10 Books

I posted this list to Facebook a while back, but it bears repeating here.
In no particular order, here are the 10 books that most influenced me before I was 20.

Rilla of Ingleside by L.M. Montgomery
Montgomery inspired me with the idea of a wartime romance and the struggle to keep oneself true in a world that wants you jaded.


Magic's Pawn by Mercedes Lackey
Lackey taught me that same sex romance was really just romance.


The Hero and the Crown by Robin McKinley
McKinley shaped my voice.


Life Without Friends by Ellen Emerson White
White probably taught me the most about writing and about healing. Her books shaped my sense of humor and showed me what was possible in fiction. Really, this book should be at the top of my list because it influenced me as a person and a writer.


A Ring of Endless Light by Madeline L'Engle
L'Engle got me to think about faith and science, shaping my thoughts on both.


The Eye of the World by Robert Jordan
Jordan tested my willingness to invest in long narratives.


Don't Care High by Gordon Korman
Korman taught me that a twelve year old could write a book and launch a career. This book was also really really funny.


The Vampire Diaries by L.J. Smith
Smith taught me that it was possible to create your own vampire mythos.


A Wizard of Earthsea by Ursula K. Le Guin
Le Guin was simply awesome.


Beauty by Sheri S. Tepper
Tepper showed me that fiction could engage with Big Ideas. I found most of her ideas repellent as I got older, but this book taught me to ask questions.

Review: Mansfield Park

Mansfield Park by Jane Austen

My rating: 4 of 5 stars



It has been many years since I first read Mansfield Park.

As before, I find that I don't really like Fanny Price all that much. She's so good, so patient, so quiet . . . such a paragon of virtue that I have a hard time rooting for her. Long ago, I read a critic's response to the book that stated (sorry, it's a spoiler, so I'll hide it) that Fanny and Edmund's home must have been incredibly boring and that their neighbors likely dreaded an invitation to dinner at their house.

I can't help but root for the underdog in this book: Henry Crawford. While he proves himself to be be morally challenged, I do believe that he loved Fanny and would have brought more emotion to her life than Edmund. In marrying Edmund, Fanny found happiness, contentment, and satisfaction. In a marriage to Henry, I can't help but think she would have found some emotional upset (after all, he wasn't always good) but I think that the emotional highs would have balanced that account. He, at least, was passionate. Sadly, both Jane Austen and the period in which she wrote were suspicious of passion, so Edmund had to win. Darn it.

I realize this book is over 200 years old, but as it's a lesser known Austen, I've chosen to hide some of my comments. Feel free to read and comment--and don't hold back in the comments. Anyone that reads that far deserves to be spoiled. :)



View all my reviews

Contests . . . and cake

Hi All:

I don't normally use my blog as a space to enter contests, but this book sounds really fun, so I'm going to go ahead and do it. :)

If you follow the link below, you'll see why.  Wendy Darling gave a glowing review to Rebel Belle by Rachel Hawkins.  The cake looks good, too (although I'm probably going to make the "normal" recipe--as someone that does not have a gluten intolerance, I have no reason to avoid it).

 Check it out!

In Which I am a Watering Pot

Yesterday, we said farewell to a good friend, Sharon.

Sharon was a classmate of mine while we pursued our Ph.D.s.  Sadly, neither of us completed our degrees.

She was always a delightful classmate.  She had a tendency to doubt herself, to question everything she said.  This insecurity led her to be a fantastic teacher.  Instead of thinking “I’ve got this now, I know how to teach this class,” she always looked for ways to do better, to teach better, to be the best that she could be.  This constant search for excellence made her one of the most inspiring people I know. 

She was a mother.  Her daughter turned 13 on Saturday, the day of Sharon’s memorial.  Sharon was devoted to her child; she constantly talked of the amazing experience of raising a child and her efforts to be the best mother and role model that she could be. 

She would rock backwards slightly when she laughed, as if she were surprised to be laughing, but she didn’t stop laughing.

Sharon was a mentor to those that entered the program after her.  Other new teachers looked to her for support and encouragement.  I looked to her as well.  When I taught a new class, one that she was a specialist in, I sought her counsel when designing my syllabus.  That created a tradition among us—we always talked at the start of the semester as we planned our classes.  Throughout the semester, we’d continue to touch base and provide each other with moral support for the daily stresses of teaching.

I wish that I knew Sharon better.  We did not see each other often outside of work.  I consider her my friend, but I know that I was only a very small part of her rich life.

Last spring, the announcement came through that she had been diagnosed with cancer.  I spoke with a mutual friend and learned the type of cancer—clear cell ovarian.  The diagnosis was a bad one—clear cell cancer is terribly difficult to treat.  After her diagnosis, I was only able to speak with her once.  We traded teaching stories, as that was the primary thing we shared.  I am glad that we talked, and I want to remember that conversation.

I did not see her in person after her diagnosis.  I am ashamed of this.

Sharon passed away in mid-December, less than a year after her diagnosis.  She was a Catholic, and her memorial was held at a beautiful Catholic church where her daughter had received her first communion.

I cried throughout the memorial.  Tears dripped down my face.  I could not stop them.  It was not a noisy cry—the tears just leaked out.

I am incredibly sad that I will not have more time with Sharon.  We will not talk about teaching again.  I am more sad that we didn’t have a chance to grow our friendship further outside of our shared work.  I regret losing a future of friendship with her.  As someone that also lost her mother when I was a teenager, I have an incredible sense of sympathy for her daughter.  I never imagined what it would be like to be on the sideline of this sort of situation—to find myself in the position once held by my own mother’s friends.  Sadly, since I am not close to Sharon’s daughter, I don’t know how to reach out to her and help her.

Sharon was a wonderful person, and I hope that her memory will live long after she has passed.  I will do what I can to keep that memory alive.