“I know I don’t want any,” I say, and then open my birth control packet at the bathroom sink.

Ben furrows his brow and says, “How about you stop taking those things? Can’t we just see what happens? See if it’s meant to be?”

I tell him that this plan of his sounds akin to the Christian Scientist approach to modern medicine.

He gives me a blank stare.

“I have a better idea,” I say. “Let’s hold hands and jump out the window and see if we’re meant to die.”

Then I take my pill. (page 17-18)

This is another ‘chick lit’ book. I picked up this one specifically because of the theme: a woman struggles with her relationship because she does not want children. Since I’ve never wanted kids, don’t have kids and yes, I’ve been pressured to have kids in a relationship, I was intrigued. The author is a mother of two; even more intriguing.

Claudia, our child-free heroine, is thrilled when she meets Ben, the perfect man and her soulmate. When they first marry, Ben has no interest in children but he soon changes his mind and Claudia is faced with an agonizing choice: procreate or seperate. They divorce and move on with their lives.

I’ve just summed up the best part of the book and it happens in the first few chapters. The rest of the book limps along, with Claudia in a rebound relationship, Claudia cyber-stalking Ben, Claudia coping with a friend’s pregnancy, Claudia wanting Ben back.

This is where it all falls apart and I really don’t think the author really ‘gets it.’ I think the ‘child-as-identity’ characters in this book really need to meet the ‘child-as-fashion-accessory’ characters in ‘The Nanny Diaries’ because no one seems to grasp the idea that these are little people and a lifetime committment we’re talking about.

In other words, deciding to compromise on children is a far, far cry from deciding to compromise on which DVD you’re going to rent this weekend.

The ending was stupid. The book was a solid ‘mediocre.’

“There is a girl going home,” my grandmother said. “You cannot see her. She is far away. Quite far. It is not the distance that is important…If your soul is linked with someone, somehow you can always feel when something is happening to them.” (page 152)

This is an absolutely amazing book. It’s beautifully written and flows like poetry, but it’s also achingly real.

12-year-old Sophie Caco is sent from her home in Haiti to New York City to join her mother, who fled the country after being emotionally ravaged by a brutal rape. Sophie is the child of that rape and this horrific event defines their relationship.

Years later, Sophie goes back to Haiti with her infant daughter and visits the beloved aunt who raised her. She confronts her aging grandmother about the well-meaning, yet damaging abuse her mother suffered at her hands (and that Sophie suffered at her mother’s hands). She struggles to find meaning in the poverty, violence and political turmoil of the country she left behind. Her return to Haiti ultimately defines the course of Sophie’s life, allowing her to reconcile with her mother and embrace her family, including her husband and child.

I literally couldn’t put this book down – it’s absolutely spellbinding. I will definitely seek out other books by this author.

” ‘Which name?’ I was getting so confused. Was my gran an informer? That sounded really bad. Much worse than just telling on someone, or white lies or even cheating. But maybe it also meant speaking out when others kept quiet. I hoped so.” (page 98)

This young adult book by Australian author Hazel Edwards is yet another pick from the ‘recommended books’ table at a middle school library one of my classes is held in.

I selected this book because I liked the premise: a young woman finds out that her recently deceased grandmother was hiding a secret identity throughout her life.

The book is intended for teens but I found it was far to ‘young’ to appeal to that age group. The main character, Zoe, is supposed to be 15-years-old, but in her language and level of maturity, she comes across more like a gradeschooler.

I suppose for this reason, I didn’t like the book. I found the language and ideas too simplistic, almost as if the author was talking down to the reader. I found that it was choppy and didn’t flow well. The plot felt unnecessarily ponderous and heavy, especially considering the rather anticlimatic ending.

The characters were poorly developed. I would have liked to know more about Zoe’s grandmother and reasons and details behind the choices she made. Rather than develop these characters and plotlines, the author tends to repeat ideas that have already been explored, leaving loose ends hanging in the end. There was so much the author could have done to explore the relationships between the characters, but the pace and the level of sophistication of the book doesn’t allow for it.

This book is far more appropriate for the 9 – 12 age group. On the plus side, it does a great job of portraying technology in a realistic way and the ‘sleuthing theme’ may inspire young people toward geneaology (or perhaps bellydancing – another theme that’s explored in the book!).

I go into Granma’s bedroom to use the salmon-pink Princess phone on the night table, moving aside a few of her needlepoint pillows to sit on the sateen bedspread. As I punch the answering machine code into the keypad the soft light reminds me of sleep-overs from my childhood when she would leave the lamps on until I fell asleep. Mrs. X’s voice comes through like ice cubes dropped down the back of my dress.

“Oh Nanny…” (page 247)

This is a funny – and deeply disturbing book. The plot is simple: an NYU student, struggling to pay rent in Manhattan, takes on various gigs as a part-time nanny, caring for the children of people who have more money than they do common sense (or common decency).

