A Homemade Life: Stories and Recipes from My Kitchen Table by Molly Wizenberg. Simon and Schuster. 2008. 336 pages.
Molly Wizenberg, the author of the blog Orangette, wrote this food memoir. The essays are short and to the point and introduce the recipes, which are introduced again by a brief headnote. She explores a variety of memories and experiences she has had throughout her life, in no particular order that I could tell, and together, they shape the identity of a woman who loves food.
I ordered this book from Amazon based on the title, the author, and the price: it was a bargain book. I'm not displeased I ordered it, but I can recommend it only with reservations.
Wizenberg does a beautiful job of incorporating food memories into her life story, which is something that really resonates with me: since I'm studying food and specifically cookbooks as autobiographical acts, I enjoy reading pieces that are overtly autobiographical and incorporate food. Food is obviously quite important to the author. It's also clear that she has a thorough understanding of how to put dishes together: she seems quite apt at creating recipes.
While it's meant as a memoir of Wizenberg, and she claims that she had a stronger relationship with her mother than her father, the real star seems to be her father, who dies early in her adult life from cancer. She may have talked and gossipped more with her mother, but it's quite clear that she is her father's daughter when it comes to lifestyle: he imbued in her a taste for good food and an ability to cook it. As a result, her book largely seems to be a narrative of her relationship with the important men in her life, starting with her father and ending with her husband (who, truth be told, sounds too perfect to be true).
The problem I had with the book is that it lacked a real arc. There are several major plots happening in the book: the death of her father and her marriage being the two primary ones. However, there isn't any real conventional plot line, which, given the memoiristic style is okay, but she also doesn't offer any real sense of closure at the end. The essay stops, there's one last recipe, and then the readers are presented with a recipe index. I kept hoping for some closure, a reason she saw to stop the book where she did, but I didn't. There also seems to lack any clear organization of the essays in general. While the death of her father and her marriage are approached chronologically for the most part, the rest of the essays jump around.
On the whole, if you're looking for a light read that involves food (and often involves Paris), you won't be disappointed, and will most likely enjoy yourself, as I did. You also won't be blown away.
Monday, April 25, 2011
Monday, March 7, 2011
Book Review: HERmione by H.D.
HERmione. Hilda Doolitle. New Directions. 1981. 238 pages.
Hermione is a difficult book. It's written by a modernist imagist poet as a stream-of-consciousness autobiography. If that's not enough to convince you that it's a tough book, I don't know what will. Hilda Doolittle wrote it about a period of time when she was depressed, and her writing reflects that. Near the end of the book, she is committed to a mental institution, and all I can say is, it finally made sense. Once she was in that situation, the narrative rang true.
I obviously read this for school and not for pleasure...and I struggled my way through it, honestly. The rest of the class struggled to, and the words "irritating" and "obnoxious" made frequent appearances in our class discussions, and I agreed often. However, many of my classmates felt the text as a whole was meaningless, and I have to disagree. Obtuse? Yes. Ambiguous? Most definitely. But meaningless? Not close.
The meaning I dervied from this book was less of a meaning than a theme, I suppose: H.D. explored the idea of self in this book. And unfortunately, she isn't able to come to a conclusion. But guess what? No one can determine what a self actually is. Philosophers bang their heads trying to do so. Ever heard of Martin Heidegger? Yeah, the self was a big deal to him. And he sure tries to nail it down, but doesn't actually do it. However, not reaching a conclusion is not a problem, I think. Discussing the idea of self encourages discussion and thought. For an experimental text, I think that's the point. She questions what we think we know about the autobiography genre to begin with, and it makes sense that she would also question what we think we know about the subject of the autobiography, the self.
By the end of the book, I have to admit that I liked it. Would I recommend it? Not the average reader: it's not exactly a beach read. But I think it's a fascinating book and I thoroughly enjoyed discussing it.
Hermione is a difficult book. It's written by a modernist imagist poet as a stream-of-consciousness autobiography. If that's not enough to convince you that it's a tough book, I don't know what will. Hilda Doolittle wrote it about a period of time when she was depressed, and her writing reflects that. Near the end of the book, she is committed to a mental institution, and all I can say is, it finally made sense. Once she was in that situation, the narrative rang true.
