lory_enterenchanted's Reviews (582)

"Bad things had hit us in the face like a tidal wave and would have washed us away if we hadn't found ourselves on the path. Our journey had drained us of every emotion, sapped our strength and our will. But then, like the windblown trees along our route, we had been re-formed by the elements into a new shape that could ride out whatever storms came over the bright new sea. ... At last I understood what homelessness had done for me. It had taken every material thing that I had and left me stripped bare, a blank page at the end of a partly written book. It had also given me a choice, either to leave that page blank or to keep writing the story with hope. I chose hope."

Although I am descended from one of the men who died at the Alamo, and have even been enrolled by relatives in the Daughters of the Republic of Texas, I have never been to Texas, and grew up knowing nothing about what actually happened in the famous battle. Thanks to this book, now I have learned the true story, or at least what comes closer than the incredible muddle of lies, fabulation, and racist propaganda that has been handed down over the centuries.

The central fact that needs to be established is this: though the Alamo defenders may have been brave men sacrificing their lives for a cause they believed in, that cause was the perpetuation of slavery in Texas. The "freedom" for which they died was the freedom to own slaves. Even at the time, the white Texians did not want to openly admit this, and so the tale of the Alamo was immediately transformed into an inspiring emblem of Anglo resistance against evil Mexicans, a story which played a key role in the following victory at San Jacinto. Not because it was tactically important -- indeed, from that point of view, it was a useless military blunder -- but because it fuelled a desperate, last-stand attitude in the Texian forces. Desperate armies can do amazing things, the authors point out.

The Alamo embodies both what is most noble and honorable, and what is most despicable and base, in human nature. Our brains do not like such contradictions; they want to keep things simple. Thus, one-sided myths of heroes and villains are created, suiting the binary off-on switches of our brains, but bypassing the greater wholeness known by our hearts. This whole truth is the knowledge that humanity is one organism with different, diverse members, and that othering and killing any part of humanity weakens us all. At the moment, we are caught in a struggle between this knowledge, which would require us to utterly change the way we relate to one another, and the divisive strategies by which we have survived up until now, a struggle for which the Alamo provides a fascinating flashpoint. 

How strong, and how dangerous, the impulse is in human beings to believe only what they want to believe, rather than submitting to acknowledge the actual truth! I thought the authors did a fine job of explaining how the story of the Alamo came to be in such a mess, with reasonable objectivity, but also some pretty damning evidence concerning the ones who are determined to uphold the "Heroic Anglo Narrative" at all costs. This has got to stop, though it's hard to see how -- will an emerging Latino majority in Texas finally turn the tide?

The book is a work of popular history (or historiography, as the authors call it), and it's written in a colloquial style, which might otherwise bother me, but in this case I thought it fit the subject. Above all the Alamo myth is a work of the popular imagination and of low culture, not of the scholarly mindset. So the slangy diction seemed appropriate, and didn't make me doubt the authors' journalistic rigor, which was thoroughly backed up with references.

A very thought-provoking read, which illumined a corner of my personal history as well as a cultural landmark that desperately needs to be reassessed.

Yes, I checked "sad" and "dark" AND "funny" and "lighthearted" on this one -- it's an extraordinary document of the indomitable spirit of a man who becomes completely "locked in" to his paralyzed body, and yet retains the curiosity, humor, and warmth to write a book about the experience that is uplifting rather than depressing. All of us who retain the use of our limbs and senses must feel the obligation, upon learning how much he could do with so little capacity, to make better use of our time and our life, of the freedom we so often sleep through. This is a book I want to read again and to press upon others, in a world that desperately needs to free itself from self-inflicted chains of the mind and spirit.

When I picked out Thomasina to read for a cat-themed reading event at Literary Potpourri, all I knew about it was that the title character was a cat, and the author had also written Mrs ‘Arris Goes to Paris, a book I’d recently enjoyed. I didn’t pay attention to the subtitle (“the cat who thought she was a god”), and I had no idea I was about to get into what is basically a story of religious conversion. 

