Josie Lynn Books: Imagine the Possibilities

Category: Book Reviews

  • The Enchanted April: Book Review

    The Enchanted April: Book Review

    It was winter and I was commuting to work on public transportation and my commute involved a train, a shuttle bus, the metro, and a whole lot of standing around at exposed train stations, bus stops and metro platforms. Needless to say, I was feeling forlorn, cranky, sorry for myself, cold and wet, burned out, and slightly put upon.

    So I decided to bring my unread copy of The Enchanted April, along for the ride. Why did I have an unread copy of The Enchanted April just lying around for the house? you might reasonably ask. Allow me to explain. 

    I love, love, love the 1991 movie version, which is critically acclaimed and has Joan Plowright in its cast. However, despite the fact that practically everyone loved this movie, I took a long time joining the party because (1) I was too young to appreciate it when it first came out and (2) when I finally was old enough to appreciate it, I was a bit “over” movies about Italy (having seen one too many films like Il Postino, Under the Tuscan Sun, Life is Beautiful, and Eat Pray Love.)

    One day I finally decided to rent it (I’d seen all of the other rom-coms, I guess) and, of course, I loved it. So, I ordered the book. When it arrived, I immediately opened it up to my favorite line (from the movie) where Lotty says:

    “I–I’ve done nothing but duties, things for other people, ever since I was a girl, and I don’t believe anybody loves me a bit–a bit–the be-better–and I long–oh, I long–for something else–something else–” 

    Thus, having satisfied myself that the movie was faithful to the book and having loved the movie so much I couldn’t imagine how reading the book could improve my opinion of the story, I closed the book, placed it safely in the bookcase where it stayed for the next couple of years, while I remained too busy to read it/think about it/think about reading it (I did, however re-watch the movie several times in the interim).

    Then the winter of my discontent arrived–or, at least, the winter of my horrid commute–so I read The Enchanted April.  

    I WAS ENCHANTED

    The best thing about this book is that it really is enchanted–not in the sense that it has magic or fairies or pixie dust, but in the sense that it has the very real ability to transport one to a delightful villa in Italy…in April. You feel the sunshine, you smell the wisteria, you taste the pasta. I looked forward to my commute in the cold and fog because it meant I’d get to go to San Salvatore once more. April in San Salvatore beats December in San Francisco hands down. 

    The downside (for me anyway) of seeing the movie version before reading the book is that the element of surprise is largely removed. Yet, what was surprising was Elizabeth von Arnim’s writing style. She was witty and insightful and I enjoyed her characterizations, especially of some of the characters I found to be more or less one-dimensional in the movie, Lady Caroline and Merlesh Wilkinson, for instance. 

    For those of us who, on occasion, feel burned out and put upon and need a vicarious getaway, The Enchanted April offers a welcome respite from day-to-day life. You will be transformed, much like our four heroines were transformed. It might be just the thing to beat pandemic fatigue. 

  • Review of The Scarlet Pimpernel

    I was first exposed to The Scarlet Pimpernel by my ninth grade English teacher whose approach to teaching ninth grade English seems to have been getting literature down the throats of teenagers by any means necessary. More often than not, this meant ssphowing us the movie version of novels rather than actually requiring us to read them. One spring day, we watched the 1982 version of The Scarlet Pimpernel with Anthony Andrews and Jane Seymour. I was smitten.

    Shortly thereafter, I found a used copy for sell at my local public library and for just $0.25 the world of Sir Percy Blakeney and Marguerite Blakeney was mine! I devoured it. Twice smitten.

    The Scarlet Pimpernel is a cat and mouse tale of an English nobleman who is hell-bent on saving his French counterparts from the bloody blade of the guillotine during the French Revolution. He has the annoying habit of leaving the symbol of a red flower (a scarlet pimpernel) behind as a calling card and this has made everyone curious about his identity. The English have put him on a pedestal; the French have put a price on his head.

    The book is filled with adventure, near-misses, secret identities, lies, espionage, shocking revelations, an arch-nemesis, and things that could/would never happen in real life, forcing you to suspend disbelief (just a tad). But that’s why we read fiction, isn’t it? I know there are a myriad of other reasons we read fiction, but sometimes it does come down to escapism, pure and simple.