I obviously read this for school and not for pleasure...and I struggled my way through it, honestly. The rest of the class struggled to, and the words "irritating" and "obnoxious" made frequent appearances in our class discussions, and I agreed often. However, many of my classmates felt the text as a whole was meaningless, and I have to disagree. Obtuse? Yes. Ambiguous? Most definitely. But meaningless? Not close.
The meaning I dervied from this book was less of a meaning than a theme, I suppose: H.D. explored the idea of self in this book. And unfortunately, she isn't able to come to a conclusion. But guess what? No one can determine what a self actually is. Philosophers bang their heads trying to do so. Ever heard of Martin Heidegger? Yeah, the self was a big deal to him. And he sure tries to nail it down, but doesn't actually do it. However, not reaching a conclusion is not a problem, I think. Discussing the idea of self encourages discussion and thought. For an experimental text, I think that's the point. She questions what we think we know about the autobiography genre to begin with, and it makes sense that she would also question what we think we know about the subject of the autobiography, the self.
By the end of the book, I have to admit that I liked it. Would I recommend it? Not the average reader: it's not exactly a beach read. But I think it's a fascinating book and I thoroughly enjoyed discussing it.
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Chicago
Chicago, the film starring Catherine Zeta-Jones, Richard Gere, and Renee Zellwegger, came out in 2002 when I was a wee high school senior. I remember seeing the trailers and being interested, but not daring to watch it despite its PG-13 rating. It looked so...wicked. And I was a naive girl, a good girl. At the time, I wasn't as sure as my reasoning for being a good girl, but I sure am now.
So, if I am such a good girl, what would posess me to watch Chicago?
A good friend.
My neighbor, who is approaching 70 and shares my religious beliefs, loves the film and encouraged me to watch it. If she loved it, I thought, surely I'm missing something. It can't possibly be as wicked as I think it is!
I added it to my mental list of movies to see, borrowed her copy, and when presented with an available evening, decided to watch it.
That evening was last night. And boy, was I right!
The first time, I mean.
What smut. Now, I have to be fair. The movie is pure artistic genius. So well crafted and just beautifully done. The actors are all so talented and I was surprised at the end to learn that the three headliners all did their own singing and dancing. What talent! The way the songs were woven into the plot was beautiful.
What wasn't beautiful was the plot. Absolute smut. It disgusted me. The worst part, in my opinion, was that there was exactly one nice, likeable character: Amos, Roxie's husband. But he is portrayed as the dope, the clown, the loser. He is the only genuine, nice, caring character, and he is discarded. Roxie, instead of appreciating the love of an honest and hardworking man, tosses him aside to pursue a life in the spotlight. A life of sin. And in the end, she and Velma profit from their murders and appear happy: there is no sign that these two characters lack any sort of fulfillment, though I can't imagine that their lives aren't empty. How can a life based in so much selfishness and wickedness be truly happy?
I doubt that it can be, honestly. I have my small, humble life here, and it's not always easy, but I can't imagine it any other way. I have a loving husband who may not be glamorous or rich, but is hardworking and responsible. I have a small daughter who may prevent me from pursuing my own "stage," but who makes up for it in spades by the love she gives me and my husband. And I can't think of any greater joy than watching her learn. That is happiness. The life that Roxie so quickly tossed aside without a second thought. It makes me so sad that the media is selling this version of happiness and that people don't have a problem with it. Is the overt s*x in the film disgusting? Yes. Is the costuming horrendous? Absolutely. But the characters, in my opinion, are the most offensive.
I may never be famous, and will certainly never be rich. But I have everything I need to be happy. And I hope I NEVER resemble Velma or Roxie in the least.
So, if I am such a good girl, what would posess me to watch Chicago?
A good friend.
My neighbor, who is approaching 70 and shares my religious beliefs, loves the film and encouraged me to watch it. If she loved it, I thought, surely I'm missing something. It can't possibly be as wicked as I think it is!
I added it to my mental list of movies to see, borrowed her copy, and when presented with an available evening, decided to watch it.
That evening was last night. And boy, was I right!
The first time, I mean.
What smut. Now, I have to be fair. The movie is pure artistic genius. So well crafted and just beautifully done. The actors are all so talented and I was surprised at the end to learn that the three headliners all did their own singing and dancing. What talent! The way the songs were woven into the plot was beautiful.
