I have just finished reading Audrey Niffenegger's The Time Traveler's Wife, and my feelings are mixed. On one hand, it is a very engaging novel, a page-turner, an interesting blend of science fiction and romance. At different times, the story made me hold my breath, envy, smile, and (almost) cry. There is one big "BUT" though.
To put it simply, I would have enjoyed the book much, much more if the characters were, well, nicer people. I don't see how casual use of drugs, getting drunk, and (SPOILER!) sleeping with one's best friend's boyfriend/spouse on two separate occasions add to the plot. I'm not trying to ignore reality here - I know that a lot of people practice destructive behavior, but I am against making it look normal. The numeral occurrences of the "f-word" and other vulgarities seem unjustified as well.
Also, there is (in my humble opinion) a major plot issue: until Henry and Clare meet in real time, he leads an absolutely selfish yet self-destructive life. He is the kind of person I would pity, but wouldn't want to have anything to do with. And then Clare comes along, and he suddenly turns into a nearly angelic being. Just like that. "I don't believe it!" - as Stanislavski would have said.
All in all, it was a good read, but not something I would purchase, want a hypothetical teenage daughter to read, or recommend to my pastor's wife.
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Showing posts with label book review. Show all posts
Showing posts with label book review. Show all posts
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
An Unflattering Confession
I finished reading House Rules by Jodi Picoult - a story about Jacob, a teenager with Asperger's syndrome, who was accused of murder. It's fairly predictable and very Picoult-ish, but not bad. I knew absolutely nothing about Asperger's before I started reading, so that side of the story was most interesting to me. Knowing Picoult's tendency for thorough research, I suspect the description is pretty accurate.
House Rules would have been just another book though, if not for one thing: I can relate to Theo, Jacob's brother, because I, too, have a sibling with an incurable decease.
My younger sister has the most common form of cerebral palsy - spastic diplegia. Now that she is 24, you can only tell that she walks a little funny if you pay close attention (the mild form of scissor gait - she still doesn't straighten her legs all the way, even though she can). The rest of the issues can easily be taken for personal quirks. It hasn't always been this way though. The reason my sister walks, talks, has a high school diploma, a junior college diploma, and a book-keeping job at a small firm is that my parents fought very hard.
Lu was a normal baby. And then, when she was a toddler (2?), she suffered from some sort of virus, which left her suddenly not quite normal. We all weren't quite normal after that. It was not until she was 3 that Lu was finally diagnosed with CP. At that point she could hardly walk or talk. So my parents sprang into action.
I wasn't exactly forgotten or left behind, but I wasn't getting equal attention either. Much of it can be summed up in a sentence my mom wrote to me a couple of years ago. She said, "I hope you will never have to choose between trying to cure one child and trying to give the other one an education." My mom was not there when I started 1st grade, even though it's a huge deal in Russia. She and Lu just left for their 1st (out of 4) trip to Kaluga - a city a mere 140 miles away, that took about 8 hours to get to, because there was no direct train. That first time they were gone for 4 months. The next three years they went for 3-month-long trips. My Dad & I lived together, with Grammy helping us out. He had to learn to braid my waist-long hair. I had to learn to live without my mother. By the time I was 9, I spent over a year of my life away from her. However, it was in a therapeutic center in Kaluga where my sister said her first sentence: The goat eats grass. It made Mom cry.
I grew up with double standards for admissible behavior and achievements. That was never fun. I guess it happens in every family to a degree (after all, I see "younger sibling syndrome" symptoms in both Lu and Linc), but it's taken to a whole new level when one of the kids has a disability. I came out of it all with a very strong sense of independence pathetically mixed with a deep desire to be taken care of.
I don't blame my parents - they didn't really have a choice. They were heroes who found new treatments and did homework with Lu every single day for 11 years. The only reason they stopped was because she didn't have homework in college. They loved me and gave me what they could - what was left of their time and energy. It is because of them that I devour books, speak English, and know most of what I know about world's best pieces of art and architecture.
