"The Fault in Our Stars" by John Green

I'll be honest, I wasn't sure how this book was going to go. I mean, John Green writing about kids with cancer??? John Green, by his very nature, is supposed to make me laugh, not cry! (If you have not been exposed to the brilliance that is John Green, please stop reading this immediately, go to Youtube and type in his name. Indulge yourself for no less than 30 minutes before coming back to this post.) So I picked up the book with some trepidation, and though I'm not generally a gambler I decided to give it a go and take a risk with the next few hours of my life.

Before long, I found myself pleasantly surprised with how such an utterly depressing plot could still be so "John Greenesque." Basically, The Fault in Our Stars is the story of two kids with cancer who fall in love. I know, sounds rather cliche and sappy doesn't it? But the beauty of the story is that it is not. The main characters are these brilliantly precocious teens named Hazel Grace Lancaster and Augustus Waters. They are intelligent, sarcastic, witty, and unique among teenagers in their penchant to not take themselves too seriously. This attitude is in part due to a book they've read entitled an An Imperial Affliction written by an author who is, to quote Hazel and Augustus, quite a bit of a "douchebag." Their love for this book and for one another catapults them into a rather intense existential crisis that takes them all the way to Holland and back. In the process, they deal with the prospects of their own deaths and the fact that separation will come sooner that they would like. Somehow, in the midst of this ridiculously sad book about kids with cancer you find yourself actually laughing. It's not like a "haha, cancer is fun" kind of laughter, but more of a dark humor that pervades the story through the incredibly well-developed characterization of Hazel and Augustus. As a high school teacher, I must admit that I find the main characters a little hard to believe. I mean, my kids are funny every so often, but never as eloquently sardonic as these two! Clearly, John Green is behind this. But then again, it's not totally unbelievable. I suppose if you were a fairly intelligent teenager who'd been staring death in the face for the last five years you'd have to develop a satirical sense of humor as well. 

So in short, this is not a Jodi Piccoult or a Nicolas Sparks kind of book. And it won't be a Lifetime movie. It is truly John Greenian. It makes you laugh, but it'll also make you think. It is not about two perfect, sweet cancer kids fighting courageously in the face of death. There are moments of smashing basketball trophies, taking advantage of "cancer perks,"  fighting with parents, and crying tears of frustration and hopelessness. They make fun of Disneyworld, other kids with cancer, their nurses, and their depression counselor. There is some egging of cars, a whole lot of eye rolling, and even a bit of "scoodlypooping" as John Green is apt to say. Essentially it's a book about  kids who realize that they've lost the lottery. Cancer is not the problem. Dying is the problem. They are just a "side effect." In a world infected by Death, cancer is just one of the many side effects. 

For a young adult novel, I found this book pleasantly challenging and delightfully philosophical. At some points I had to reread certain conversations just to fully process the weight of their thoughts: What is our purpose here? Are we here to change the universe, or just to observe and leave it undisturbed? Does our existence make the world a better place, or does it just produce scars when we die? And are those scars worth it? Are the scars of loss worth the joy that preceded it? 

These are all questions that are not easily answerable and certainly cannot be fully dissected in a 300 page young adult novel. I didn't really come away with any new understandings about life or existence, but I did come away with a deeper appreciation for the art of humor. Some use humor is used rather unartistically and for no purpose but to disgust and entertain (i.e. Daniel Tosh). That is cheap humor. Others, like John Green, Stephan Colbert, and John Oliver, know how to use humor appropriately and intellectually. That is a talent and an art that I can truly admire. 

"Dirty Little Secrets" by CJ Omolulu

So I have this weird fascination with hoarders. I really don't understand it; I've watched those shows on a few occasions and I am just so enthralled by them. Maybe it's because my psychological disorders tend to shift in the other direction (my husband will attest to this as he often comes home to find much of his stuff "missing" when it's actually just been put away) or maybe it's just because hoarder shows appeal to that natural human penchant of self-righteousness. We watch them because we feel better about ourselves in the end. I don't know what it is, but Dirty Little Secrets drew me into the story of Lucy, a girl trying to hide her mother's hoarding tendencies by remaining aloof and secretive with those closest to her.

