Remember way back when I said I would do more reading, and briefly review the books I read for you, my lone blog audience member?
The last book I read was The Hunger Games, and it was fantastic. How fantastic? Well you can go back and read the review. What happened then? It took a few more days to get my hands on the two sequels to The Hunger Games, Catching Fire, and The Mockingjay and each one I read in a day. I should also mention that my husband was also unable to put these books down.
And that is the last I read. In fact, since then other books I had ordered through the library, The Immortal Life ofmHenrietta Lachs and Clockwork Angel, came in. But I have no desire to read them. Suzanne Collins, your books have ruined reading for me. Ok just kidding. But it will take me some time. I just renewed Henrietta Lachs for the third time, partly because I hope to still read it, and partly because I am too lazy to go to the library and return it.
Showing posts with label book review. Show all posts
Showing posts with label book review. Show all posts
Monday, January 9, 2012
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
The Hunger Games
A friend recently invited me to a new Meetup group for Muslim families in Bergen County. I know my husband will have little interest in this, as it is another social media network, and he says he hates social media (or at least pretends to, while he does have a Facebook, LInked In & Twitter account).
So I am attending their first book club meeting next weekend. Husbands are invited, but I won't extend this to my husband as I know he has too much on his plate for me to even ask. On the other hand, I have been overjoyed to start picking up books again. I am loving reading again, and while the baby does not make it easy, there are those rare moments where she grabs a book of her own and joins me on the sofa. Plus she has recently started "reading" out loud herself, which is a series of words she knows, intertwined with babble. But to my ears, it is music.
The first choice of the book club is "The Hunger Games" by Suzanne Collins. I have to admit a while back I read a quick summary of this book on Wikipedia and it did not interest me. In fact I would not have read it now, except that my friend Maleeha handed me her copy, so I had no reason not to. That was yesterday. Less than 24 hours and 374 pages later, I am done. Perhaps this is a recurring theme with me, but I could not put it down. Now that I think about it, it is recurring, but often has little to do with the quality of the book, just my need to know the ending NOW.
But in this case, I loved the book. I believe this book is aimed at an audience at least a decade younger than me, but since I've never really grown up, I really enjoyed reading it.
I really don't want to give much away as it is a long story, and shocking story at times. However the author has done a great job of making it real; I feel like it can happen, must happen in some part of the world. Not in my neighborhood, where survival means driving to the closest supermarket, and turning up the thermostat. But I know in other parts of the world people have to do whatever they can do to ward off starvation, a major part of this book. Could I do the same, where I pushed to struggle for my own existence? I pray to Allah that I never have to find out.
So I am attending their first book club meeting next weekend. Husbands are invited, but I won't extend this to my husband as I know he has too much on his plate for me to even ask. On the other hand, I have been overjoyed to start picking up books again. I am loving reading again, and while the baby does not make it easy, there are those rare moments where she grabs a book of her own and joins me on the sofa. Plus she has recently started "reading" out loud herself, which is a series of words she knows, intertwined with babble. But to my ears, it is music.
The first choice of the book club is "The Hunger Games" by Suzanne Collins. I have to admit a while back I read a quick summary of this book on Wikipedia and it did not interest me. In fact I would not have read it now, except that my friend Maleeha handed me her copy, so I had no reason not to. That was yesterday. Less than 24 hours and 374 pages later, I am done. Perhaps this is a recurring theme with me, but I could not put it down. Now that I think about it, it is recurring, but often has little to do with the quality of the book, just my need to know the ending NOW.
But in this case, I loved the book. I believe this book is aimed at an audience at least a decade younger than me, but since I've never really grown up, I really enjoyed reading it.
I really don't want to give much away as it is a long story, and shocking story at times. However the author has done a great job of making it real; I feel like it can happen, must happen in some part of the world. Not in my neighborhood, where survival means driving to the closest supermarket, and turning up the thermostat. But I know in other parts of the world people have to do whatever they can do to ward off starvation, a major part of this book. Could I do the same, where I pushed to struggle for my own existence? I pray to Allah that I never have to find out.