I've been angry and bitter for years. Now those feelings are gone, or at least suppressed, and only show their ugly heads at the worst moments of self-pity. There is a certain sadness though. For talks that never happened. For friendships that never developed.
So here comes the actual confession: as much as I want kids, I am terrified of having a child with a disability. Not that anyone exactly looks forward to hearing "your boy will never walk" or "your girl will always stay at a mental level of a 3-y.o.", of course not. But I am truly terrified of doing it all again, only this time as a parent. I am terrified of subjecting another person to being a sibling of a disabled child, because I know what it's like.
It's true that not everyone has the same experience. There are angels among us. My best friend, though, whose younger brother also has CP, will agree with every single word in this post. It's good to know I'm not the only one.
Lu, by the way, has a cutest 5-month-old boy who is perfectly healthy. We just hope is stays that way.
House Rules would have been just another book though, if not for one thing: I can relate to Theo, Jacob's brother, because I, too, have a sibling with an incurable decease.
My younger sister has the most common form of cerebral palsy - spastic diplegia. Now that she is 24, you can only tell that she walks a little funny if you pay close attention (the mild form of scissor gait - she still doesn't straighten her legs all the way, even though she can). The rest of the issues can easily be taken for personal quirks. It hasn't always been this way though. The reason my sister walks, talks, has a high school diploma, a junior college diploma, and a book-keeping job at a small firm is that my parents fought very hard.
Lu was a normal baby. And then, when she was a toddler (2?), she suffered from some sort of virus, which left her suddenly not quite normal. We all weren't quite normal after that. It was not until she was 3 that Lu was finally diagnosed with CP. At that point she could hardly walk or talk. So my parents sprang into action.
I wasn't exactly forgotten or left behind, but I wasn't getting equal attention either. Much of it can be summed up in a sentence my mom wrote to me a couple of years ago. She said, "I hope you will never have to choose between trying to cure one child and trying to give the other one an education." My mom was not there when I started 1st grade, even though it's a huge deal in Russia. She and Lu just left for their 1st (out of 4) trip to Kaluga - a city a mere 140 miles away, that took about 8 hours to get to, because there was no direct train. That first time they were gone for 4 months. The next three years they went for 3-month-long trips. My Dad & I lived together, with Grammy helping us out. He had to learn to braid my waist-long hair. I had to learn to live without my mother. By the time I was 9, I spent over a year of my life away from her. However, it was in a therapeutic center in Kaluga where my sister said her first sentence: The goat eats grass. It made Mom cry.
I grew up with double standards for admissible behavior and achievements. That was never fun. I guess it happens in every family to a degree (after all, I see "younger sibling syndrome" symptoms in both Lu and Linc), but it's taken to a whole new level when one of the kids has a disability. I came out of it all with a very strong sense of independence pathetically mixed with a deep desire to be taken care of.
I don't blame my parents - they didn't really have a choice. They were heroes who found new treatments and did homework with Lu every single day for 11 years. The only reason they stopped was because she didn't have homework in college. They loved me and gave me what they could - what was left of their time and energy. It is because of them that I devour books, speak English, and know most of what I know about world's best pieces of art and architecture.
I've been angry and bitter for years. Now those feelings are gone, or at least suppressed, and only show their ugly heads at the worst moments of self-pity. There is a certain sadness though. For talks that never happened. For friendships that never developed.
So here comes the actual confession: as much as I want kids, I am terrified of having a child with a disability. Not that anyone exactly looks forward to hearing "your boy will never walk" or "your girl will always stay at a mental level of a 3-y.o.", of course not. But I am truly terrified of doing it all again, only this time as a parent. I am terrified of subjecting another person to being a sibling of a disabled child, because I know what it's like.
It's true that not everyone has the same experience. There are angels among us. My best friend, though, whose younger brother also has CP, will agree with every single word in this post. It's good to know I'm not the only one.
Lu, by the way, has a cutest 5-month-old boy who is perfectly healthy. We just hope is stays that way.