    However, despite all of the high drama, danger and excitement, there is a part of me that sees The Scarlet Pimpernel simply as a love story. Not as a simple love story; maybe, and perhaps more accurately, a love triangle along the lines of the Clark Kent-Lois Lane-Superman love triangle.

    Marguerite is married to Sir Percy, but she is in love with the idea of another whose initials also are S.P. (hum…) Sir Percy seemed like a decent guy when she agreed to marry him but alas, now he seems doltish, and what’s even worse, he seems quite indifferent to her. Sir Percy and Marguerite’s marriage is in crisis. True, it’s not as big a crisis as the French Revolution, but Baroness Orczy has skillfully juxtaposed one against the other. As the drama of the revolution plays out in the background and the world (well, France) falls apart, we can quietly explore the anatomy of a failing marriage (and possibly contemplate such questions as: How well can you really know the person closest to you? Do you only know what he/she chooses to reveal to you? Could you forgive the ultimate betrayal? Did those glasses really fool Lois Lane? Really?!)

    In the end, The Scarlet Pimpernel is a sweet and tender tale that proves you can never hide your true essence from the one who loves you best.

    Plus, it’s about a hero. We can never have too many heroes. The Scarlet Pimpernel is one for the ages.

  • Review of Little Women

    Review of Little Women

    Little Woman book coverIf anyone asked my nine-year-old self what was my favorite book, they would have gotten the unequivocal and quite enthusiastic answer, “Little Women by Louisa May Alcott…of course!”

    I found in the March sisters a group of girls that I was destined to be friends with. The moment I first glimpsed them grumbling in their living room about the dreadfulness of being poor, I thought, Aha! Kindred spirits.

    Little Women is a coming of age saga following the lives of the aforementioned March sisters (Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy-four girls who range in age from sixteen to twelve at the novel’s beginning) and the boy next door, Theodore (Laurie) Lawrence, who becomes best friends with the second oldest sister, the tomboyish Jo.

    The Marches live at Orchard House, and when the novel opens, we see that they are a family of reduced circumstances (hence, the grumbling in the opening scene). Their beloved father is away fighting in the Civil War, leaving the girls in the watchful care of their mother, whom they lovingly call Marmee. Marmee serves as the guiding force/conscience of the novel as she endeavors to shape and mold the character of her “little women.”

    Over the years, we follow the March sisters’ adventures, antics, mishaps, learn about their hopes and dreams (their castles in the air), share their disappointments and losses—share their lives—and we feel as if we are experiencing it all first-hand, along with them. At least I know I did.

    Some people say Little Women is saccharine, preachy, and/or old-fashioned. I couldn’t disagree more. It is a story about real people. They just happen to belong to a highly functional, loving family living in the late 1800s (if that is your idea of artificial sweetness, you have my pity). These girls don’t have it easy. The March girls work at thankless jobs for pitiful wages. They brave the freezing weather in threadbare coats with hot potatoes in their pockets to warm their icy fingers. They wear re-worked, shabby (last season’s) dresses to balls while other girls have the latest fashions from Paris. They make hard, brave choices, like choosing to marry for love when the expedient thing would have been to marry for money.

    I love(d) Little Women the same way you might love a real live, complicated person: despite what I consider glaring faults, despite being—on occasion—mystified by its choices, and despite the fact that it hurt and disappointed me.

    Here’s the thing: Little Women did not end the way I wanted it to. I’m not going to be a spoiler here, but I will say that Little Women is no fairy tale. The nine-year-old that I was loved a fairy tale, and this book didn’t have the happily ever after she was yearning for. At least, not in the traditional sense. More in the “and they made the best of things” sense. But, after all, in reality, that’s pretty much the way life turns out. It turns out the way it does and then you make the most of it. That was a hard lesson for me to learn as an eager, bookish kid pouring over her favorite novel, but it turned out to be a valuable one, one that was impressed upon me over the many years, re-reads, and hours spent pondering and wondering and finally coming to terms/peace with the way Louisa May Alcott chose to tell her story.

  • Review of Best Friends for Frances

    best friends for frances

    My little sister purchased the print and audio versions of this book at the book fair when we were little kids. We read and listened to it incessantly (well, we stopped to eat, sleep, and go to school), but most of our other waking hours for about a week or so were consumed with Best Friends for Frances by Russell Hoban (writer) and Lillian Hoban (illustrator).