What wasn't beautiful was the plot. Absolute smut. It disgusted me. The worst part, in my opinion, was that there was exactly one nice, likeable character: Amos, Roxie's husband. But he is portrayed as the dope, the clown, the loser. He is the only genuine, nice, caring character, and he is discarded. Roxie, instead of appreciating the love of an honest and hardworking man, tosses him aside to pursue a life in the spotlight. A life of sin. And in the end, she and Velma profit from their murders and appear happy: there is no sign that these two characters lack any sort of fulfillment, though I can't imagine that their lives aren't empty. How can a life based in so much selfishness and wickedness be truly happy?
I doubt that it can be, honestly. I have my small, humble life here, and it's not always easy, but I can't imagine it any other way. I have a loving husband who may not be glamorous or rich, but is hardworking and responsible. I have a small daughter who may prevent me from pursuing my own "stage," but who makes up for it in spades by the love she gives me and my husband. And I can't think of any greater joy than watching her learn. That is happiness. The life that Roxie so quickly tossed aside without a second thought. It makes me so sad that the media is selling this version of happiness and that people don't have a problem with it. Is the overt s*x in the film disgusting? Yes. Is the costuming horrendous? Absolutely. But the characters, in my opinion, are the most offensive.
I may never be famous, and will certainly never be rich. But I have everything I need to be happy. And I hope I NEVER resemble Velma or Roxie in the least.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Book Review: Half Broke Horses by Jeannette Walls
I'm enrolled in a literature class at a nearby university on autobiography. And I love it. My professor is so engaging, and his class is wonderful. He has selected absolutely perfect texts to really give us a feel for autobiography theory and how to address it in the current literary world.
And his class makes me want to start a book club. But I don't know where to begin! My best friend is a fellow English major graduate, but we are both very busy. Sometimes I think, maybe after I graduate. But, the truth is, she's too busy too, and she's not in grad school. She has four children and works part time. So there really isn't time. And who else do you start a book club with, except for your best friend who also happens to love books?
No, no...there just isn't time.
But I still love reading, and this class has inspired me to start reading for pleasure again. And it's provided me with several authors to peruse! I thought I'd start by chronicling them here. Maybe that will give me the book club without the club.
So, we just finished reading Half Broke Horses by Jeannette Walls for my class. And I loved it. Jeannette Walls is also the author of bestselling The Glass Castle, which I somehow missed with all the hype. When it was very popular, and there were months-long waiting lists at the libraries to check it out, I was actually working at a library in Los Angeles. I never bothered finding out what it was about, but was disgusted at the hysteria surrounding the book. I had been to my mother-in-law's book club a few times before I began work, and was less than impressed with the book selection, which wasn't exactly literary. If this is what book clubs were reading, count me out! (As an aside; I don't think her book club ever read it.) However, I am now determined to read it. That's how impressed I was with this book.
I promise to not give away any endings or surprises, so don't worry. But I was very impressed. Walls classifies it as a "true life novel" because it's written in first person, but she is retelling the story of her grandmother's life and had to fill in a number of details. She verified what she could, being a dutiful journalist, but still fabricated enough to put it together. It starts with Lily (her grandmother) as a child on a ranch in Texas and follows her through to the birth of the author. She handles a lot of abstract ideas through the course of the novel, but it is always done through the narrative; there are never dull moments of theorizing on the ways of the world. She makese it clear enough; she has a number of profound one-liners. She says "I hadn't been paying much attention to things like the sunrise, but that old sun had been coming up anywhat. It didn't really care how I felt, it was going to rise and set regardless of whether I noticed it, and if I was going to enjoy it, that was up to me" (113). The entire text is littered with aphorisms like this one, all based on lessons her grandmother presumably learned through her life of hard work.
Additionally, it reads very much like a life history (because it's based on one) and for those of us who live in the West, it's a history that sounds like it could have been our own ancestors. I have ancestors from San Antonio and Colorado, both places this narrative could have taken place in (even though it didn't). While I don't know if any of them were ranchers per say, it's hard to imagine at that time that they weren't. For me, it was like reading a slice of what my family history might be.