The Screwtape Letters/ The Help
Next up on my reading list was C.S. Lewis' "The Screwtape Letters." I read the first chapter, and about half of the second, and felt I was done, I had read the whole book.
The book consists of chapters, which are actually letters written from the Devil to his "henchmen" on how to deceive and mislead men. An interesting point was made in the first chapter, and that was not to allow man think or reason, to keep his distracted and focused on trivial, worldly matters. That way there would be no room in his head for the constant reminder of God. I liked the chapter well enough.
The first half of the second chapter seemed practically identical, the same tone, the same vocabulary. That's what I decided to move on to the next book.
The next book recommended to me was "The Help" by Katheryn Stockett. I could not put this book down. It was written very well, flowing between the viewpoints of different characters, so you could almost imagine what each person went through. And that made it hard to hate anyone. Well almost anyone.
It's the story of a white woman working with the African American help in well to do white houses in Jackson, Mississippi, telling their stories. Among them are bad ones and good ones, stories where the help is treated with kindness and generosity, yet all the while maintaining their position as the help. Never ever really on the same field as their employers.
As you can imagine, the characters trying to tell these stories were at great danger of being found out, though it wasn't something stressed in the book. As I read, my heart was constantly on edge, praying for them to succeed without being caught in the act.
I'd like to be more in depth with my review, but it's been a few weeks since I finished it. I loved it, and now that I have read the book, I want to watch the movie. I am sure it will pale in comparison, but I still expect to be entertained.
The book consists of chapters, which are actually letters written from the Devil to his "henchmen" on how to deceive and mislead men. An interesting point was made in the first chapter, and that was not to allow man think or reason, to keep his distracted and focused on trivial, worldly matters. That way there would be no room in his head for the constant reminder of God. I liked the chapter well enough.
The first half of the second chapter seemed practically identical, the same tone, the same vocabulary. That's what I decided to move on to the next book.
The next book recommended to me was "The Help" by Katheryn Stockett. I could not put this book down. It was written very well, flowing between the viewpoints of different characters, so you could almost imagine what each person went through. And that made it hard to hate anyone. Well almost anyone.
It's the story of a white woman working with the African American help in well to do white houses in Jackson, Mississippi, telling their stories. Among them are bad ones and good ones, stories where the help is treated with kindness and generosity, yet all the while maintaining their position as the help. Never ever really on the same field as their employers.
As you can imagine, the characters trying to tell these stories were at great danger of being found out, though it wasn't something stressed in the book. As I read, my heart was constantly on edge, praying for them to succeed without being caught in the act.
I'd like to be more in depth with my review, but it's been a few weeks since I finished it. I loved it, and now that I have read the book, I want to watch the movie. I am sure it will pale in comparison, but I still expect to be entertained.
Friday, October 21, 2011
More book reviews on the way
I got around to reading a few more books recommended to me, The Screwtape Letters and The Help. I will review them in further detail later.
For now I have picked up what I beleive is the latest installment in the Shopaholic series, Mini Shopaholic. Thought it has not been over two or three years since I read the earlier books, I am already annoyed with the main character, Becky. I have become a mother, as had she, but she has not grown up one bit. Ugh.
For now I have picked up what I beleive is the latest installment in the Shopaholic series, Mini Shopaholic. Thought it has not been over two or three years since I read the earlier books, I am already annoyed with the main character, Becky. I have become a mother, as had she, but she has not grown up one bit. Ugh.
Monday, September 26, 2011
The one about the book
I vaguely remember when I had started this blog wanting to do book reviews. I am not sure when I forgot about doing that, but here goes another try at it. The other day I was hit with the realization that I have not read a book, a real book, meant for my age group and without pictures or pop-up characters, in nearly two years. At least this was an easy fix, or so I thought.