The book is written with a dry humour that doesn’t gloss over the difficulties of a care-giver trying to do justice to the children she’s caring for while juggling the eccentricities of her employer. As you read this book, you find yourself saying “No! Nobody could possible be that shallow or stupid.” But on a gut level, you know that the authors’ inspiration was taken from experience.

The book has many, many laugh-out-loud moments and it’s extremely engaging. It’s a fun book and probably deserves the attention it has garnered based on entertainment value alone. But it also has an important point to make about money, relationships and families. I found parts of the book deeply distressing and unbearably sad. The book points a bleak picture of New York City’s elite and the underclass of hired help who serve them.

As a doglover, I’m profoundly grateful to the authors for the ‘happy ending.’ I don’t think I could have slept at night had there been a different outcome. But I was left wondering, “What will become of the children?”

“The little girl laughed, clapping her hands together and spilling the soap liquid on the floor. She glided and pirouetted across the room until she came face-to-face with her new present. Shyly, she reached out and wiped a tear off his face. Dan stepped back. ‘Don’t cry’ the girl whispered. The plastice lopped in her hand traced along the side of his cheek, forming a small bubble that smelled like flowers. He forgot himself and grinned at her.” (page 87)

The quote above describes young Dan’s first encounter with his mistress, after he is sold into slavery. This book is a fascinating portrait of the cultural and customs of old Vietnam during the imperial era. Dan is the son of an aristocratic family. At age seven, he is ‘married’ to Ven, a woman 17 years his senior. Wife in name only, she becomes his guardian and protector, as is customary.

When Dan’s father is murdered and his family flees, Ven hides her young charge in the safest place she can imagine – by selling him to the family of the man who murdered his family. There, Dan grows up as a slave to the lovely Tai May and falls in love with her. His love is nearly his ruin – and hers. The story follows Dan’s life as he struggles to reconcile his love of the enemy’s daughter with his obligation to avenge his father’s death by killing his murderer.

If you enjoy historical fiction, you will very likely enjoy this book. Fans of ‘Snow Flower and the Secret Fan’ and similar books will find much to love in this one. This is a detailed, fascinating book. It’s a bit formulaic, but I’ll forgive that flaw because I so enjoyed the lush scenes the author paints with words and the complex, multi-layered characters.

“I didn’t mean to be mean. But I couldn’t help myself. Sarah did that to me. She always did that me; when I was around her I’d take up sarcasm and malice as though they were second nature to me. Having a baby turned me into a shouter; having a sister turned me into a bitch. Families.” (page 180)

I thoroughly enjoyed this book. There was something very down to earth and real about the characters and the state of their lives. Fran is a expat Canadian living in London with her husband Nick. With the birth of their child, Louis, she becomes a stay-at-home mom and struggles with the monotony and the responsibility of her new life.

One day, fed up and exhausted, she takes the tube out to Heathrow and gets on a plane to Las Vegas. Nick is left to cope with their one-year-old son on his own. Fran must find a way to survive and come to terms with her past.

I think this book resonated with me because Fran’s mother, Ireni, is an alcoholic. I could easily understand and relate to the heartbreak and frustration of Ireni’s family as she deteriorated.

The characters are vividly depicted. At different times through the course of the novel, I related to Fran, who was very emotional and flighty and spontaneous but also to her sister, Sarah, who was more stable, orderly and pragmatic. I found that these two characters captured two different extremes of my own personality.

Fran’s burgeoning friendship with Leslie, a woman she meets in Las Vegas, provides a fascinating counterpoint to the story. By helping Fran, Leslie is able to come to terms with the demons from her own past.

I found the portrayal of Fran’s husband Nick to be less skillful than the female characters, but it was interesting to see how he handled his new responsiblities as a suddenly single father.

This is typical ‘chick lit’ – sappy, emotional, character driven and a bit fluffy, but I thoroughly enjoyed this book. It made me think about my own family, and how my experiences in childhood have shaped me as an adult.

“It was the sea that Mafatu feared. He had been surrounded by it every since he was born. The thunder of it filled his ears; the crash of it upon the reef, the mutter of it at sunset, the threat and fury of its storms – on every hand, wherever he turned – the sea.” (page 8)

Every Wednesday, I teach adult yoga in a middle school library. As I wander around adjusting postures and observing my students, books will occasionally catch my eye, particulary those on the ‘recommended’ table.

Armstrong Sperry was awarded the Newberry Honour for this book in 1941. It’s not long and would probably be appropriate for an advanced reader as young as 7 or 8. It’s a good story – exciting and well-told. It held my interest and kept me guessing.