This is the story of a teen girl who lives a normal life on the outside, but never lets anyone on the inside - both literally and figuratively. The last time a repair man was at the house he refused to do the work because he could not get through the piles of stuff. As a result, Lucy and her mother live without hot water and with no working kitchen appliances. Lucy routinely showers at the local gym and spends as much time as she possibly can at her best friend's house.

As far as teen books go, this was filled with your typical plot points - boys, friends, school, etc. However, the hoarding element was something new. Lucy hates her mother's lifestyle and is pained by her mother's deteriorating health, which is exacerbated by the conditions in the home. Lucy tries desperately to clean up the house at times, but to no avail. Her mother won't stand for it; everything in the home is a "treasure." When Lucy finally makes a best friend and begins to make some progress with a boy she likes, you, the reader desperately hopes that she will come clean (pun fully intended). All you want is for Lucy to tell someone, to give her friends a little credit and trust them to stick with her despite the mess.

While I will not reveal the ending of the book, I will tell you that it left me extremely dissatisfied. Thankfully, a student informed me that there was on additional chapter on the author's website. This did help to bring the sense of closure that I needed; although in truth, I must wonder, is there ever total closure when one's childhood is shaped by a hoarding parent?

Ok, now I need to go vacuum something.

"The Girls of Atomic City: The Untold Story of the Women Who Helped Win WWII" by Denise Kiernan

After recently reading Full Body Burden, the story of the Rocky Flats nuclear weapons plant, I felt compelled to go back and review Girls of Atomic City, a book that I finished a few months ago, just before life got busy again with school.  However, Denise Kiernan's book has stuck with me, and thus gained the right to a place in my blog.

I first heard about the book when the author was interviewed on The Daily Show. I immediately put it on my reading list because I correctly sensed that it contained several topics I love: American history, WWII, women's rights - oh, and atomic bombs - because that's always fun (just kidding NSA...I know you're reading this). The book is about the women who went to work at the Clinton Engineer Works (CEW) in Tennessee, better known today as Oak Ridge National Laboratory. The author follows  the stories of several women employees, most of whom were young and single since married women were still expected to remain at home. The plant acquired large amounts of uranium and was responsible separating out the unstable isotopes of uranium 235. This fissile uranium was then sent on to New Mexico's Los Alamos facility where Oppenheimer and others became the "destroyer[s] of worlds." Secrecy at CEW was paramount. The community surrounding CEW had no real idea what was going on there. Inside, you found a weird microcosm. Families with children lived in prefabricated housing, single women lived in dormitories (where their activities were closely monitored to prevent any scandalous carousing), and African-Americans, still segregated, lived in substandard "hutments." There were schools, community centers, cafeterias, stores, and of course giant buildings housing the uranium-separation facilities. After work, people gathered for sporting events, barbecues, dancing, and all the other normal activities of 1940s life. But no one was allowed to talk about work. Under no conditions could you say anything about where you worked within the compound, what you did, or who you worked with. Wives could not ask their husbands how their days went, and the children never knew exactly what their father did to earn a living. The authorities even recruited some of the workers to moonlight as spies and report anyone who talked about work in their off-hours.

The weirdest part of this microcosm was that most of the people actually staffing the facility did not know exactly what they were doing or what they were working with. There were theories, to be sure. Some of the higher-ups obviously had a more accurate knowledge of what was going on, but few people knew that they were all part of a massive plan to create a technology that could destroy the earth. The women profiled in the book served in a variety of roles. Some worked as secretaries, others as chemists, others monitored the machines controlling the enrichment process, and African-Americans were relegated to the janitorial tasks. Not many people knew that they were working with or near a dangerous element. Those tasked with monitoring the machines had no idea what these machines were creating. They were told to just turn the dials and keep needles and gauges within a certain range. Additionally, nothing in the Manhattan Project was called by its real name; even the bomb itself was referred to as "the gadget." You didn't ask questions. You just did what you were told.

Somehow it all worked. Before reading this book I had no idea how many people were actually involved in the project. The number of workers at Oak Ridge alone peaked at around 82,000. Had Clinton Engineer Works not taken such careful precautions to keep its workers in the dark while using propaganda and fear to ensure that lips remained sealed, the Manhattan Project could have easily fallen into the lap of the enemy. (We found out later that the Soviets had infiltrated the project in Los Alamos, but fortunately they were on our side until 1945.)

