Anyway, that's my own fault, but just bear it in mind. The other thing is, as Riley is a little younger than Ever, the writing style is altered accordingly. The Evermore series is YA, but this seems to be aimed at a younger audience, which is possibly why Riley never actually deals with the fact that she's, you know, died. So the plot is quite shallow and light and never really drew me in - I think I expected something revolving around death to be a little deeper.
I found that there were a lot of loose ends and unanswered questions in Radiance. I was ready to shrug them off as something that was explained in Evermore, but other reviews tell me that this isn't the case. The ending came as a surprise, but only in a 'Right... and then what?' kind of way. It just kind of stopped and that was that.
I was a little disappointed with this book, but I'm not sure if it suffered under the weight of my own expectations and lack of previous reading. I was entertained and I don't regret reading it, I just expected a little more. I'll pick up the second one if I get chance, but I think I'll read Evermore first.
So. Just in case you haven't picked up on my subtle and vague hints throughout - READ EVERMORE FIRST!!!
Caitlin Doughty speaks with respect and humanity throughout. Although her book made me laugh out loud at points, the book never makes fun of the deceased or their families, and it appears that the corpses were treated with respect at the material time as well. Mishaps happen, of course, but not through any carelessness or lack of compassion. 