The best part of this book, for me, honestly is that I can recommend it without caveat to my mother. My mother loves to read, but often doesn't know what to read, and I'd never categorize her tastes as especially literary. But, she likes a good story and likes clean books. This book, in my opinion, meets both of those criteria. The foul language is very limited, and there isn't a single "F" word. There are no graphic sex scenes (but, that makes sense. Can you imagine writing about your grandmother's sex life? I think not) and the characters are basically good people. If you need a book to recommend to your mother, this is a good one.
And his class makes me want to start a book club. But I don't know where to begin! My best friend is a fellow English major graduate, but we are both very busy. Sometimes I think, maybe after I graduate. But, the truth is, she's too busy too, and she's not in grad school. She has four children and works part time. So there really isn't time. And who else do you start a book club with, except for your best friend who also happens to love books?
No, no...there just isn't time.
But I still love reading, and this class has inspired me to start reading for pleasure again. And it's provided me with several authors to peruse! I thought I'd start by chronicling them here. Maybe that will give me the book club without the club.
So, we just finished reading Half Broke Horses by Jeannette Walls for my class. And I loved it. Jeannette Walls is also the author of bestselling The Glass Castle, which I somehow missed with all the hype. When it was very popular, and there were months-long waiting lists at the libraries to check it out, I was actually working at a library in Los Angeles. I never bothered finding out what it was about, but was disgusted at the hysteria surrounding the book. I had been to my mother-in-law's book club a few times before I began work, and was less than impressed with the book selection, which wasn't exactly literary. If this is what book clubs were reading, count me out! (As an aside; I don't think her book club ever read it.) However, I am now determined to read it. That's how impressed I was with this book.
I promise to not give away any endings or surprises, so don't worry. But I was very impressed. Walls classifies it as a "true life novel" because it's written in first person, but she is retelling the story of her grandmother's life and had to fill in a number of details. She verified what she could, being a dutiful journalist, but still fabricated enough to put it together. It starts with Lily (her grandmother) as a child on a ranch in Texas and follows her through to the birth of the author. She handles a lot of abstract ideas through the course of the novel, but it is always done through the narrative; there are never dull moments of theorizing on the ways of the world. She makese it clear enough; she has a number of profound one-liners. She says "I hadn't been paying much attention to things like the sunrise, but that old sun had been coming up anywhat. It didn't really care how I felt, it was going to rise and set regardless of whether I noticed it, and if I was going to enjoy it, that was up to me" (113). The entire text is littered with aphorisms like this one, all based on lessons her grandmother presumably learned through her life of hard work.
Additionally, it reads very much like a life history (because it's based on one) and for those of us who live in the West, it's a history that sounds like it could have been our own ancestors. I have ancestors from San Antonio and Colorado, both places this narrative could have taken place in (even though it didn't). While I don't know if any of them were ranchers per say, it's hard to imagine at that time that they weren't. For me, it was like reading a slice of what my family history might be.
The best part of this book, for me, honestly is that I can recommend it without caveat to my mother. My mother loves to read, but often doesn't know what to read, and I'd never categorize her tastes as especially literary. But, she likes a good story and likes clean books. This book, in my opinion, meets both of those criteria. The foul language is very limited, and there isn't a single "F" word. There are no graphic sex scenes (but, that makes sense. Can you imagine writing about your grandmother's sex life? I think not) and the characters are basically good people. If you need a book to recommend to your mother, this is a good one.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Pioneer Woman
Last week, Pioneer Woman announced to the world that she, in fact, cannot do it all.
And all I can say is, hallelujah!
Okay, I can actually say much more than that.
Like, I'm so relieved.
I always wondered how she did it all, and apparently, a lot of other women have wondered to. She answered them, publicly, with the afore-linked post, and said that quite frankly, she can't do it all. She admitted to hiring someone to clean her house once a week and hiring someone to come in a do laundry...
And what a relief! I mean, fortunately, she can pay someone to do that. She has created this full-time job/empire and I have no idea how much money it brings in monthly, but I'm quite sure it's a lot. But that confession was like permission for all the rest of us to stop feeling guilty.
I always feel guilty, don't you?
Guilty that my house isn't perfectly clean, guilty that I don't do what I want to do (write, take photos, etc...), guilty that I sometimes spend entire days in my pajamas. Guilty that I don't always make dinner.
