#56 The Secret Life of Bees

Sue Monk Kidd’s The Secret Life of Bees follows the life of Lily Owens, a young white girl growing up in South Carolina during the height of the Civil Rights Movement. Living with an abusive father, T. Ray, and cared for by Rosaleen, her black housekeeper, Lily has never known the truth about her mother, who died in a shooting accident when she was four. Lily killed her, and has lived with the grief ever since.

A number of events drive Lily and Rosaleen out of town. Armed with a few possessions of her mother’s, including a honey label with Tiburon written on the back, Lily and Rosaleen make their way there. Lily hopes finding out who makes the honey will help her find out about her mother, and it’s this goal that finds them living with a trio of sisters, August, June and May Boatwright. Lily’s instincts are correct—there is a connection between her mother and the sisters, but it takes much of the book to work it all out.

There are so many reasons why I liked this book so very much. Kidd’s prose is sparse, but direct, lean without a hint of aggression, and simple without being simplistic. The story is tight too, the whole book happens over a summer, but it doesn’t feel rushed or forced.

And it’s about a motherless daughter searching for the truth about herself and her mother, so it drives hard into my own heart like the last few hours of a road trip when you’re so close you can taste being home. Lily finds so much more than she thought possible, first love, a home, kindness, honesty, truth and a sense of purpose.

Knowing can be a curse on a person’s life. I’d traded a pack of lies for a pack of truth, and I didn’t know which one was heavier. Which one took the most strength to carry around? It was a ridiculous question, though, because once you know the truth, you can’t ever go back and pick up your suitcase of lies. Heavier or not, the truth is yours now.

Prime

The weather has turned so very strange in the past couple days. It’s super-hot for November, more like the end of September, and people are turned out in the oddest ways. I saw a man tonight at the movies wearing a French-inspired black and white striped long sleeved shirt with a pair of black racing shorts. This was his date attire. He got up this morning, felt the sun come in through the window and decided to cross dress between Lance Armstrong and the mime on the corner in Montreal.

Annnywaaay. I went to see Prime tonight with Wing Chun. You know, I was totally afraid that it would be another complete let–down, but it wasn’t. It’s not a great picture by any means, but it’s solid, and has a funny script. Bryan Greenberg (ah, Jake!) is super-hot, and Meryl Streep is excellent as per usual. Uma’s a bit flat, but I’m not her biggest fan (Kill Bill obviously excluded).

The film turns the whole May-December romance stereotypes inwards as a much older woman (37!), just divorced, falls for a very young man (23!), and they have a complex, but rewarding relationship. He’s in love for the first time; she’s in love after a very long time. The one problem? His mother is her therapist. But it’s not slapstick, even though it could be. It’s kind of tender and sweet, and it shows how love sort of happens and then you have to deal with the fall out. I liked it even better than P.S., which has the same theme: young artist falls in love with older, influential woman.

Hell, and Bryan Greenberg is super, duper, duper hot. I don’t care what EW says.

So, It’s The Other Way Around?

Is it wrong of me to think of this as somehow anti-Canadian in some way? I can understand how thinking that Harry Potter might have some sort of fallout for the Winnipeg band in terms of how huge a machine it actually is, but is it really going to adversely affect their careers in any way? And so what if it does?

The whole thing reeks of money grubbing to me, but that’s just me—I suppose they’re really worried about their artistic integrity. But that’s a big supposition, in my opinion…

#55 When in Rome

After having a pretty interesting discussion over at Chicklit about the genre chicklit, I decided to knock back an easy read today: When in Rome by Gemma Townley. I heart Gemma Townley. She’s totally underrated in terms of the phenoms of chicklit (Sophie Kinsella, Melissa Banks, Lauren Weisberger, Ms. Weiner, Ms. Keyes, etc), but I think she rises to the top, for more reasons than one.

1. The plots might be predictable, but they’re never contrite and don’t have obvious holes, like so many books I’ve read in the genre lately.

2. The heroines often have the same problems (two boys, one love; bad job, like shopping) as many chicklit books have, but they seem to rise above and use their wits to get them out of situations vs. their acumen when it comes to men.

3. She’s a fun, flirty writer, and that’s hard to achieve.

4. There are a lot of cute pop culture references that I love, and that seem to fit, which means they don’t feel forced in any way. They just work. Like in this book, the heroine, Georgie, is obsessed with Roman Holiday. It just feels right for the character, even when she ends up in Rome and cuts her hair off, all stereotypical products of a good Audrey Hepburn movie, but it works both for the character and for the book.

5. I love books that I can read in two subway rides: one to work, one home from work. It’s a minor pleasure in a busy life.

The Shakespeare Debate

One of my favourite quasi-academic topics is Shakespeare, or rather, the debate surrounding his identity. Who was that masked man, allegorically, of course? Bookninja sent me over to a fun article in the NY Times this week that puts forth a newish-oldish debate about Shakespeare’s religion, and that he was a closet Catholic. Considering he wrote in Elizabethan England, that’s actually kind of interesting to think about.

If I had any inclination to go back to grad school, I might actually think about examining some of his plays in light of the theory. How differently might they be read? I know, it’s early in the morning. Just ignore me if I’ve already put you back to sleep.

Oh, and just for fun, here are a couple of articles I’ve written about the Shakespeare question, two of my favourites: one from my old work and one on Chicklit.

Happy Halloween?

We had one kid come to our door last night. One poor lonely little ghost with a plastic pumpkin. I almost gave him the entire bowl of candy because who wants it hanging around the house?

I suppose it’s my own fault, considering I had an appointment during prime Halloween trick-or-treating time. But still, one kid? Now I’m stuck with 150 pieces of candy and no RRBF to eat them.

Next year I’ll do it up right. Maybe I’ll even remember to change the outdoor light bulb so they know I’m sitting there on the steps with a big bowl of candy for them.

In An Attempt To Reach Out

I have emailed long lost friends, answered the phone every time it rings (three calls from my RRBF, three other calls (two wrong numbers and one firm doing market research). All in an attempt to avoid writing. How do you procrastinate?

I’ve been actively grading the songs in my iTunes Party Shuffle as well, pretending that’s work. The last few to come up:

1. Mr. Brightside, The Killers (four stars)
2. Take It Or Leave It, The Strokes (three stars)
3. Hey Ladies, The Beastie Boys (two stars [I’m in a mood!])
4. The Future Hangs, Cuff the Duke (five stars)
5. Please Don’t Make Me Cry, UB40 (four stars)
6. Countdown Our Days, Fembots (five stars)

I’ve watched a couple episodes of Coronation Street, and a half an hour of Veronica Guerin.

I’ve vacuumed some, washed the tub, dusted and put away my clothes.

I’ve danced around my office to The Strokes and The Pogues. I bought Joy Division’s Love Will Tear Us Apart. Fond memories of bad high school dances.

I’ve written quite a few silly blog posts.

In fact, the only thing I haven’t done is take a nap&#151but don’t count that option out.