Category Archives: Book Reviews

The Heart Response

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Beside her, the book lay closed, front cover in the carpet and a single finger still holding her spot on the last page.

She’d read it. Read it all. And…

And she wasn’t the same.

Instinctively she turned her head to the wall, her hair hiding the rest of her face. And she sobbed. Quiet, shuddering sobs. Private sobs for a story that held her heart and wrung it out at the same time.

Two steps away, her brother pranced with plastic eggs, shoving them into the couch cushions, to be found in a month, or next year. But she heard none of it–she couldn’t–her grief too fresh.

We’d started the book (Racing in the Rain) yesterday. Together. And where I’d left off, she’d continued on her own. Curled on the couch. Draped against the counter. In the back of the van.

On her stomach now in the living room, she muffles her cries.

And so I call her to me. And again. And she comes. Hesitantly. Vulnerably.
She holds her hands in front of her face, her shoulders bowed. And so I pull her to me. I cradle my girl, all arms and legs of her. And we rock.

Rock and cry. And blubber about the best parts. While the tears fall as they may.

Without shame.

Kari Morris, John Kathy Koester, Karie Petersen Franks liked this post

Jesus Calling

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It was my sister who texted, “you need a copy of Jesus Calling.”

At which time I penciled on my brain ‘Jesus Calling.’  Whatever that meant.

The next time we spoke she asked, “did you get it?”

And my mind went frantic.  “Get what?”

“Jesus Calling,” she said.  She breathed out like I’d let her down.

And then she spoke calmly.

“If you don’t have a copy of your own by Monday, I’m sending you one.”

Which is how it is that I’m holding Jesus Calling now.

 

Jesus Calling. 

Have you heard of it?

It’s the kind of book that fits in your purse.  Or your bag.  Or lies across the front seat of your car. The kind you always have with you.

The kind you recommend to friends.

And sisters.

Because there’s depth in the words.  Depth and peace.

And hope.

 

The pages are labeled by day.  And written as if Jesus is talking.  To me.

Just me and Jesus.

Here’s an excerpt from today’s piece.  May 25.

When you turn from your problems to My Presence, your load is immediately lighter.  Circumstances may not have changed, but we carry your burdens together.  Your compulsion to “fix” everything gives way to deep, satisfying connection with Me.  Together we can handle whatever this day brings. (Jesus Calling 152)

I needed that.

Water Balloon

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Water Balloon.  It’s a book.

For middle schoolers–mostly.

And had it not been resting in display mode on the library shelf, I might have missed it forever.

I motioned to my daughter that I was ready to leave.  She motioned back–just three more pages.  Which was when I shrugged and picked up Water Balloon and started reading.  And smiling.  And looking around to see if I’d laughed out loud.

My daughter sprung from her chair at the close of her book and I made a move to put Water Balloon back.  Neat and tidy.  Right where I found it.

Only I couldn’t.

I was smitten with the delivery of the words I’d just read.  And I needed more.

That was Thursday.

This morning I picked up the book again.  Only I started from the beginning so my husband and daughter wouldn’t miss a thing.  And we rode that way to church–me reading aloud, all of us smiling, and my son asking for food from the back.

It’s this:  It’s the words.  It really is.  And a book with refreshing words is like opening the dryer door and finding a twenty in the lint rack.  Totally unexpected.  This is one of those.

What the author, Audrey Vernick, has done is made Marley, her seventh grade narrator, completely believable.  The way she speaks is natural.  Her dialogue makes sense.  And without our even being aware, we sense we’ve gotta read more about this seventh grader’s life.  If for the writing alone.

At home we went in four separate directions until we converged at the dining room table before dinner.  Whereby my husband said on the sly, “how bout reading another chapter of that book aloud.”

And so I did.

**Final note.  Definitely a book for middle school girls.  Somewhat predictable theme(s) with girl friendships, divorce and boy interest.  But each theme is delivered with a rare honesty that makes the reading worthwhile.  Engaging beginning for anyone!

Because of a Bunch of Books

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There was a time after my son was born that I didn’t read a book.  For like a year. 

I don’t think I slept then either.  Or left the house.  Or wore anything without a stain.

But it was the invitation to a friend’s book club that gave me a sense of purpose. 

Even as I inhaled the pages of that first ho-hum novel, I remembered what it is about books that is so profound.

Books change me.

They rattle my insides; they stretch me.  They grow me, if I let ‘em.  They make me weep in sadness, in joy, in disbelief.  They articulate what I’ve felt and what I haven’t.  They teach of what I long to experience and what I’m glad I haven’t.  They stir me to action; they move me to think.  And…

and I’m never the same as when I started.

These ones did a number on me. 

1. Pope Joan by Dianna Woolfolk Cross.

It’s been years now since I’ve picked up the pages to Pope Joan, but neither the inspiration nor the courage of this young woman have ever left me.  I cried over the injustice of the cruel world she was born into–one that was not ready for her intelligence nor her independence.

2. Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand.

I read Atlas Shrugged the first time when I was nineteen.  I could hardly walk straight for the next three weeks.  I was so moved by this piece. 