Guilty because I'm not Ree (Pioneer Woman).
Before she posted this, my friend and I were talking about this very thing. Her husband had just been mocking all those bloggers who put together elaborate parties and have perfect houses. And I wondered out loud how they do it all, and my friend said, quite simply, that they don't. Something has to give. Right now, she's working part-time and she has four kids. I'm going to graduate school and have a kid. There are choices to be made, because there are only 24 hours in a day.
Of course, she's right.
I know I don't manage the 24 I'm given very well at all, and I'm working on it. But I like to think I'm making good choices with my time. I spend time every day with my little girl. I try to prepare dinner for our family. Stuff like that. I don't have time to put together elaborate valentine's day dinners with cute napkin rings.
But you know what's really ironic? Pioneer Woman said she would be scaling back, and she's already posted two more posts on Confessions since that post. She's posted on Pioneer Woman Cooks once. What happened to scaling back?
Geez, even the "scaled-back" Pioneer Woman sets the bar too high for me.
Back to the guilt.
And all I can say is, hallelujah!
Okay, I can actually say much more than that.
Like, I'm so relieved.
I always wondered how she did it all, and apparently, a lot of other women have wondered to. She answered them, publicly, with the afore-linked post, and said that quite frankly, she can't do it all. She admitted to hiring someone to clean her house once a week and hiring someone to come in a do laundry...
And what a relief! I mean, fortunately, she can pay someone to do that. She has created this full-time job/empire and I have no idea how much money it brings in monthly, but I'm quite sure it's a lot. But that confession was like permission for all the rest of us to stop feeling guilty.
I always feel guilty, don't you?
Guilty that my house isn't perfectly clean, guilty that I don't do what I want to do (write, take photos, etc...), guilty that I sometimes spend entire days in my pajamas. Guilty that I don't always make dinner.
Guilty because I'm not Ree (Pioneer Woman).
Before she posted this, my friend and I were talking about this very thing. Her husband had just been mocking all those bloggers who put together elaborate parties and have perfect houses. And I wondered out loud how they do it all, and my friend said, quite simply, that they don't. Something has to give. Right now, she's working part-time and she has four kids. I'm going to graduate school and have a kid. There are choices to be made, because there are only 24 hours in a day.
Of course, she's right.
I know I don't manage the 24 I'm given very well at all, and I'm working on it. But I like to think I'm making good choices with my time. I spend time every day with my little girl. I try to prepare dinner for our family. Stuff like that. I don't have time to put together elaborate valentine's day dinners with cute napkin rings.
But you know what's really ironic? Pioneer Woman said she would be scaling back, and she's already posted two more posts on Confessions since that post. She's posted on Pioneer Woman Cooks once. What happened to scaling back?
Geez, even the "scaled-back" Pioneer Woman sets the bar too high for me.
Back to the guilt.
Sunday, February 20, 2011
To Do List
Like many of you, I'm sure, I have this huge to-do list in my head. It not only includes the day to day things, like make dinner or vacuum, but also longer-term things.
Like pick a paint color for the living room (to paint in August).
Pick tiles for the fireplace surround.
Buy felt and other supplies for Christmas crafts.
Work on thesis.
These things are always on my mind. And even though I know I need to do them eventually and that they are not pressing, and even though I know they are written down on a list and that the list has alloted time later to do them, they still manage to stress me out.
Why is that?
I think it's because I'm not a good time manager overall, and when I see myself failing to do the day to day things, I worry that these larger, and more important, things will somehow get lost.
I mean, I don't actually think about that concern, because it's obviously ridiculous. But I think that's the justification in my brain.
But, I did get some big things done this weekend. (While I avoided the small things, like cleaning off my desk...) I purchased felt for the tree skirt, so I'll be able to start that soon. And then I went to another craft store to pick up some other supplies and had a complete meltdown, which ended the crafty productivity.
But I came home and worked on my thesis for a while, so that was good. I wrote about 500 words and got some good reading and research done. Yay!
I think it's important to celebrate the little triumphs. That's what life is: little moments. Those little moments add up and make us who we are. And by celebrating the little moments, by realizing that I have good little moments, I hope that I'll be able to inspire myself to have more good little moments.
