I finished reading Outlander by Diana Gabaldon last night. Usually I have much more concrete ideas about a book once I’ve finished it, but I find that I have been steadfastly ambivalent about this book throughout my reading experience.

In the beginning I did have some trouble getting through it. It’s not so much that it moved slowly, but there was something that I just had to push through. After the first 200 pages or so, reading it got easier and I got more into the story.

A lot of people have expressed an intense dislike toward the main character, Claire. While I found her annoying at times, her personality did not grate on me as it appears to have done on many other readers.

One of my issues with this book may be that it is written in first person. I don’t generally have any issues with that, but I feel like a novel written in first person (especially one this long) needs to be exceptionally written and this just wasn’t. It’s not that Gabaldon’s writing is horrendous, it’s just that I’m not convinced that it is really strong enough to carry the story the way in which she wrote it.

The story is a good one. Not totally my thing, but interesting. I went into it not realizing that it was really a romance, so that sort of threw me for a loop and could have contributed to my difficulties reading it earlier on. Once you recognize that it’s a romance and resign yourself to that, it’s a lot easier to get into the story and try to get to know the characters.

There are 8 books in this series. I think I might check out the next from the library (if I can ever get over that irrational fear) and see how I feel about it. I like some of the characters and the general overarching story enough to try the next book, but I’m not committing myself to reading the whole series. I’m not sure I have the time or the patience to do so. There are way too many other books on my list begging to be read.

As you may imagine, I have a bit of a problem when it comes to books and, well, buying too many of them. In all honesty, if I had to choose between buying food and buying books, I’d probably buy books (and that’s saying something, because I do love my food).

So this whole unemployment thing is not working out so well for me. The economy sucks, I get that, but I am an intelligent, enthusiastic, college student with a decent resume and references. As my friend recently put it, “how do all these ex-cons on Law & Order have jobs, but we’re apparently unemployable?”

Said friend now has a job. I’m still looking. I feel like I’ve applied for every job under the sun. To date I’ve completed nine applications and submitted countless inquiries. I haven’t heard anything. From anyone. It’s so frustrating and as much as I don’t really want to receive a bunch of “sorry, we don’t want you” emails or phone calls, it would be nice to know whether or not I should ever expect to hear from them, or if I should just continue applying for every job ever.

One of the most annoying things is that these companies have you jump through all these hoops to apply for jobs and then only at the end decide to mention that they aren’t hiring people for just the summer. I’m sorry, but it’s pretty clear that I’m a college student and looking for work while I’m home over the summer. In fact, I often mention this as I’m asking for the job application, and yet you don’t tell me that you aren’t hiring summer-only workers until I’ve wasted what feels like half my life answering redundant questions in boxes far too small to accommodate the amount of information you’re asking for? Seriously? What’s up with that?

I’m also particularly bitter about my inability to get a job at a bookstore. I work at a library, I have customer service experience, and I spend a lot of time in the bookstores to which I’ve applied, and yet a certain bookstore franchise’s computers don’t think I’m qualified enough. Alas. It’s their loss anyway, because if I worked at a bookstore, I’d probably end up spending even more money because of my employee discount.  

Meanwhile I guess I’ll just keep scouring Craigslist and asking every store I go into if they’re hiring. Statistically speaking, I have to catch a break at some point, right?

Well, I have to. My savings are dwindling and I can’t keep relying on my parents for money. I’ve been trying to figure out how to do more with my mark store, but so far that’s been a bust. Seriously, if you’re in the market for some new makeup or skincare or accessories, check out randrews.mymarkstore.com. They have some really cool stuff and you’ll be funding my book buying.

Be an enabler. You know you want to…

My library conundrum

So I’m currently using my public library card as a bookmark. I have a few bookmarks that move from book to book, but during breaks when I start reading every book I can get my hands on all at the same time, any flat-ish object is fair game. In any case, considering my current situation with the public library, I find this library card’s ubiquity somewhat amusing.