Friday, April 9, 2010
Two Little Girls: A Memoir of Adoption. Book Review
I have just finished reading
a book about adoption that a friend of mine let me borrow. I feel very strongly about adoption. I've been wanting to adopt at some point in my life ever since I first entered a so-called "house of infants" (an orphanage for children of 3 or 4 years old and younger) as a teenager. I looked into those cute little faces that would stare back at me so intently and was shocked by their inability to smile. I was equally shocked later, when I learned that after "graduating" from an orphanage at 18, a huge percentage of the kids end up on the streets, doing drugs, drinking, etc.. A friend of mine, who's been working with orphans for some time now, once said that thanks to various sponsors, several of the good students at the orphanage she was connected with had several digital cameras each. They did not, however, have any clue about spending or saving money, cooking, cleaning, writing resumes and dressing for job interviews. All this to say - I do care about orphans, my heart aches for them; I do want to adopt one day. This is why I started reading the book.
Boy, was I in for some disappointment!
It was interesting and easy to read, I will give it that. I also have respect for this couple simply because they did choose to adopt. But I also feel like wringing their necks, choking them to near death, or, at least, telling them to mind their manners. As my darling hubby said, "Well, at least it's getting a response from you!"
It sure was getting a response - I was seething with rage as I was reading! Here are some issues I had with this book:
1.I knew before I started reading that adoption was a long, difficult, expensive process. I appreciate the author being honest about the kinds of obstacles they had to deal with. I do not, however, appreciate the whole "we have sacrificed so much to get this second child of ours! We are martyrs!" attitude.
2. The way Mrs. Reid talks about Russia, Ukraine, and the people there just tears my heart to pieces. I am a Russian citizen with Ukrainian heritage. I have not been to Russia - I lived there for 24 years. It is a very difficult country - corrupted, mismanaged, bundled up with red tape. But it is also hospitable, generous, beautiful. The same goes for Ukraine. The Reids didn't seem to notice anything good while they were there. They call it Trashcanistan. The author is aghast when their cheerful interpreter asks how they are liking her hometown. "Your town is a pit!" she's thinking, but not saying.
They come in, seeming to know nothing about the local culture. They are disgusted with the apartment they will get to stay in, even though it's perfectly clean. They don't seem to grasp the idea that a family that normally lives there moved out (probably to stay with some friends or family members in a tiny crammed condo) so that they could stay there for a week. Yes, of course, they will be paid for it. But how many times have the Reids been willing to move out of their 3-story home in Chicago so that another family could stay there for $50 a day?
They seem to be constantly angry at the people who are trying to help them out. They refuse to feed the child the food that had been cooked especially for her. "OMG, she is going to feed her gruel!" (most probably, referring to something like wheat cream - the food all Soviet children were successfully raised on). Another sign of complete lack of cultural knowledge in the beginning of the book is not crucial, and it makes me laugh more than cringe. She writes, "Shriveled old women - called "babushkas" for their head scarves." Hello! Babushka is a Russian word for grandmother. All old ladies are referred to as babushkas. Yes, many of them do wear the head scarves, but it's the scarves that are named after the ladies (and only in English, btw) and not the other way around!
Mrs. Reid writes about women in Russia and Ukraine with something close to contempt. Yes, their manner of dressing is unusual for most foreigners, especially as well-off and polished as the author herself, but, once again, a little bit of cultural digging would have explained that phenomenon to her.
Basically, the Reids present the very image of Americans Eastern European people have (I wonder why!) - rich, spoiled, snobbish, self-centered, unaware. The only thing that doesn't match the stereotype is the weight. The generous gifts of peanut butter and handwash add to the idea.
3. Some things about the child-parent relationship seemed disturbing to me, but I really shouldn't comment on them, because, being childless, I don't have experience in raising children.
If you would like to read about the horrors of adoption and international traveling - this is a perfect book for you.
If you are somewhat culturally sensitive, poor, or religious - you may not care so much for it.