In contrast to the Rocky Flats book, Atomic City did not address any of the potential environmental and health hazards of uranium enrichment. After reading about Rocky Flats I began to wonder how the workers at Oak Ridge fared and whether there were any noticeable environmental impacts in the area. While Rocky Flat tended to verge more on the anti-government side, this book really emphasized the  patriotism of the workers who joined the ranks to win the war.  Once the bombs were dropped and the war came to an end, the secret project was revealed. Most the women were overjoyed and proud of their part in the war effort. Many were just as happy to be off the farm and on to a new life.

Now whether or not you agree with how the United States chose to end the war, you have to admit that WWII permanently expanded opportunities for women in America. Many of the girls coming in off the farms and mining towns were carving out a new kind of future for themselves - one that had never been attempted by their mothers and grandmothers. The "Rosie the Riveters" of this war moved women's rights forward. Of course, it would continue on a slow trajectory. The 1950s would pose a setback as women returned to the realm of babymaking and fine china, but their daughters would go to college right along with their sons.Those WWII women had a taste of freedom, a taste of a life outside the confines of domesticity and they wanted their daughters to have that same opportunity. They opened up the eyes of a nation. Women could and would achieve more than tradition had dictated. They could not be held back.

(And to the NSA agent who is reading this post because of all the trigger words herein - be assured, I have not taken chemistry or physics since high school, and I remember very little of it. I can't even work my husband's Playstation, let alone build something destructive.  I'm a history nerd, and a bit of a feminist, but still, completely harmless. However, thanks for stopping by, I hope you enjoyed your visit.)

Transatlantic by Colum McCann

This is the first work I've read by Colum McCann, and I'm sure now that it will not be the last. In Transatlantic, he artfully weaves together several stories of Irish and Americans on both sides of the Atlantic. At first it is odd how he takes the reader back and forth through the decades with no real semblance of order. But soon the puzzle comes together as the second half of the book unfolds. The various characters are connected through time and through a mutual love and reverence for the land of Ireland.

The book begins with the historic transatlantic flight of WWI veterans, Alcock and Brown. Their endeavor to fly from Newfoundland to County Galway sets the stage for the subsequent journeys throughout the book. We meet an American diplomat in Ireland working hard to broker a peace deal between the North and the South - all the while promising his wife and son that he'll be home by Easter. His efforts lead to the signing of the Good Friday Agreement of 1998, an historic step forward in relations between the North and the South. We meet a mother and daughter journalism team, a poor servant girl named Lily Duggan, and Frederick Douglass himself. Douglass's story intrigued me the most. I am ashamed to admit that I did not know Douglass traveled to Ireland during the Great Potato Famine. He was struck by the enduring dilemma that all great reformers must face - a sincere desire for justice coupled with an utter inability to solve all the world's problems. The abolitionist could not at the same time work to free his own people and free the Irish from their starvation and economic bondage to England. We know from the history books that the famine would bring many Irish to American shores where they would desperately seek jobs in the Northeastern factories, crowd into tenement slums, and eek out meager existences amidst a xenophobic American population.

Lily Duggan, an Irish servant girl was one such immigrant, hoping for a new life in America. Inspired by Douglass, who stayed in the home of her employer, she courageously set out for the new world, alone. After many years she would find the American Dream, if only for a fleeting moment in her life. While enduring her share of adversity and misfortune, Lily laid the foundation for future generations of strong women. These descendants eventually found themselves back in Ireland, making the country their home during the decades infamously called "The Troubles." The violence between the Catholics and Protestants hit close to home for many Irish families, and McCann does not skirt around this issue either. There is no political agenda, just a reminder of how sectarian violence instantaneously and often arbitrarily leaves families mourning in the wake of tragedy.

The stories woven together through time remind us to cherish the histories in all of our families. Our lives often take us beyond the borders of our homelands, but the lessons passed down from our parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents will always travel with along. I too am grateful for my own family legacy - for hardworking men and women who, nearly two centuries ago, carved out a livelihood despite the brutal Western New York winters. I'm so thankful that I grew up in a family that placed a high value on education, hard-work, and personal responsibility. And I am blessed to be following in the footsteps of forefathers and foremothers who've left a heritage of strong, unwavering faith in God.