3. Peace Like a River by Leif Enger

I love good writing.  Which is what Enger did in this piece.  Such powerfully crafted characters.  Somewhere on an old hard drive is the letter I wrote to Enger but never mailed.

4. Pay it Forward by Catherine Ryan Hyde

Maybe you saw the movie.  I did, too.  But I read the book first.  And it was one of those summers before we had kids where my husband and I read the book out loud while we were driving.  Only we were a mess–one of us leaning over from the steering wheel trying to hear as the other squeaked in an unknown pitch before blubbering, “I can’t read…*wiping nose on sleeve*…it’s too sad.”  Golly…some of the best books are the ones that make you sob.  Loved that one.

5. Educating Esme’ by Esme’ Raji Codell

I’ve not read a more honest or poignant piece.  Ever.  Wanna be teacher?  Read this first.  Already a teacher?  Get your hands on this.  It’s…it’s just that good.

6. The Color of Water by James McBride

Just finished this one.  Fantastic writing.  Powerful story.

7. She Calls Me Daddy by Robert Wolgemuth

Such entertaining writing–laugh out loud worthy.  And yet such tender writing, too.  I think it’s written for men, but I thoroughly enjoyed each page.

8. The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck

I’ve not read another book like The Grapes of Wrath.  And despite teaching it in my high school English classes for a number of years, it’s still up there as one I’ve learned the most from. 

9. Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe  by Fannie Flagg

Here’s another one my husband and I read aloud in the car.  I still remember passing the book off every paragraph or two because… because of that squeaky voice again.

10. Till We Have Faces by C.S. Lewis

I read it twice, a decade apart.  Enjoyed it both times.

11. Ender’s Game by Orson Scott Card

I have loved this book for myself…but it was after ordering a classroom set for my sophomore English class and knowing as each kid held the novel up to his face and poured over its pages that he was reading an amazing book, that I have felt utter joy, relief, excitement…all that.  It’s hard to get better than Ender’s Game.

12. The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins

I enjoyed this book from the beginning…and didn’t appreciate having to wait so long for the next two in the series to come out…heh.  All were well-written.  And completely engaging.

13. Your Best Life Now by Joel Osteen

Powerful. Realistic. Life-changing.  All things I needed.

14. On Writing Well by William Zinsser

Yeah, it’s a book on writing.  But it’s one that’s left an impact.  I don’t know that anybody can explain writing  like Zinsser.  And man…after all these years, it sort of feels like Zinsser and I are old friends.

I’m tellin’ ya…there’s something about reading.

Something  WONDERFUL.

The Hunger Games…(A review of sorts)

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I don’t know what kind of person voluntarily writes a book review…or what that says about me now that I’m going to give it a go. But I love reading.  Good books, that is.  And I think I’m finally at the age or the okay-ed-ness where I can begin a book and not finish it if it doesn’t sit well or the content’s all wrong.  Or the genre.  Or whatever the reason at the time.  But that’s rare. 

Most books, even the ones for mere entertainment, change me in some way.  For hours or weeks, pieces of a great story or some new insight or idea or word phrase will spin around in my head.  And I sense this newness about me.  Like I’m changed on the inside, only nobody knows.  I’m still wearing a pair of wilted sweats and a pony tail, but my mind is alive; it’s dancing with a great story. 

Which is how I feel now about Suzanne Collins’ book, The Hunger Games.

There are a few blips on the back cover.  Stephen King says he couldn’t stop reading.  And Stephanie Meyers, the Twilight Saga gal, says she was obsessed with this book.  Which is great, I guess.  But reading, “I loved this book,” typed by a friend on facebook was the only push I needed. 

The Hunger Games begins with short curt sentences.  Nothing flowy.  Cold almost.  Cold like the words the narrator is using.  Cold because the narrator is cold and hungry and because today, here on the first page, is the day of the reaping.  Only I don’t have any idea what the reaping is, though it has the same feel or the same sense as the short story, “The Lottery.”  And since I’m curious about the reaping and the strange references to District 12, I keep reading.  Only I’m completely baited in a matter of pages.  And give or take a chapter or two, I’m at that threshold where a book is just another book I’m reading and where finding the time to read this book becomes a priority.  And I sway to the latter–I simply must read.  

I must know more about District 12, and why no one, even the narrator is allowed beyond the electric wire separating them from the woods.  Or what the strangenes is about the Capitol.  Or why no one can speak his mind for fear of being heard.  And what of the Hunger Games?  I need to know about these.

The ideas of the story itself are compelling.  Sci-fi-ish, but not freaky sci-fi.  What matters is that the book delves more into human character.  And it’s that human strand that’s disarming.  I cannot help but care about Katniss.  Or wonder about Gale.  Or need to know if Peeta is lying.  Or be disgusted with Effie.  Or cry for Rue.  What Collins has done is carefully created her characters, giving us the right information, as it’s needed, and yet not spoon-feeding what we should think or feel or expect next.  I laud her as an author.

It’s not often that I’ll read a book a second time.  But I opened The Hunger Games again last night and relived the final chapters.  It was better this second time.  More complete, even.  But then I’ve found I can always read more peacefully without my heart thumping outside its cage.