Allow me to explain: I’m afraid to go back there. Seriously. It’s not a joke.

You see, way back in the day, I was a library fiend. I almost always had some book from the library. Unfortunately, as a young child without the ability to get myself to and from the library, I accrued many a late fee. At some point it got out of control and I stopped going because I owed them so much money. In my mind, I owe the library like $70. In reality, my childhood idea of ‘so much money’ is probably not the same as ‘so much money’ to present day me. I should really just suck it up and go back.

And you know, I took the first step. I found my library card and went online to try to access my account and see how much I really did owe them, but my PIN didn’t work, so I had to call them. And guess what I learned...
The library discards records after 3 years of inactivity. I haven’t used my library card in probably around 7 years.

As far as the library records are concerned, I don’t exist. Those millions of dollars I owe them? They’re forgotten.

…Maybe.

I still have this irrational fear that I’m going to walk in, try to get a new library card and masked library ninjas of doom will pop out of the woodwork and do something horrible to me. You know, like make me pay fines. I’m an unemployed (and seemingly unemployable, but that, dear readers, is another [bitchier, whinier] post) college student, damn it! I don’t have money to pay for my middle school transgressions!

And so my library card is my bookmark. A nagging reminder that I should just suck it up and go, and if I have to pay a fine, so be it because it’s cheaper than actually buying all my books, right?

Ugh. My insanity is exhausting. I need a nap.

I'm back (sort of)...

So I've accidentally been hiding from my blog. I don't really know how one accidentally hides from something, but I'm special enough to manage it, I think. In any case, there is much to tell (not much that's interesting, but I never promised interesting), and at some point I will tell.  In the meantime, I leave you with a short little review...

Today I finished reading The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie by Alan Bradley. It was a really good read.

It’s YA, which isn’t usually my thing, but I really enjoyed it. The protagonist is 11 year old, chemistry obsessed, Flavia de Luce, who is thrust (or thrusts herself, depending on how you look at it) into the middle of a twisted web of a murder investigation.

The book is definitely YA, but it doesn’t read the way a lot of books in the genre do. Flavia is precocious and the book has an older, more sophisticated feel.

The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie was also a really quick read. A page-turner, if you will. I’m not saying it’s the Next Great American Novel or anything, but it was a nice little escape from some of the more serious/heavy stuff I’m reading and it was a lot of fun. I would definitely recommend it. 

Ah, Memorial Day...

My mom and I realized last night that we'd missed Rolling Thunder during our DC excursion yesterday. Not an entirely tragic occurrence, but the spectacle does generally amuse me.

In other news, I have been temporarily exiled from the lovely little hovel I have cultivated in my house by none other than a burn out light bulb. "But Bluestocking," you say, "it's the middle of the day. Natural light!" To which I will reply that it is not the middle of the day. It is the morning as I write this, and the fact that I am awake and even remotely functional before noon is a feat within itself, but that is not the point. The point, dear readers, is that this beloved hovel of mine has black-out shades on the windows. Quite a genius invention, really. Unfortunate in my case, however, since the cord to said shades is broken and thus I languish in darkness save for the glow of the tv and my computer screen. And so, I have relocated to the living room and have commandeered the couch. My stuff may soon spill out onto the floor, making things slightly more difficult, but we shall cross that bridge when we come to it.

Alas, I miss my hovel.

And now on to getting shit done. I have deemed today my 'Get Shit Done Day' and hope to accomplish at least something.
...I may just end up reading more of Outlander or finishing The Man in the Iron Mask. Speaking of which, I am currently quite displeased with Alexandre Dumas. I will not elaborate so as not to give anything away to those who haven't read it (it really is phenomenal, I highly recommend it, even in my current state of displeasure).

Right. Back to getting shit done. Or, more precisely, beginning to get shit done. I shall sally forth and all that jazz.