Lastly, for all you fellow lovers of the Emerald Isle, it is important to understand that Transatlantic does not portray a quaint and touristy Ireland. The book honestly depicts the joys and sorrows facing Irish, Americans, and the immigrants to both continents. But Colum McCann does this beautifully. He is a true artist, whose ability to put words together on paper draws me in and kindles my own writing ambitions.

Why I Will Not Watch the Superbowl

Harper's Weekly, September 27, 1902

Artist: William A. Rogers

"...the people that once bestowed commands, consulships, legions, and all else, now meddle no more and longs eagerly for just two things — bread and circuses." - Juvenal, Roman Satirist, 55-127 CE

I have a huge problem with American Football, and by extension all professional sports. I believe that pro-sports truly characterizes our society's most serious short-comings. If we liken ourselves to Rome, then professional sports are our "bread and circuses." As it was during the Roman Empire, 21st century sporting events are used to quell the masses into a state of apathy. In the waning years of the empire, Rome's senators were mere puppets in the face of expanding imperial power. The duties of citizenship fell out of style as Romans engorged themselves on entertainment and free food. According to George Mason University historian Peter Stearns,

"Rome's upper classes became steadily more pleasure-seeking, turning away from the political devotion and economic vigor that characterized the republic and early empire." (World Civilizations, 4th Ed., page 100)

Let me ask you are few questions. First, are you more dedicated to watching your favorite team than to voting in off-year elections? Do you spend money on tickets and sports paraphernalia but vote down the school budget initiatives? Do you know more about last night's game than you do about Obamacare? If you've answered negatively to these questions, then fine, go enjoy the game. But if you have answered affirmatively, then you are part of the problem.

First, a little history. Believe it or not professional sports have not always been a part of American life. We somehow subsisted for years without it. Sports grew up with the Industrial Age. Once working hours became standardized, entertainment industries grew to fill in the "leisure time" that many middle and upper class Americans enjoyed on evenings and weekends. Football started at college campuses in the 1860s and the NFL didn't get off the ground until 1920. In addition to football, Americans entertained themselves by attending baseball games and boxing matches. Before the T.V. Americans who could not attend the games would often congregate around the the radio.

Fast forward to 2014. The amount of money spent on professional sports is astronomical and quite frankly, more than a little ridiculous. It's not the players' fault. We live in a mostly free-market society where prices are determined by the laws of supply and demand. And we have demanded more and more entertainment.

I, for one, have chosen not to demand college or professional sports. Here are a few reasons why:

1. It all starts with college football: To be quite honest it starts in high school. I've witnessed first-hand the difference in the level of excitement over football victories vs. debate team victories. I work in a high school that has won State Championships in debate and football. The debate team has never left for a tournament with the band playing (though, most of the debate kids would be utterly mortified if that ever happened.) That being said, I realize that for most people watching a football game is more interesting than a debate round. However, it is evidence that our society is actively devaluing education.

My biggest problem with professional sports is actually their connection to college sports. We use colleges as a training ground for the professional arena. However, this system is incredibly flawed. In her recent study, UNC learning specialist and whistleblower, Mary Willingham, reported that she had athletes coming to her with a third grade reading level. Willingham's research led her to conclude that about 60% of the school's revenue-producing athletes read between a 4th and 8th grade level and as many as 10% were reading at a 3rd grade level. (Full story here) UNC fraud also extended to athletes gaining credit for classes that never met, and for forgery on grade reports. (AP)

Unfortunately, the abuse does not stop at UNC. As many as 50% of athletes are clustered in about three different majors - a statistic that I find suspicious even if it does not necessarily prove that they have easier classes.(AP) A CNN investigation following Willingham's report confirmed lower standards are common in major public colleges across the country. The NCAA reported that about 30 students playing on revenue-making sports teams have SAT scores below 700 - unacceptable - but still a fairly low number of students proportional to the number of revenue-producing collegiate athletes. Deeper investigations, however, showed the following:

"...a CNN investigation revealed that most schools have between 7% and 18% of revenue sport athletes who are reading at an elementary school level. Some had even higher percentages of below-threshold athletes.