Often my eighteen month old and I fight over the use of the laptop, ipad or even my cell phone. Naturally I assumed it was because kids love screens. I hate that she wants these things so I try to limit my use around her. A book would be different, right? Wrong! Every time I sat down with my first book in two years, Noor would run over, say "I want book", taking my book to the nearest sofa and plop down to read with the book in her lap. As frustrating as it was, I must admit I was proud of her.
On Saturday we took a family trip to the local library. I recently received many book recommendations from a few friends, via facebook, so I had decided to work my way down the list. The first book was "Mornings in Jenin," by Susan Abulhawa. Fiction, which is usually what I prefer to read.
Despite the battle over the book with my toddler, I was able to read it here and there and within 24 hours I got through its' 325 pages. In truth I had trouble putting it down or thinking of anything else until I got through it. I had forgotten how time consuming reading can be when you are someone like me who has the need to know how it ends.
I started off reading the book like it was any other piece of fiction. I was immediately drawn to and immersed in the lives of the characters, spanning several generations of a Palestine family from the 1940's and onwards. I planted myself on their farm, in their home, gathering their harvest by their side.
Then in 1948, the Israeli regime began threatening their homes, their lives, their livelihoods. I was engrossed in the world of guns, violence and the fear that they lived in, interspersed with happy moments, a marriage, a child being born. As I kept reading I was unable to remind myself that I was not in Palestine with them.
Halfway into the book it hit me hard. I really was not in their world. I looked around me, suddenly thrust into my reality, four sturdy walls, a soft bed, a ceiling not ridden with holes, listening to the sound of crickets chirping outside my windows, not bulldozers or guns.
And the it REALLY hit me. This was NOT fiction. These were characters based on real people in real situations. How could I have been so numb, so stupid, as to forget that I was not just reading a piece of fiction, I was in fact reading history. The realization was heartbreaking. When I hear or see the news of Palestine in the media, I am sad for them, but watching these characters who I had placed myself next to go through the actual events put everything in a different light. I could not be the same person after reading this book.
Often my eighteen month old and I fight over the use of the laptop, ipad or even my cell phone. Naturally I assumed it was because kids love screens. I hate that she wants these things so I try to limit my use around her. A book would be different, right? Wrong! Every time I sat down with my first book in two years, Noor would run over, say "I want book", taking my book to the nearest sofa and plop down to read with the book in her lap. As frustrating as it was, I must admit I was proud of her.
On Saturday we took a family trip to the local library. I recently received many book recommendations from a few friends, via facebook, so I had decided to work my way down the list. The first book was "Mornings in Jenin," by Susan Abulhawa. Fiction, which is usually what I prefer to read.
Despite the battle over the book with my toddler, I was able to read it here and there and within 24 hours I got through its' 325 pages. In truth I had trouble putting it down or thinking of anything else until I got through it. I had forgotten how time consuming reading can be when you are someone like me who has the need to know how it ends.
I started off reading the book like it was any other piece of fiction. I was immediately drawn to and immersed in the lives of the characters, spanning several generations of a Palestine family from the 1940's and onwards. I planted myself on their farm, in their home, gathering their harvest by their side.
Then in 1948, the Israeli regime began threatening their homes, their lives, their livelihoods. I was engrossed in the world of guns, violence and the fear that they lived in, interspersed with happy moments, a marriage, a child being born. As I kept reading I was unable to remind myself that I was not in Palestine with them.
Halfway into the book it hit me hard. I really was not in their world. I looked around me, suddenly thrust into my reality, four sturdy walls, a soft bed, a ceiling not ridden with holes, listening to the sound of crickets chirping outside my windows, not bulldozers or guns.
And the it REALLY hit me. This was NOT fiction. These were characters based on real people in real situations. How could I have been so numb, so stupid, as to forget that I was not just reading a piece of fiction, I was in fact reading history. The realization was heartbreaking. When I hear or see the news of Palestine in the media, I am sad for them, but watching these characters who I had placed myself next to go through the actual events put everything in a different light. I could not be the same person after reading this book.
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