This is my symphony

The Little Giant of Aberdeen County
by Tiffany Baker

–but not the kind in the cable series! Truly Plaice’s life would be extraordinary whatever her circumstance. Born with acromegaly, she is, indeed, a giant. Truly’s mother Lily, sick with cancer, struggles to deliver this incredible child, all the while composing a letter in her mind to the baby she assumes will be a boy. Her dying words are that letter’s closing, “Yours truly” … but the doctor catches only a whisper, and assumes Lily had named the child.

As in most stories where a mother dies leaving her infant children and grieving husband, Truly’s childhood was the stuff of fairy tales: a drunken father, poverty, separated siblings, and menacing authority figures. What distinguishes Little Giant from fairy tales, though, is Truly’s medical condition and her village’s reaction to her. Shunned, hidden away, and mercilessly teased, Truly sees herself as others see her: ugly. While Truly adores her older sister Serena Jane, even that love is rejected. Instead, Truly bonds with Aberdeen’s other outcasts–a speech-impaired girl and an eccentric young genius.

Time is not kind to Truly; she eventually seeks out medical care from one of the very boys who bullied her throughout childhood, but the prognosis is not good: Truly will continue to grow (in both height and heft) until her organs give out. While her life sounds grim, Truly does make a kind of truce with the circumstances that surround her. She gently raises her sister’s child and falls in love of a sort.

Even more important, Truly finds she possesses a gift. Housekeeper to Dr. Bob Morgan, last in a long line of Morgan doctors who ministered to Aberdeen residents, she uncovers the family’s long lost secret. That first Dr. Morgan had married the town witch who secreted away her spell book before she died. Truly discovers that Tabitha Morgan had “hidden” the spell book in plain sight–and she begins to unravel the dangerous secrets of herbs and potions.

To be honest, I was worried that, as the story grew grim, the novel’s ending would be unresolved, even unhappy. But while I wouldn’t say the ending was happy in a fairy tale type of way, it was satisfying enough. Little Giant is the type of book I love to love–a pinch magic, a dash of love, and a good dose of healing. A cover review compares Baker’s story to Alice Hoffman’s and I couldn’t agree more.

Just started: Cutting for Stone by Abraham Verghese. What few pages I’ve already read are compelling. Quote I think I’ll always remember: “Remember the 11th commandment. Thou shalt not operate on the day of a patient’s death.” Can’t wait to give this book some more time–I’ve finally got my AP class’ essays graded, so I might be in luck tomorrow! (Except then I’ll have my yearbook proofs nagging away …)

Finn
by Jon Clinch

I’ve prevaricated and stalled, I’ve come to a standstill, postponed, and delayed writing another post about Finn–and last night I finally gave myself permission to put it on hold until I’m not in school. I think during the school year I’ll need to go light and, if not exactly, cheerful, then at least redeeming in some way. Now I’m not saying that Finn won’t end on some revealing and uplifting note (though I have my doubts), and I’m not one who has to read all things sweetness and light. But I came to the conclusion that it was just too much right now. So I’m off into Kate Jacob’s world again in Comfort Food.

Finn, the story of Huck Finn’s father, is dark and menacing. We see the Widow Douglas, the huckster preacher, and the judge who welcomed Finn into his house in an attempt to reform him–all through Finn’s eyes. Though the boy Huck does appear in the book at the halfway point, he is a flat character–almost a placeholder. It is Finn’s twisted mind and sinister spirit that prevail, and we see him battling his cold and powerful father, falling into a relationship with a slave, and conceiving a son by her. Yes, Huck is, in Clinch’s novel, biracial–he is Huckberry because at birth he was dark as a huckleberry. A strange twist, a bit unbelievable, but certainly fitting in this novel. Sometimes poignant, often violent, and misogynistic throughout, Finn is a heavy read. And so I’ll need to return another day.

Crow Lake
by Mary Lawson

I started reading Crow Lake the Friday before school started and put it down reluctantly after only a few chapters–and, of course, the busyness of the new year kept it lying on my dresser for the past five days. With B. gone all day, I was able to take it up again–and couldn’t stop.

The hinted-at Greek tragedy wasn’t as monumental as I would have thought–although, I suppose, that just may have been Lawson’s point. Kate Morrison took her brother’s fate to a realm that was more her fantasy than his reality, and so what she leads us to believe is a tragic fate is simply … life happening. Lest I sound glib about orphaned children, an unplanned pregnancy, murder, and a university education left behind, the “life happening” was difficult. But difficult in the way that our lives are messy, complicated, and often fall short of our expectations.

What I found most disturbing was Kate’s emotional vacuum–until I realized that I’ve done the same when living through a crisis. In fact, I would be hard-pressed to recall my own emotional life during those years of single-parenthood. Most compelling was Kate’s realization that the family history she had created was more fiction than fact–based on the life she had wanted them all to live, on the people she had wanted them to be. That’s probably the single-most important lesson I’ve learned in the past several years–that love is much easier (and rich and satisfying) when you love the person who IS, not the person you think you want them to be.

Crow Lake is a good read–and Lawson’s insight is spot on.

The Photograph
by Penelope Lively

So while the piles of papers hooked me, I’ve not read a book since Olive Kitteridge where the main characters are so very unlikeable. Elaine is a driven, hardened woman–really such a cliche–while her husband is a feckless ne’er do well who rides on her coattails (another cliche!). TV historian Glyn is really Elaine’s counterpoint, and all the while, Kath (we were to assume she was the shallow character) was the lost, misunderstood soul whose gorgeous exterior hid a bleak interior life. Because of the cliches (perhaps) I really didn’t feel compelled to read pell mell, which was sad, considering the summer is ending and reading time will become dear; rather, I soldiered on and finally finished.

But those piles of papers slipping and sliding out of the landing cupboard did keep me going. Glyn’s pursuit of the truth (one, mind you, that he didn’t care to find while his wife was living) was manic–and I thought of dad’s tortured retelling of his early years. He, too, was manic–and also skewed, I’m guessing, every nuance he found in the photos. Glyn did the same, perhaps hoping to find himself the sympathetic one after living years of self-absorption. Hmmmm. Sounds disturbingly similar to dad’s account–and perhaps for the same reason.

Sidenote: Isn’t “detritus” one of the best words in the world? I just love it!