Read This, Not That

From time to time I like to feel smart, so I'll read some serious, intellectually-stimulating work of fiction. This, I believe, is good for me. I have discovered a complicated mathematic equation that proves that one's IQ decreases with direct proportion to the number of children one has multiplied by the number of years that one stays home to raise these children. The only way to counter this is to set aside time each day to think about something other than Strawberry Shortcake, how to get grass stains out of denim, and how much TV is too much TV.

So, I ordered Jonathan Franzen's Freedom a few months ago and the lovely people at Amazon told me that other people who read Freedom also read Franzen's Corrections and Howard Jacobson's The Finkler Question and wouldn't I like to order those too and be like all those smart people, hmmm? Wouldn't I? Why yes! Thanks for asking!

So the book I am going to discuss today is Jeff Kinney's Diary
of a Wimpy Kid: The Ugly Truth 'cause those other books weren't nearly as good.

First Son happens to be the sweetest child ever to live and gave me Diary of a Wimpy Kid as a birthday present after I so thoroughly enjoyed the movie. Most adults (including me!) can't even do this—think about what someone else may enjoy, but my seven-year-old can. Can anyone say proud Mama?

I planned on reading some of it to him every night and had visions of us curled up reading it together and how he would always remember that and maybe even read it to his kids one day. However, as soon as I cracked the cover, I couldn't put it down. It was sooooo funny and compelling.

It's everything that made The Wonder Years one of the greatest TV shows ever created. The only thing you can do when you look back on the most awkward, worst years of your life is laugh about it. And what, I ask you, what is more awkward and worser than middle school? That's right, nothing.

Kinney is a whiz at taking small details of a sixth grader's life and turning them into things of comedic genius. His wit combined with his simplistic cartoons are a deadly combo. I laughed so hard I snorted. It's a double whammy of laughter for adults because we can experience the humor from the standpoint of looking back at our youth and from the standpoint of looking at our children. However, I still don't know what the ugly truth is. Maybe that book was a little too high-brow for me after all.

So if you need a break from serious (a.k.a. boring) fiction, then look no further than your kid's backpack. They've got the goods.

You’re Dead and I’m Done

You're probably wondering what I'm reading right now, aren't ya? Well, fear not, you need no longer wonder, 'cause I'm gonna tell you. It's possible that compared with most writer-type-people (and definitely my husband), my taste in books is a little on the low-brow side. This doesn't bother me as much as it should. I think I'm beginning to understand that as my age progresses and my maturity level doesn't exactly progress along with it, that it's possible I may be a little shallow. But I'm okay with that. I have deep thoughts, I just don't have them that often and when I do, they make me giggle a bit.

So, it should come as no surprise that what I'm reading right now is Charlaine Harris' Dead and Gone, or . . . maybe it's Dead to the World, or . . . maybe Dead—It's the New Black, or . . . something like that—a Sookie Stackhouse novel. Clearly, since I'm on like the 100^th book in this series, I quite enjoy the little world that Harris has created and find her characters fun and amusing.

But . . . I'm sad to say that if I make it through this novel then I'm hanging up my Stackhouse Groupie Pants. I devoured the first several novels in the series and dreamed about them at night and thought about them when I wasn't reading them, but these last few I've had to choke down like dry turkey on Thanksgiving. It's like I know I should want the turkey because it's Thanksgiving and all and I'm eating it out of respect for the holiday, but I'm not really enjoying it. Or . . . maybe I just hope that the turkey will get right to the point and realize that she really loves Eric for crying out loud and stop sleeping with 7 foot tall bald men that turn into Tigers (gross)!!!!!!!

I think this is probably the normal reaction when you're reading a series like this. It's like a sitcom and we all know that Ross and Rachel can hook up, but they can't officially "get together" until the series finale. I get that this is what is happening in these books as well, but it's a lot easier to watch a story develop very slowly once a week for thirty minutes on television. It gets a little frustrating that after nine books Sookie still doesn't know if she loves Bill or Eric, or maybe she loves Sam, or maybe even Quinn (ewww!), or maybe even Alcide, she could love him ya know.

Also, each book has to stand alone, so with every book, Harris has to remind the reader what came before. It is quite tedious getting through that when you already know what came before. It's like listening to a person tell the same story over and over again because new people arrived at the party and they just have to hear it. Plus, I get the mystery/thrill of the books, but how many dead bodies can one person stumble upon??? I mean, I'm thirty-two and I've never seen one dead body outside of a funeral home. Is there something wrong with me? Why aren't people dying around me? How come no one I love ever dies? Why doesn't cool stuff ever happen to me? Clearly, I need a break.

So, goodbye Sookie, farewell, adieu, au revoir, gesundheit. And remember, we'll always have Dead until Dark.