No, not a conversion to the worship of cats; nor is Thomasina really the central character of this tale, even though she is a catalyst (ha ha) for much that happens. The main emotional trajectory is that of Andrew MacDhui, an unhappy widower who wanted to be a surgeon and was forced by his father to become a vet like himself. Although he is skilled and knowledgeable, MacDhui’s anger and resentment poison his treatment of the animals he finds beneath his notice. Rumor has it that he’s a mite quick with the chloroform, and doesn’t seek to save animals he judges not worth it. 

MacDhui loves his seven-year-old daughter Mary Ruadh, but detests her cat, Thomasina. And when Thomasina is injured and brought to his office during a moment of fatal distraction, he orders what he considers a mercy killing, but Mary Ruadh considers a murder. The rift this creates in their relationship sparks a painful process through which MacDhui has to question the very principles upon which his life has been built. In time, this includes allowing into his heart his need for a loving and forgiving Divine Presence that will allow him to admit and forgive his own errors, which stem from unacknowledged pain. With the help of a mysterious young woman who cares for animals in the woods and is labelled a witch by some, a saint by others, his healing can finally begin. 

Strong stuff, you might think! And it is, but it’s broken up with chapters from the cat’s point of view, which add a whimsical note. From the outset, Thomasina says she’s going to be killed, but we know somehow she will survive — or return? — since she is telling this tale. In charming feline fashion she tells us of her likes (the smell of lavender) and dislikes (being carried upside down like a baby), her duties as a cat (watching mouseholes), her love and sympathy for her mistress, Mary Ruadh, and her distrust of the red-bearded veterinary doctor. 

After the disaster, Thomasina’s place is taken by Talitha, who lives with the Red Witch in her forest cottage and “thinks she is a god.” That is, she remembers a prior incarnation as the cat-goddess Bast in Egypt, and though unnaccountably humans no longer seem to worship her, her elemental powers slowly come back, bringing on the crucial denouement. 

The story is all about how one copes with trauma, with the agony of powerlessness, and Thomasina’s trauma, which she deals with through dissociation and escape into an imagination of divine power, is a reflection of MacDhui’s own trauma, which disconnected him from his child-self and from the innocence and living forces of nature. As his little girl comes close to the brink of death, his own soul is rescued by daring to love again, in spite of the risk of loss. He recovers the capacity to grieve and along with it his true self. And as wholeness returns, so can Thomasina, no longer to rage and punish as an angry, exiled elemental force, but to serve as the conduit and symbol of domestic well-being that is the rightful role of our household pets. 

Coming from an earlier era, the book is unabashedly sentimental and more than a bit religious, but in a vein that is certainly not dogmatic. It upholds love as the central value and ultimate goal of human endeavor, rather than knowledge, power, or righteousness, and explores the miracles that can happen when suffering leads us to embrace love instead of rejecting it. 

So although I was a bit surprised to find all this packed into my little cat story, I was very glad to have  read it, and grateful for Reading the Meow, without which I don’t think I would ever have picked it up. I can’t wait to see what others have discovered this week! 

This is also my first book reviewed for #20BooksofSummer23. See what else is on my list here.

I don't actually enjoy reading about crime, murder, violence, and gore, so when I read a mystery, I need something else to hold my interest. Things like memorable characters, a strong setting, interesting historical or cultural information, witty dialogue, or evocative writing. The first Auntie Lee book I have read, this has three of the above -- the first three. I really enjoyed learning about Singapore (including the disturbing trend of human organ trafficking) through the eyes -- and kitchen -- of Auntie Lee, one of those amateur detectives who can squirrel out information the police can't by appearing nosy, but harmless. Her passion for cooking was infectious, and I liked her psychological observations about the similarities between cooking/eating and one's approach life. I liked the secondary characters too.

The writing style, though, was nothing special, and I was particularly distracted by the frequent POV switching. I am not a purist who would say one can never do this, but it has to be done carefully and meaningfully--when it happens so often, from one paragraph to the next, and between many different characters, it is very disorienting. It can be a great way to present a mystery -- getting into people's heads when you don't know whether they are murderers can be quite thrilling -- but in this case I merely found it confusing and annoying.

