My Autumn Reading List

A few weeks ago I decided to make an autumn bucket list. I came up with the usual things: bake a pumpkin pie, go to a pumpkin patch, pick apples, make butternut squash soup, etc. Apparently, fall makes me want to eat … Anyway, before I knew it my list had morphed into an autumn reading list. #bookwormproblems

A seasonal reading list might sound a little strange, but I’ve noticed that what I’m in the mood to read varies by season. I struggled to concentrate on anything more substantial than Nancy Drew and Young Adult fiction this past summer, but now as the year wanes, evenings come earlier, and a slight (ever so slight) chill is in the air, I eagerly anticipate wrapping myself in a cozy sweater and immersing myself in a good story. I want mystery, suspense, adventure, and some gothic thrills that include crumbling castles, desolate moors, mysterious men, and brooding Victorian heroines. I want a little magic and fun too.

So, without further ado, here is my autumn reading list:

The Historian – A modern retelling of the Dracula legend, the Historian weaves a tale that spans generations and takes its readers on a journey through some unpleasant medieval history, while also reveling in the beauty of Eastern Europe. The reader gets a spine-tingling opportunity to traverse countries such as Romania, Bulgaria, and Turkey, all while searching for the infamous Dracula and worrying about who might be his next victim. Even though I’m reading this right now, The Historian has Halloween written all over it.

The Thirteenth Tale – the synopsis of this book makes this one sound like a perfect gothic adventure: a reclusive writer with a painful past, feral twins, a governess, a ghost, a topiary garden and a devastating fire. Yes, please!

Emily of New Moon – I feel like Anne of Green Gables is for spring, but Emily of New Moon, with her thoughtful and introverted ways, is for fall. I’ve read this series once before, but I’m eager to read it again. As I recall, it’s a little darker and more serious than the Anne of Green Gables series, but still very enjoyable.

Harry Potter – wizards, witches, Hogwarts, Butterbeer, Pumpkin Pasties, magic wands, owls … need I say more? I’ve been working my way back through this series. I previously finished the first three books and now I have the last four to look forward to.

The Tenant of Wildfell Hall – because anything by a Bronte is bound to be dark and thrilling. I’m eager to read this work by the “forgotten” Bronte sister.

The Haunting of Hill House – According to Amazon, this book “has been hailed a perfect work of unnerving terror.” The author, Shirley Jackson, is probably best known for her short story, “The Lottery,” which certainly contained its own horror. I’m not usually into terror (you’ll probably never find me reading Stephan King), but this does sound like the perfect haunted house tale, so I’m going to give it a try.

The Shadow of the Wind – I think I’ve had this book on my shelf for almost ten years. I started reading it twice, liked it, but for some reason never got through it. I’m determined to read it this season! The Amazon synopsis makes it sound so appealing that I’m just going to cut and paste it here. I know this is going to be a good read! “Barcelona, 1945: A city slowly heals in the aftermath of the Spanish Civil War, and Daniel, an antiquarian book dealer’s son who mourns the loss of his mother, finds solace in a mysterious book entitled The Shadow of the Wind, by one Julián Carax. But when he sets out to find the author’s other works, he makes a shocking discovery: someone has been systematically destroying every copy of every book Carax has written. In fact, Daniel may have the last of Carax’s books in existence. Soon Daniel’s seemingly innocent quest opens a door into one of Barcelona’s darkest secrets--an epic story of murder, madness, and doomed love.”

Charlotte Bronte: A Fiery Heart– because a reader can’t live by fiction alone. The cover of this book assures me that Charlotte is as mysterious and melancholy as the heroines of her stories, and I’m eager to know more about the author of two of my favorite novels.

The Cider House Rules – I’ve been meaning to read this sense I saw the movie. I suppose there’s no other reason it’s on this list than that the title contains the word “cider,” which makes me think of autumn (insert eye roll).

Jane Eyre – a desolate moor, a crazy first wife locked away in a tower, a man so ruggedly ugly he’s almost handsome, and the lonely and willful woman he falls in love with is the epitome of the what I’m looking for in my autumn reading this year. It doesn’t matter how many times I’ve read this book, I will always come back to it. And yes, I will be watching the movie too!

What’s on your autumn reading list? Is there a certain book or books that you like to read this time of year?

Year of Wonders

It seems slightly wrong to enjoy a novel about the plague, but I certainly enjoyed this story. Year of Wonders: A Novel of the Plague, is based on the true story of a village in Derbyshire England which was struck by the Black Death in 1665 and whose occupants made the choice to quarantine themselves in their village, rather than risk spreading the plague to others.

In the hands of a less competent writer, a novel centered on the plague could have easily gone asunder, but I have nothing but praise for Geraldine Brooks’ handling of the subject. There’s a care in her writing, a purpose to every word, which is probably the product of her experience as a correspondent for The Wall Street Journal.