Like pick a paint color for the living room (to paint in August).
Pick tiles for the fireplace surround.
Buy felt and other supplies for Christmas crafts.
Work on thesis.
These things are always on my mind. And even though I know I need to do them eventually and that they are not pressing, and even though I know they are written down on a list and that the list has alloted time later to do them, they still manage to stress me out.
Why is that?
I think it's because I'm not a good time manager overall, and when I see myself failing to do the day to day things, I worry that these larger, and more important, things will somehow get lost.
I mean, I don't actually think about that concern, because it's obviously ridiculous. But I think that's the justification in my brain.
But, I did get some big things done this weekend. (While I avoided the small things, like cleaning off my desk...) I purchased felt for the tree skirt, so I'll be able to start that soon. And then I went to another craft store to pick up some other supplies and had a complete meltdown, which ended the crafty productivity.
But I came home and worked on my thesis for a while, so that was good. I wrote about 500 words and got some good reading and research done. Yay!
I think it's important to celebrate the little triumphs. That's what life is: little moments. Those little moments add up and make us who we are. And by celebrating the little moments, by realizing that I have good little moments, I hope that I'll be able to inspire myself to have more good little moments.
Friday, February 4, 2011
Resolutions
Well, we're over a month into the new year; how are you doing with resolutions? I've done better...but I am making progress, which makes me happy!
So far, I've cooked dinner at least three times a week all year. Yeah! I think we're doing a lot better with shopping just once a week, which also makes me happy. (As well as Jeff, who is the one who often goes shopping.)
We've also started amassing our year's supply of "paper goods," meaning those things that don't spoil. We picked up 10 packages of Reach floss (the small ones, 96 yards I think) for FREE a few weeks ago thanks to some $1/1 coupons. We also bought 25 boxes of tissues for 80 cents each thanks to a good sale and coupons.
What have I not done? Well, I haven't been doing well with my daily cleaning tasks. I don't make our bed every day, I've been averaging 2-3 times a week (which is still an improvement to be honest). I've also not been good about doing the other weekly tasks that I broke down. I tried to vacuum once, but my toddler threw a fit. I cleaned out the refrigerator, but that was because chicken juice leaked all over everything. Yuck. I also haven't been good about staying up on my homework, but my toddler doesn't seem to like that either.
This week has been tough, though. I get so down on myself when I see myself failing at seemingly simple things. Shouldn't I be able to accomplish one cleaning task a day? How long does it take to make my bed? Maybe 2 minutes? The problem isn't time; the problem is desire, I think. Which is sad, because I picked goals that all result in something I really want: a nice, clean house. Is that so much to ask for? Apparently for me it is! *sigh*
I'm still working on it. I really hope that by the end of the year, I will have conquered this laziness when it comes to cleaning.
So far, I've cooked dinner at least three times a week all year. Yeah! I think we're doing a lot better with shopping just once a week, which also makes me happy. (As well as Jeff, who is the one who often goes shopping.)
We've also started amassing our year's supply of "paper goods," meaning those things that don't spoil. We picked up 10 packages of Reach floss (the small ones, 96 yards I think) for FREE a few weeks ago thanks to some $1/1 coupons. We also bought 25 boxes of tissues for 80 cents each thanks to a good sale and coupons.
What have I not done? Well, I haven't been doing well with my daily cleaning tasks. I don't make our bed every day, I've been averaging 2-3 times a week (which is still an improvement to be honest). I've also not been good about doing the other weekly tasks that I broke down. I tried to vacuum once, but my toddler threw a fit. I cleaned out the refrigerator, but that was because chicken juice leaked all over everything. Yuck. I also haven't been good about staying up on my homework, but my toddler doesn't seem to like that either.
This week has been tough, though. I get so down on myself when I see myself failing at seemingly simple things. Shouldn't I be able to accomplish one cleaning task a day? How long does it take to make my bed? Maybe 2 minutes? The problem isn't time; the problem is desire, I think. Which is sad, because I picked goals that all result in something I really want: a nice, clean house. Is that so much to ask for? Apparently for me it is! *sigh*
I'm still working on it. I really hope that by the end of the year, I will have conquered this laziness when it comes to cleaning.
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