    Frances and Albert are best friends. They are also badgers who do not wear clothes, but that is completely irrelevant and only an issue if you are reading the book. Personally, as a child, I preferred listening to the book because of the cute, clever, and catchy songs (although, the illustrations are perfectly delightful, too).

    Albert proves to be a bad best friend (a bbf, which is quite different than a bff) because he chooses to play baseball with the boys and leaves bf Frances (a girl) out in the cold. Frances is not a happy badger.

    She decides to teach Albert a lesson by fixing a picnic that includes all of his favorite, mouth-watering treats and inviting her little sister, Gloria (previously thought to be a too-little-to-play-with pest) to go on a best-friends-no-boy-outing.

    Frances’s ploy works. Albert comes crawling back to her with his tail (yes, badgers do have tails) between his legs. And Frances learns that little sister Gloria is not a pest, but can also be a friend.

    And we all learn valuable lessons about being a true friend, being more inclusive, and learning to like your younger siblings (they have a lot to offer…my younger sister shared her book with me!) In other words, or as Frances puts it, we’re not just friends ‘when it’s goodies in the hamper time.’

  • Review of Harvey’s Hideout

    I decided to dedicate this post to a review of an old childhood favorite, in honor of Throwback Thursday.Harveys hideout

    Harvey’s Hideout, written by Russel Hoban and illustrated by Lillian Hoban, is the first book I remember holding in my hand as a very small, pre-preschool-aged child.

    It is the charming story of two muskrat siblings, Harvey and Mildred, who are having some “issues” getting along. Harvey is the “stupid, no-good” little brother who annoys his older sister Mildred, who in turn is “mean and rotten.” In truth (and as their muskrat father wisely points out) neither is really stupid, no-good, mean, or rotten. They just seem that way to each other. Ah…memories of childhood.

    Not that my older sister was ever quite as mean to me as Mildred was nor was I ever quite as bratty or annoying as Harvey.  Still, the colorful illustrations depicting the idyllic family life of a muskrat family charmed me and provided ample fodder for  my imagination. I wanted a party dress like Mildred’s and fantasized that when I ran away from home, I’d carry my belonging in a bindle (bag on a stick) like Harvey.

    I found this book several years ago at a second-hand book store and, reading it as an adult, I was happy to see that it hasn’t lost its charm. I still love the colorful illustrations which probably endeared muskrats to generations of readers, which was a feat in itself. I mean, I’ve seen muskrats in person, and they are not this adorable. But, I must say, this time around, I appreciated the book’s very realistic portrayal of sibling interactions.

    Then there was the joy of finding all of the things that went over my head as a child (which were probably snuck in just to give parents a chuckle) for instance the part where the muskrat children list all the children in the neighborhood and the reasons they may or may not be suitable playmates…(they are not allowed to get mixed up with the weasels).

    Hilarious.

    Reading this as an adult reminded me what a gift siblings can be. At the end of the day, all you really have is each other and that’s a lot. What a nice lesson to find in a children’s book.

    I wonder if this book is the real reason my sisters and I always got along so well.

  • Lily’s Review: The Blue Castle

    Lily’s Review: The Blue Castle

    Josie and I recently read a book that we both liked, but probably for different reasons. I believe she intends to post a review on Goodreads, but I don’t have a Goodreads account (I suspect you have to be a human to get one, which in my opinion is grossly unfair), so I thought I would beat her to the punch by posting my review here on her my our blog.

    The book was called The Blue Castle, by L.M. Montgomery. As soon as I saw her getting her iPad out, I ran over and strategically positioned myself on her lap in order to read along with her. Being a cat, I don’t have the luxury of going to the library or bookstore or downloading eBooks of my choice, so I must wait until Josie starts one. Personally, I wanted to read Vonnegut’s Cat’s Cradle, but I was bored and in no position to be choosy, so I cozied up to Josie and began to read in the most nonchalant manner I could muster. A cat must maintain this attitude if she is to avoid being condescended to. Otherwise it’s a lot of, “Oh, how cute…look at her…she thinks she’s reading!” It is not to be endured!

    The Blue Castle by L.M. Montgomery

    At first blush, The Blue Castle is a story not unlike most of the stories Josie likes to read. It is about an unmarried girl named Valancy Stirling. She is what you humans would unkindly refer to as an old maid (we cats have no such term).