P.S. I sincerely hope the Russians and Ukrainians mentioned in this book will never get to read it. If I were them, I'd be outraged, hurt, and embarrassed.
a book about adoption that a friend of mine let me borrow. I feel very strongly about adoption. I've been wanting to adopt at some point in my life ever since I first entered a so-called "house of infants" (an orphanage for children of 3 or 4 years old and younger) as a teenager. I looked into those cute little faces that would stare back at me so intently and was shocked by their inability to smile. I was equally shocked later, when I learned that after "graduating" from an orphanage at 18, a huge percentage of the kids end up on the streets, doing drugs, drinking, etc.. A friend of mine, who's been working with orphans for some time now, once said that thanks to various sponsors, several of the good students at the orphanage she was connected with had several digital cameras each. They did not, however, have any clue about spending or saving money, cooking, cleaning, writing resumes and dressing for job interviews. All this to say - I do care about orphans, my heart aches for them; I do want to adopt one day. This is why I started reading the book.
Boy, was I in for some disappointment!
It was interesting and easy to read, I will give it that. I also have respect for this couple simply because they did choose to adopt. But I also feel like wringing their necks, choking them to near death, or, at least, telling them to mind their manners. As my darling hubby said, "Well, at least it's getting a response from you!"
It sure was getting a response - I was seething with rage as I was reading! Here are some issues I had with this book:
1.I knew before I started reading that adoption was a long, difficult, expensive process. I appreciate the author being honest about the kinds of obstacles they had to deal with. I do not, however, appreciate the whole "we have sacrificed so much to get this second child of ours! We are martyrs!" attitude.
2. The way Mrs. Reid talks about Russia, Ukraine, and the people there just tears my heart to pieces. I am a Russian citizen with Ukrainian heritage. I have not been to Russia - I lived there for 24 years. It is a very difficult country - corrupted, mismanaged, bundled up with red tape. But it is also hospitable, generous, beautiful. The same goes for Ukraine. The Reids didn't seem to notice anything good while they were there. They call it Trashcanistan. The author is aghast when their cheerful interpreter asks how they are liking her hometown. "Your town is a pit!" she's thinking, but not saying.
They come in, seeming to know nothing about the local culture. They are disgusted with the apartment they will get to stay in, even though it's perfectly clean. They don't seem to grasp the idea that a family that normally lives there moved out (probably to stay with some friends or family members in a tiny crammed condo) so that they could stay there for a week. Yes, of course, they will be paid for it. But how many times have the Reids been willing to move out of their 3-story home in Chicago so that another family could stay there for $50 a day?
They seem to be constantly angry at the people who are trying to help them out. They refuse to feed the child the food that had been cooked especially for her. "OMG, she is going to feed her gruel!" (most probably, referring to something like wheat cream - the food all Soviet children were successfully raised on). Another sign of complete lack of cultural knowledge in the beginning of the book is not crucial, and it makes me laugh more than cringe. She writes, "Shriveled old women - called "babushkas" for their head scarves." Hello! Babushka is a Russian word for grandmother. All old ladies are referred to as babushkas. Yes, many of them do wear the head scarves, but it's the scarves that are named after the ladies (and only in English, btw) and not the other way around!
Mrs. Reid writes about women in Russia and Ukraine with something close to contempt. Yes, their manner of dressing is unusual for most foreigners, especially as well-off and polished as the author herself, but, once again, a little bit of cultural digging would have explained that phenomenon to her.
Basically, the Reids present the very image of Americans Eastern European people have (I wonder why!) - rich, spoiled, snobbish, self-centered, unaware. The only thing that doesn't match the stereotype is the weight. The generous gifts of peanut butter and handwash add to the idea.
3. Some things about the child-parent relationship seemed disturbing to me, but I really shouldn't comment on them, because, being childless, I don't have experience in raising children.
If you would like to read about the horrors of adoption and international traveling - this is a perfect book for you.
If you are somewhat culturally sensitive, poor, or religious - you may not care so much for it.
P.S. I sincerely hope the Russians and Ukrainians mentioned in this book will never get to read it. If I were them, I'd be outraged, hurt, and embarrassed.
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