From what previous knowledge I have about the plague, I would say that Brooks did a good job of demonstrating how the plague was key in the shifting and leveling of social classes and how individuals might struggle between faith and superstition in a time where no one knew the cause of the plague or how it spread. Where could people turn for comfort when their religious worldview was shaped by the harsh and puritanical beliefs of a wrathful God who is quick to punish the wicked?

I think Brooks’ genius comes from her ability to isolate. She chooses a sweeping historical event and then uses it as a backdrop, telling the story through marginal and seemingly insignificant characters. For instance, in March, we experience the Civil War through the eyes of the father from Little Women and in Year of Wonders she shows us how it might have been to experience life in the 17th Century and the horrors of the Black Death through a singular and courageous servant woman in a remote village in Derbyshire, England.

Villette

The protagonist of Villette, Lucy Snowe, is like that friend you have whom you know needs Prozac, but you can’t think of a polite way to tell her. Lucy is the embodiment of an introvert and would probably be diagnosed with social anxiety disorder today. She is depressed and depressive; often acerbically witty in thought, but rarely able to transform this wit into action. When it comes to social interactions she freezes like a bucket of water in a January snowstorm.

She sounds dreary, doesn’t she? The truth is, all of the Bronte’s were dreary women and you either love them for it or run as fast as you can to the Austen section and pick out a book that doesn’t make you want to hurl yourself onto the desolate moor and bemoan the wicked unfairness of life and the inconsistency of men.

So, why should you read this novel? Because even though Lucy may need anti-depressants, the portrait Bronte writes of her is one of intense believability. Her feelings are real. When she talks about being forgotten or being alone or what it feels like to love someone and know that they would never even think twice about you in the same way – you get it. You understand her when she describes what it feels like to know that you aren’t impressive, that you don’t fit in, and that you will never be like the popular girls. Despite herself, Lucy Snowe is likable - she just doesn’t know it.

And the prose … wow! Bronte’s genius drips from her pen in a series of similes and metaphors that will transform the way you see the world. One of my favorite passages was this description of the moon:

“Where, indeed, does the moon not look well? What is the scene, confined or expansive, which her orb does not hallow? Rosy or fiery, she mounted now above a not distant bank; even while we watched her flushed ascent, she cleared to gold, and in a very brief space, floated up stainless into a now calm sky” (208).

If that doesn’t give you goose bumps, you probably don’t want to attempt the 555 pages of this novel.

The Kitchen House

Vivid and fast paced, The Kitchen House transports readers to antebellum Virginia, where the good and evil of humanity plays out in epic style on a sprawling tobacco plantation.

The story mainly focuses on the Irish orphan, Lavinia, who for much of the book exists in a no-man’s land of race and class. An indentured servant on the plantation, she lives, works, and loves the slaves whom she resides with, yet her skin color means that she can’t fully assimilate into their world. As we follow Lavinia’s story, we witness the intricacies of friendship, familial bonds, and, of course, racial prejudice.

Overall, I really liked this book and would recommend it; however, I don’t think it touched on any issues involving slavery, race, or the politics of plantation life that haven’t already been gone over in other books and movies. For the most part, the author wrote her characters into comfortable stereotypes: the steadfast black matriarch who calls almost everyone her “child,” the nutty plantation owner’s wife who goes crazy from grief and lack of society, the naïve woman turned victim wife who stupidly marries a monster and then can’t figure out how her life went so wrong, and, of course, the evil slave master and drunken, sadistic slave owner who impregnates nearly every woman who happens to be within a ten-foot radius of his unquenchable predatory ways.

Wait … now I sound like I didn’t like the book. I did. It’s just that the last third of the book was like a tragedy on steroids. While the conclusion was mostly satisfactory, I would have liked to see a little less melodrama and a lot more character development.

The Summer Before the War

This story had so much potential –an unexpectedly pretty Latin teacher is cast out upon the world after her father’s death and meets a young, dashing, too serious doctor. Their story begins in the lazy Edwardian “summer before the war” and despite differences in rank and privilege, they are intellectually suited for each other. I was really into it for the first 150 pages or so. Then, like a literary titanic, the next 350 pages slowly sunk under the weight of a swarm of Belgian refugees, a pouty poet, an aging nudist, and page upon page of please-poke-my-eyes-out dialogue.

I feel as though Helen Simonson experienced an identity crisis in this novel. Her first novel, Major Pettigrew’s Last Stand, was cute, verging on the ridiculous, and while I don’t fault her for wanting to write something more serious, the problem in this novel was that she couldn’t decide whose story she wanted to write. In the end, she tried to give too many characters space, which resulted in everyone falling flat. I expected something light, but ended up reading a heavy-handed, unoriginal elegy about the travails of war. Simonson needs to decide whether she wants to write Chick-Lit, thinly disguised as quality literature, or whether she wants to be the next Ernest Hemingway.