According to those academic experts, the threshold for being college-literate is a score of 400 on the SAT critical reading or writing test. On the ACT, that threshold is 16.

Many student-athletes scored in the 200s and 300s on the SAT critical reading test -- a threshold that experts told us was an elementary reading level and too low for college classes. The lowest score possible on that part of the SAT is 200, and the national average is 500.

On the ACT, we found some students scoring in the single digits, when the highest possible score is 36 and the national average is 20. In most cases, the team average ACT reading score was in the high teens." (Full story here)

In short, this is appalling to me. It literally depresses me that many of our learning institutions value revenue-producing sports over education. It saddens me that adults are putting teenagers in situations like this, thereby teaching them a host of twisted lessons: "It is more valuable that you entertain people than it is for you learn to read and write." "When it comes to making money it's okay to bend the rules." "It doesn't matter that hardworking students are not getting into this school because you are here, they are inherently less valuable than you because they are geeks and you are a jock." Not only are many football and basketball athletes the least qualified, but they are also the most popular students on campus! (That being said, I'll take an enginerd with a pocket protector over an athlete any day.) You do not see this same level of misappropriation of values when it comes to education in Europe or Asia. Colleges are a place to learn. Done. I'm not saying that they are better places to live; both regions do have their share of problems and soccer/cricket rivalries, but when it comes to education I'd feel far more at home in a place like Finland.

2. The NFL is a tax-exempt organization: I believe it is wrong that the NFL is categorized as a 501(c)(6) organization which exempts it from paying taxes. Granted, the teams themselves pay taxes, it's just the National Football League that is exempt. However, the NFL can pay its commissioner $30 million dollars annually, while it cannot afford to pay taxes? Additionally, cities have used public funds to build stadiums. They claim it's alright because it boosts the local economy in the neighborhoods surrounding the stadium - which is true - for about 12 days of the year. Hard to believe? See this related article on NPR.

3. Children in Africa don't have access to clean water while we pay $5 for a Coke at our local NFL stadium. I just can't get behind an industry where the average revenue for a team is 1.17 billion dollars. (And yes, you can say the same of Hollywood, but my support of that industry is pretty much limited to $1 Redbox movies.) The other day I saw a story on Al Jazeera about a Syrian refugee who was being forced into marriage with a landlord to save her family from eviction. I just can't cheer on overpaid athletes while THIS is happening around the world. The money you spent on that overpriced stadium Coke could vaccinate several children.

4. Football players are not people I respect: I love dogs, so I despise Michael Vick. As the mother of a dog who was most likely abused in her former life, there is no one I'd like to beat up more than Michael Vick. If I ever encounter him I will have to consciously restrain myself from delivering a swift kick between his legs to defend the honor of my dog and all dogs who've been abused by such lowlifes. (Although, most likely I wouldn't even recognize Vick in the first place.) Last year I met a dog scarred by the abuse that he took as a bait dog in a dog-fighting ring. I'll never forget that. The fact that Vick is out of jail and playing for the Philadelphia Eagles enrages me. I hate Vick so much that I commanded my husband to NEVER draft Vick for Fantasy Football. (My husband dutifully obeyed, but I think more because of Vick's lack of football prowess than for any moral reasons.)

There is always the claim the football players have a penchant for domestic violence. Now statistically, NFL players actually have a much lower rate of domestic violence than the general population. According to a Duke University study, the domestic violence rate among NFL players is half of what it is among the general population. However, what would happen if you were to compare football players with other members of the same educational or socioeconomic status? The study admits that there is no data to run this comparison, but hypothesizes that you would see a very different conclusion. College-educated, upper-income Americans tend to have fewer domestic violence convictions. Is this true of college-educated, multi-million dollar athletes? I don't know. But what I do know is that when they get in trouble they often get off easy and suffer few consequences for their actions.

5. I'd rather go run than sit on my arse and watch other people do it: This is really a personal preference thing. When I watch the Olympics I kind of feel like a slacker. (Even though I workout about 5 hours a week and recently ran a half marathon.) When I watch someone else running, I always feel like I should be doing it too. I truly don't understand how people can sit on their couches and eat queso while watching other people burn calories.