My day on the town

Today my mom and I went on a mini-reconnaissance mission to make sure I knew how to get to my Chinese class that starts next week. It was a fairly productive day in that I also turned in my passport-sized photo for my J-card. Now I (hopefully) know where I’m going and won’t embarrass myself by asking for directions from every single person I pass on the street.

Since we were in DC, we headed over to The Shakespeare Theatre, which had opened up their rehearsal for the show Mrs. Warren’s Profession to the public. Apparently they did the same thing last year and ended up with a turnout of about 50 people, but it seems that it was much better publicized this time around and after standing in a very long line we filed into the theatre to watch. My mom and I were expecting more of a dress rehearsal/run-through, but that wasn’t really the case. It was really just a regular rehearsal, so we got to watch the director give notes and change things. It was really cool witnessing that dynamic. As I mentioned in a previous post, I used to be really involved in theatre, so this was a nice little flash-back. The director is a hilarious British man and so even though we didn’t see a huge part of the show, I really enjoyed the experience of watching the rehearsal.

In between the reconnaissance mission and the rehearsal, we stopped at Books-A-Million because, well, it’s me after all. I ended up buying Outlander by Diana Gabaldon. One of the groups I’m a member of on goodreads.com is reading it as one of the June books. I was going to try to get to the library and borrow it, but it was there and I was weak. I’m also still afraid of going back to the public library, but that, dear reader, is another post.

In fact, I have many a planned post for this blog. I promise. I’ll get to them eventually. Please keep reading. Please? Yeakaythanks.

A Review

I recently finished A Million Little Pieces by James Frey. It’s that book that everyone raved about as this raw, chilling account of addiction and recovery and yadda yadda yadda… until the shit hit the fan and people found out that Frey had embellished or just plain fabricated a great deal of his ‘memoir’. People were pissed. Especially Oprah. Oprah raved about this book, she took her book club in a completely different direction with Frey’s addiction account because she found the story so moving/inspiring/etc., etc., ad nauseum. And then it turns out so much of it was a lie.

Maybe my take on the book is different since I read it after all the hype, but I don’t see the big deal. Yea, the story is raw; Frey doesn’t spare us the grimy, gory (and sometimes really unnecessary) details of addiction and detox, but it’s also labored. As you read the narrative, you can feel what Frey wants you to feel – how much he wants you to feel it. He’s just trying too hard.

Early critics praise his jarring, pseudo-poetic, stream-of-consciousness style as reflective of the subject matter and experience – the inner workings of an addict’s mind/soul/what-have-you.  Again, I say, he’s trying too hard. Random repetition of words and phrases with a lackadaisical use of punctuation does not a literary genius make.

A Million Little Pieces was also praised as an inspiration for addicts everywhere. Now I am not an alcoholic or addict. I have never dealt with any chemical dependency issues. My biggest dependencies are on chapstick and seltzer. That being said, I don’t believe addicts everywhere should follow Frey’s example. Throughout his entire stay at the treatment facility, he resists all the programs and treatment plans laid out by those trying to help him. I understand his resistance to a certain extent – the facility repeatedly stated that the Twelve Steps are the only way to lasting sobriety. I don’t believe that this is true. Strength to hold on can come from a variety of places. That being said, Frey presents his own way as more effective and dismisses all other philosophies on addiction and recovery. Perhaps Frey’s book can inspire some of those who need help to seek it, but it doesn’t strike me as the inspiring story of recovery that it has been made out to be. Frey is still sober, he has managed to “hold on,” as his friend Leonard said, but to suggest that resistance to proven programs can be equally effective is just plain irresponsible.

I’m not saying that there aren’t merits to A Million Little Pieces. It is an enthralling story. True or not, Frey’s story captivates the reader. As in Frey’s experience, I found myself liking and caring about the characters, regardless of who they were or what they did outside of the treatment facility.

So that’s my say on A Million Little Pieces. I didn’t find it all it was cracked up to be, but it was a decent read.