The Gathering of Zion: The Story of the Mormon Trail

It is rare for a writer to obtain greatness in two genres, but as an author of history and as a novelist, Stegner demonstrates the depth of his talent in The Gathering of Zion: The Story of the Mormon Trail (1964). In recounting the mass exodus of the Mormons from Nauvoo, Illinois to the Salt Lake valley, Stegner writes with the liveliness of a novelist, but with the integrity of a historian.

Much of what Stegner wrote made me laugh (a rare occurrence when I read a history book, I assure you). For instance, in writing about one optimistic pioneer woman, Ursulia, he says that she “had a knack for making the best of things. If it had hailed stones as big as baseballs she would have come out from shelter wondering if it wasn’t a good time to make up a nice freezer of ice cream” (72). And in describing the ordeal of 20 men who stayed behind during a bleak winter to guard cached freight at Devil’s Gate, where they nearly perished from an inadequate food supply, he states, “One kind of script, at this point, calls for them to draw straws to see which should first be killed and eaten, but the Mormons, whatever their other capabilities, never showed any talent for cannibalism” (263).

As a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, I imagine that Stegner’s tone and views could prove to be offensive to some members, especially when he talks about Joseph Smith or Brigham Young, both of whom get slightly roasted on the spit of his acerbic wit. Yet, I think Stegner’s position as a non-Mormon enabled him to write with a perspective that at its worst distorts, but at its best allows Stegner to inject a humor and honesty into his writing that those carried away by the sincerity of their faith may not be able to do. Oftentimes, members of the church get caught up in a certain rhetoric concerning the pioneers, which reduces them to convenient object lessons, rather than complex people.

Whatever his prejudices may be against the leaders of the church, Stegner does not have a hidden agenda. He states that, “I write as a non-Mormon but not a Mormon-hater. Except as it affected the actions of the people I write of, I do not deal with the Mormon faith: I do not believe it, but I do not quarrel with it either” (314).

I came away from this book with a better appreciation not just for the Mormons who traveled the hard trail west, but also for pioneers in general. There was something incalculably different about the Mormons who traveled this trail though, about these people who were willing to leave everything behind, who fled persecution, and who were asked to sacrifice so much, yet who remained faithful to their beliefs.

In a recent General Conference talk, Refuge from the Storm, Elder Patrick Kearon drew a moving parallel between the worldwide refugee crisis and the persecution of the early Church members. He said, “As members of the Church, as a people, we don’t have to look back far in our history to reflect on times when we were refugees, violently driven from homes and farms over and over again. Last weekend in speaking of refugees, Sister Linda Burton asked the women of the Church to consider, “What if their story were my story?” Their story is our story, not that many years ago.”

Kearon’s talk, as well as the recent call from the LDS church for its members to aid in the refugee crises added another dimension to my reading of this book. To reflect on the story of the Mormon trail is to reflect not just on what is past, but what is taking place in our world right now.

Blackmoore

Sometimes, I feel like delving into a great work of Literature. I want to take my time as I turn the page of a George Eliot novel, for example, so I can really understand the intricate workings of her characters’ minds, appreciate her clever aphorisms, and contemplate the social and historical backdrop of the story.

And then, there are times I feel so checked out from reading that I would rather binge watch a whole season of Fuller House than crack open a book (I’m still reeling from that decision). There are times when I can't get a moment to myself, when the thought of trying to read Proust or Dickens while listening to Frozen for the five billionth time is beyond my mortal strength. When one of these black moods of intellectual indolence and despair befalls me, I look for a book that will keep me interested enough to look forward to reading it, but one that isn’t going to require me to keep track of too many characters, figure out complicated motives, or plow through pages of antiquated language. Julianne Donaldson’s, Blackmoore, is just that sort of book.

Blackmoore would probably be categorized as a “beach read” – it’s fun, light, and you can finish it in a weekend of dedicated reading. Donaldson freely borrows relationship motifs from Jane Austen novels (the embarrassing mother, the checked out father, the out-of-control hussy of a sister, and the imperiously disapproving potential family-to-be). She also works in a good portion of teen angst and “proper” romantic fantasies, which usually involve a lot of blushing, heart pounding, and standing too close to one another. What do most teenage girls want? Freedom from their tyrannical parents so they can make their own decisions and to be noticed, admired, nay, worshiped, by the man of their dreams. Oh, and to triumph over the more beautiful, but obviously less substantial, romantic adversary. Donaldson delivers.

Now, let’s talk about what this book is not. This is not literature with a capital “L.” There is every possibility you will grow tired of the caged bird symbolism. It is unlikely that any of the characters will surprise you. Most likely you will predict the ending. Still, if you’re not feeling stodgy and pedantic, there is every possibility that you will enjoy a trip across the moors to a grand manor, complete with secret passageways, where your most ardent and long-treasured teenage romantic fantasies will finally be fulfilled in the most proper way.