The construction of the actual mystery was also lacking. The ostensible reason given for the deaths -- mercy killing / suicide -- was absurd, and it wasn't believable that the police would simply swallow it and keep saying "Oh, let's just forget it and move on." There was a potential murderer on the loose! Unless perhaps this was a comment on police corruption in Singapore? If so, it's pretty damning.

Once the real murderer did come to light - finally! - the drawn-out denouement was sort of an anticlimax. Surely people could have and should have figured some of this out already. But everyone seemed to be in a sort of daze, even Auntie Lee, who at least had known she was missing something.

All in all, a worthwhile diversion, but I don't think I'll read others in the series.

It's a bit surprising that this seems to be the only study of the subject to date, and it's from 1988. Perhaps this is because GCoA issues are basically the same as those of ACoA, with the added problem that often they don't even know they are related to an alcoholic or the effect that may have had on them. I found this eye-opening in the extreme and think it's very important to know about. Being raised in a loving family that strives to give you a good life, while not understanding where the sense of something off or missing comes from, can be truly crazy-making. 

For that alone I'd say it's valuable for anyone to read who is in the same situation, although some parts are sketchy and the specific info for GCoA is not that extensive. Still the lightbulb that may go off when one understands one is part of an alcoholic family system is worth it.

This book got very mixed reviews - I'd put mine somewhere in the middle. It was readable, but not as charming as some of Montgomery's other books. There were too many characters and it was hard to focus, plus I lost track of who was who at times with all the similar names. The ones who did get a bit more time, Jocelyn and Gay, were hard for me to sympathize with because there was not much to them except for being in love with the wrong men, and eventually the right one.

I also had a hard time believing all those people would get so worked up about a stupid jug. However, people are strange. And no doubt there was not a lot of other entertainment available in rural Canada at the time - perhaps this was part of the point.

The racist joke in the ending is a negative -- from the character who said it, it was believable. However, not OK for Montgomery to end on that as a humorous send-off -- even coming from a time when such jokes were commonplace, it would still strike an off note.

How did murder begin? When did brother first kill brother? On the peaceful forest-world of Athshan, it begins when a colony of men from Earth arrive and, having denuded their own planet, begin enslaving and raping the native inhabitants, and taking away their trees, their life. The Athshan people are dreamers, who walk awake in both layers of reality, and in dream they learn the new thing, how to kill. They fight back against the invaders, and win, but they have lost something invaluable, too.

There are some humans who would cultivate friendship, rather than exploitation, but their way is weak and immature; there is too much force behind the instinct to retaliate against overwhelming trauma, to try to fight back against death by generating more death.

In Davidson, the primary villain, one gets a brief glimpse of the seed of his own genesis as a killer: in the Famine on earth when he was young. Childhood deprivation and abuse breeds murderers.

How will the cycle be stopped? This book gives no answer; rather, it suggests that on Athshan, the killing has only begun. A sobering message. 

This diary kept by Colin Clark of his time as 3rd assistant director (i.e. a gofer) on the set of a film with Marilyn Monroe and Laurence Olivier offers a glimpse into filmmaking as well as the iconic movie star and a theatrical legend. I can't say that either the process or the people come across as very attractive. Filmmaking involves chopping a story up into little bits and using illusion and technical expertise to create the illusion of reality. Olivier was a brute to Marilyn, and Marilyn was a mess. Clark, who has clearly fallen in love with her, makes all kinds of excuses -- she's a star, of course she should get to behave impossibly! -- only dimly sensing the truth, that she is a victim of abuse, a sacrifice to the world's demand for sex-appeal on screen, pushed around by her minders until she doesn't have a chance to know who she is any more. 

Clark himself doesn't come across very well either, constantly harping on his famous connections (as the son of Sir Kenneth Clark) and dropping a girlfriend in a callous way once Marilyn swims into his ken. He looks forward to when he can be a producer and sleep with starlets -- that about says it all.

 A book that delves deeply into the most ordinary stuff of life and somehow makes it compelling and beautiful.  As impressive in its own way as Mrs Dalloway, and far more accessible and less pretentious.