6. Football players are gross. Another personal preference thing - In short, when I pursue media, I generally gravitate toward figures with whom I would enjoy spending time with. I'm pretty sure I could while away a good hour or two talking to J.K. Rowling, Julian Fellowes, Doris Kearns Goodwin, or Diane Rehm. I will not watch football because, quite frankly, I think football players are gross and scary looking. If I were to meet one for coffee I'd have nothing to talk about. I'd probably run and hide.

In conclusion

Most people I hang around are fairly intelligent human beings who manage to watch football, vote AND support education. That's fine, I don't judge you. My husband is one of those people and I love him (Though he's smart enough to know that when Downton Abbey comes on, football goes away!)

I have personally made the choice to abstain from supporting the industry until teachers are paid the same as football players. This means I will not be watching the Superbowl or any of the ads. On Superbowl Sunday I will curl up in my reading loft with a good book and a hot cup of tea. My husband and dog will watch the Superbowl together - unless Michael Vick is playing. If Michael Vick is playing my dog will not be watching.

"Full Body Burden" by Kristen Iversen

Full Body Burden: Growing Up in the Shadow of Rocky Flats is a riveting blend of history and science, memoir and investigative journalism, personal awakening and academic research. It's hard to imagine such an amalgam of styles - but it works. Kristen Iversen's memoir begins in her childhood during the Cold War. It is an era where America was obsessed with "keeping up appearances," keeping secrets hidden, keeping problems buried under the surface. That is the theme in Iversen's life.

Her family lived in a country neighborhood where they owned horses, dogs, and various other creatures. Her mother stayed home, her father owned his own law practice. Down the road was a factory that purportedly produced cleaning products.

But that was only the surface. Underneath is a much more harrowing story. Kristen's dad was an alcoholic, their finances were in disarray, and her mother struggled with bouts of depression. And the plant? It made bombs. Nuclear bombs.

To be specific, the plant down the road made plutonium pits, the core of a nuclear bomb. The area residents had no idea that two fires - one in 1957 and one in 1969 - released significant amounts of plutonium into the air. The second fire nearly led to a major nuclear accident; but for a small stroke of luck Denver would have experienced a nuclear disaster on the scale of Chernobyl. The newspaper story was buried deep on page 23.

Residents also did not realize that the local water sources were contaminated with plutonium run-off. Radioactive waste stored in rusty and leaking barrels at the back of the plant ran into the creek which fed the nearby lake where neighborhood children swam. The plant's incinerator also illegally burned plutonium waste while families inhaled it downwind. Plutonium got lodged in their lungs and local children began dying of cancer.

Yet none of this was made public. Employees were required to maintain confidentiality - in the interest of national security of course! Whistleblowers lost their jobs and environmental protesters were jailed. Finally, in 1990 the government listened. The FBI raided the plant and uncovered a litany of incriminating evidence documenting years of mismanagement and 3000 pounds of "missing" plutonium - plutonium that can be found in the sediment, soil, and animals surrounding Rocky Flats. In 1992 a Grand Jury indicted the contractor with criminal charges. However, they got off easy with a plea bargain. A few years later residents of the area tried to collect damages in a class-action lawsuit. Research had shown that one-millionth of a gram of plutonium can put a person at high risk for cancer, and medical doctors ran studies in which they found significant levels of plutonium in the bodies of those who lived near Rocky Flats. However, the claimants lost in an appeal. They appeals court said they could not prove a direct connection between the nearby nuclear weapons plant and the residents' deteriorating health.

Today Rocky Flats is a wildlife refuge. The Forest and Wildlife Service's website says nothing about plutonium's 24,000 year half-life (meaning that it'll be 240,000 years before the plutonium manufactured in the 1940s is gone.) The website does say that they monitor the soil and a water to promote optimal growth for plant life and managements of the animal populations. However the controversially haphazard cleanup of the 1990s failed to remove much of the  plutonium that escaped from the plant in its 30+ years of operation. Today, a burrowing animal can kick it up into the air, a deer walking into a pond or creek can bring plutonium-laced sediment to the surface, and any wildlife that comes into contact with plutonium particles can carry them afar. As a result hikers, bikers, and schoolchildren get to bring home a little souvenir from the Cold War (to be fair, the DOE claims it's not enough to pose a significant health risk).