    Valancy lives in a rather shabby brick house with her mean widowed mother and an equally mean widowed cousin. Things are bleak for Valancy, but from the picture on the cover, it seems a foregone conclusion that at some point in this story she is going to find LOVE and then she is going to live happily ever after. That was fine with me. I’m not devoid of feeling. I’m not anti-love. I love chicken, tuna…and okay, I admit it, I love Josie (don’t tell her I said that, I wouldn’t want her to get smug).

    In the meantime, Valancy has to endure a pack of crazy relatives which, from what I can tell about humans, is not all that unusual (one of the good things about being a cat is that you never have to face large family gatherings where family members annoy or embarrass you). Valancy’s crazy relatives—the Stirling clan—provide much of the comic relief in this story. Comic relief is needed because parts of the story line are a bit heavy. (Spoiler alert: early on, Valancy finds out she is going to die).

    So, you might think this book is a downer, but trust me, it is not. You might also think it is a routine love story, but it’s not that either. Imagine my surprise, when we’d gotten about 10% into the story, I realized that this book, this masterpiece by L.M. Montgomery was full of feline undertones.

    Valancy, you see, is a cat lover. She wants a cat but her mean, prejudiced, narrow-minded mother won’t let her have one. The reason? It is too shocking, too mean, too hateful for me to repeat, but you can read it for yourself:

    Third Cousin Aaron Gray had been scratched by a cat and had blood-poisoning in his finger. “Cats are most dangerous animals,” said Mrs. Frederick. “I would never have a cat about the house.” She glared significantly at Valancy through her terrible glasses. Once, five years ago, Valancy had asked if she might have a cat. She had never referred to it since, but Mrs. Frederick still suspected her of harbouring the unlawful desire in her heart of hearts.

    Okay, first I had to wonder, what did third Cousin Aaron Gray do to provoke the cat to scratch him and how do we know that was the cause the of blood-poisoning??? But then Valancy—in a startlingly bold move (up until this point in the story, she had been pretty much a doormat)—stands up to her mother and other snobbish relatives, right in the middle of a family dinner:

    “People who don’t like cats,” said Valancy, attacking her dessert with a relish, “always seem to think that there is some peculiar virtue in not liking them.”

    The family is shocked and horrified, but I immediately began to like this girl. She uses just the right blend of wit and irony to achieve a subtle and poignant humor. I must say, tears came to my eyes over her heroic defense of my kind. I think this is a funny line though, because it is all too true. Some people don’t like cats. Well, there are some humans that I’m not particularly fond of, but I don’t go around making up stories about their tendency to spread germs or question their cleanliness. I simply torture them by jumping on their laps when they are visiting (ROTFLOL).

    But there’s more. I would also like to point out that L.M. Montgomery makes brilliant use of the literary device called foreshadowing because cats turn out to be a major theme in the unfolding of Valancy’s story. I don’t want to give too much away, but here is a bit of self-disclosure from the man who may or may not turn out to be the love of  Valancy’s life:

    “I have two cats there. Banjo and Good Luck. Adorable animals. Banjo is a big, enchanting, grey devil-cat. Striped, of course. I don’t care a hang for any cat that hasn’t stripes. I never knew a cat who could swear as genteely and effectively as Banjo. His only fault is that he snores horribly when he is asleep. Luck is a dainty little cat. Always looking wistfully at you, as if he wanted to tell you something. Maybe he will pull it off sometime. Once in a thousand years, you know, one cat is allowed to speak. My cats are philosophers—neither of them ever cries over spilt milk.”

    Sounds like a keeper to me, and those two absolutely lovely characters, Good Luck and Banjo, turn out to be key players. For example, when things go awry, (of course they would, you didn’t expect smooth sailing, did you? Remember your Shakespeare: the course of true love and all that. Please tell me I’m not the only one who’s read Shakespeare) notice what Valancy laments:

    The camp-fires—all their little household jokes and phrases and catch words—their furry beautiful cats—the lights agleam on the fairy islands—canoes skimming over Mistawis in the magic of morning— (emphasis mine, all mine).

    All in all, I’d say The Blue Castle is a good read. I highly recommend it and I would readily add it to the list of my favorite books. I am surprised, shocked, nay, appalled that this book is not more highly regarded in the field of kitty literature.

    I sincerely hope you read it and love it as much as I did.

    Yours truly,

    Lily

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