However, this book is a product of its time – it was written two years before my own mother was born. Put simply, it’s sexist, racist and biased against pacific cultures. The bias is not subtle – islanders are depicted as mad cannibals and a carved statue on an island described as ‘a grotesque idol, hideously ugly’. Incredibly, women do not even seem to exist in this island culture. The only reference to females is a disparagement of ‘women’s work.’

But the book portrays the main character, the boy Mafatu with sympathy and warmth. After losing his mother to the sea, Mafatu is frightened and his fear prevents him from fishing and proving his worth to his community in seafaring. Mafatu runs away and uses the skills he learned on his island (including the dreaded ‘women’s work’ to survive and return home.

This is a great book for young people to read in order to understand cultural relativism and how cultural bias can even taint a simple story.

I didn’t hate this book, but I didn’t love it either. After finally, painfully finishing it, my overall sense was that it needed a good editor. The writing was spotty and repetitive. It could have been half the length and more effective pared down.

It’s a shame the book wasn’t better organised because the topic is an important and timely one: thanks to genetic modification of vegetables, use of pesticides/herbicides/chemicals, plus the depletion of our soil, food is less tasty and less nutritious.

When food became ‘big business’ and agricultural monoculture the norm, decisions about the quality and desireablity of certain types of vegetables and their identifying characteristics were made based on what produced the ‘toughest’ crop (to be harvested by machine) or the most productive (creating the greatest yields). Not only has the quality of food suffered, but the actual nutrition of our foods has been compromised.

This book is very important and informative. I just wish it was better written.

Master Leonardo, standing in the thrid row of the platform, kept a keen eye on everything and, from time to time, scribbled mysterious jottings in one of the notebooks he always carried with him. It seemed to me that he paid the same attention to the faces in the crowd as he did to the sound of Santa Maria’s organ, or to fluttering banners of different groups in attendance. Someone had told me that the previous afternoon he had fallen into ecstatic contemplation over the flight of four hundred pigeons released in the Piazza del Duomo, and that he had listened with rapt delight to the cannon blasts from the city walls that the papal nuncio had ordered in honor of the late dutchess. For Leonardo, everything merited attention, everything held within itself traces of the secret science of life. (page 135)

If the entire book reflected the quote above, I would have been entranced by this book. Sadly, it did not. The book is not about Leonardo Davinci so much as about a minor fictional figure named Father Agostino, a Papal Inquisitor who is investigating the possible heresy of use of symbols in Leonardo’s work.

In the media, this book was presented as a smarter alternative to The Davinci Code. Frankly, I liked The Davinci Code better and I’m not a great fan of Dan Brown.

The book is a foggy chaos of poorly developed characters, a scattered and complicated plot and vague details which, for the most part, went right over my head. The premise is fascinating but it ultimately fell flat. It didn’t help that I actively disliked the main character and found the author’s depiction of the ‘spiritual life’ of the monks of Santa Maria to be pretty bleak.

One positive observation: The author positively bashes the Catholic Church and everything it stands for. I enjoyed this angle of the book and the various historical elements.

But overall, the book fell flat for me. How much did I hate this book? I didn’t even finish it. I had a mere two more chapters to go and I just couldn’t do it.

They would soon throw me back onto the streets once they realized that under the expensive coat lurked a girl with no trust fund, no guaranteed income, and no decent jewels. I pulled out the powder compact I had stolen from Mama’s dressing table and blinked at msyelf. My hair needed a comb (I hadn’t one) and there was an ink smudge on my chin, but my eyes flashed back at me, defiant. Make the most of this, I thought. I was aware, for the first time in a long while, that I was alive.” (page 9)

Penelope Wallace is 17, and lives a sheltered life outside of London with her recently widowed mother and her musician brother Inigo in a family mansion, Milton Magna, that is literally falling to pieces. Inigo and Penelope are obsessed with saving their home – Penelope hopes to marry well, while Inigo hopes to make a fortune as a rock and roll musician.

Penelope’s life is turned upside down when, on a rainy day at a bus stop, the confident and unconventional Charlotte Ferris asks her to share a cab. Penelope spontaneously goes to tea with Charlotte’s Aunt Clare and there she meets Harry, Charlotte’s ecentric magician cousin. Penelope is quickly drawn into their orbit and Harry uses her as a decoy to win back his true love, a socialite named Marina.

The story unfolds, with parties, Hollywood producers, Elvis and guinea pigs in a vibrant post-war London. The plot is not complicated, but it’s bright and lively and fun.

The author’s lush descriptions, along with engaging and carefully developed characters make it a pleasurable read. I found myself savouring this book, slowing down so I could capture the incredible detail and examine the relationships. Aunt Clare and Penelope’s mother, Talitha, hold most of the secrets, but in the end, Penelope carries a secret of her own.

This is a fun and thoroughly absorbing book – recommended!