Iversen's book comes with extensive footnotes that include court documents, interviews, scientific studies, medical reports, and news releases. However, just to make sure that I wasn't embarking down the road of anti-government conspiracy theory, I did my own research externally. A brief round of fact-checking confirmed much of what I'd read, though there are disputes as to how much plutonium can cause a significant health risk. Regardless, I found no significant rebuttals to Iversen's research, only numerous awards and accolades associated Full Body Burden. 

So, if you don't really think this book is up your alley, that's fine. However, if you are ever in the Denver area stay on the safe side and avoid the Rocky Flats National Wildlife Refuge!


To hear an NPR interview with Kristen Iversen, click here

The Snow Child by Eowyn Ivey

The Snow Child is a perfect curl-up-on-a-snow-day-with-a-mug-of-hot-chocolate kind of read. It is a fairy tale for adults, based off the classic Russian tale "Snegurochka" or "The Snow Maiden." Eowyn Ivey choose to set her story in her own homeland, in the Alaskan outback of 1920. Jack and Mabel, middle-aged homesteaders are beginning life again in the harsh Alaskan wilderness. They are miles from the nearest town, far, far away from their families in Pennsylvania. Yet here they have achieved the kind of isolation they are seeking. Mabel is looking for an escape from the endless tea parties and social gatherings that only serve to emphasize how different she is from the other women who talk only of children and families. Jack and Mabel have been unable to have children. Their one child died at birth, a tragedy from which Mabel has never fully recovered.

While Jack is out clearing land Mabel is alone all day with her thoughts and her books. The marriage has grown as cold as the Alaskan wilderness around her. She soon finds that their Alaskan adventure is not turning out to be the blissful camaraderie of backbreaking labor and long satisfying days. It is lonely, dark and depressing. She thought Alaska would satisfy her empty soul. She is disappointed. So much so that she nearly drowns herself in the nearby river.

But all of this changes when a young child flits into the couple's life. Jack and Mabel determine that she is an orphan, living alone in the wilderness, hunting and trapping to stay alive. Eventually the child warms up to the couple and comes to their home for dinner. She tells them her name is Faina, but she reveals little about her background. Though she grows to love the couple, she is never tempted by their offers of a warm bed and a hot bath. Every winter night she disappears amidst the trees. Every summer she retreats to the mountains where she can live in the snowy landscape. As the years go by Faina returns each winter with the first snowfall. Yet only Jack and Mabel see the child. Their closest neighbors, the Bensons, think them crazy for seeing this "imaginary" child of the snow. They worry that Mabel is beset by cabin fever.

However, Faina's presence in the couple's life is changing everything. Soon Mabel is living the dream that she thought would be merely an illusion. She and Jack work the fields with the neighbor boy, Garrett Benson. The almost constant summertime sun brings in sufficient crops to sustain them through the winters, along with the game that Garrett and Faina bring them. As Faina grows up, Jack and Mabel slowly realize that they have become the girl's parents. And now, they must do what all parents eventually have to do - they must let her go.

What I really enjoyed about this book was the backdrop of the Alaskan wilderness where men and women survived on what they grew, caught, and raised. I enjoyed how the seasons changed - how darkness descended with the long winter nights, accompanied by a darkness in Mabel's spirit that was lifted only by the promise of a child coming back with the snow. Perhaps what I really enjoyed was reading about life in the harsh wilderness while curled up under a blanket. I was swept across the miles and the decades while staying snuggled up in my bed with my little dog warm by my side. Isn't that why we love to read after all? We can be whisked off to live adventures vicariously, without having to go out on cold winter nights. Oh, I enjoy Alaska from the deck of a cruise ship, in the mid-summer when the temperatures are mild and the sun shines all day and night. But if I'm going to experience the real Alaska, let me do it through the pages of a novel. When it's cold outside, and warm in my house, just give me a good book and my sense of adventure will be thoroughly quenched.