East of Eden initially got my attention when it was chosen as an Oprah’s Book Club selection back in 2003 (make of that statement what you will). I didn’t read it at the time, but that’s probably when it first went on my, “hmmm, maybe one day” list. Years went by, and I eventually chanced upon the Penguin centennial edition at a library sale in New York. I immediately snatched it right up, but the book sat on my shelves for about four more years before I finally picked it up.

I kind of hate myself for ignoring such a glorious book that was right on my shelf for all these years. Because wow. Just wow.

Originally published in 1952, and reveling in the themes of good and evil, East of Eden is a modern retelling of the biblical story of Cain and Abel. The story revolves around two generations and two sets of brothers, first Charles and Adam Trask, then later Adam’s two sons, Caleb and Aron. Forever linking the two generations of Trask men is a woman so broken and evil that she just may be my favorite literary villain of all time. Cathy Ames seemed to have emerged from nowhere one day at Charles and Adam’s doorstep. Though she eventually gains Adam’s trust and later becomes his wife, her mysterious past remains opaque at all times. It isn’t until Adam moves his pregnant wife across the country to settle in California’s Salinas valley that her true nature is revealed.

It’s unusual for me to so readily accept the Woman Who Brings About the Fall of Man archetype, but considering how this book is based on the Bible, I had no problem accepting Adam Trask as an innocent who is pushed from his Eden, Cathy Ames as a trumped up Eve, and their two children as the highly conflicted Cain and Abel. Lending astonishing nuance to all of the archetypes were my other two favorite characters in the book: the wise Samuel Hamilton, and a Chinese American man named Lee who consciously embraces and defies society’s stereotypes of him as he sees fit.

One of the things I love most about Steinbeck’s work is its timelessness. True, East of Eden is written in a specific time period that dates the book. But the musings of his characters retain a relevance appropriate even by today’s standards:

The split second has been growing more and more important to us. And as human activities become more and more intermeshed and integrated, the split tenth of a second will emerge, and then a new name must be made for the split hundreth, until one day, although I don’t believe it, we’ll say, “Oh, the hell with it. What’s wrong with an hour?” But it isn’t silly, this preoccupation with small time units. One thing late or early can disrupt everything around it, and the disturbance runs outward in bands like the waves from a dropped stone in a quiet pool.

There are moments in the book when Steinbeck gives in to flowery description, but for the most part, his prose is spare and straightforward. Since it’s a retelling of a well-known story, one might think they know how everything is going to turn out. To a certain extent that holds true, but the execution of this retelling remains gripping to the very last page. Simply put, it’s a masterpiece that I look forward to revisiting repeatedly in the coming years.

East of Eden was originally published in 1952. The edition I read was published to coincide with the centennial of Steinbeck’s birthday. It was released on February 5, 2002 by Penguin.

IndieBound | Powell’s | Amazon
I read it as a(n): paperback
Source: purchase
Pages: 601

The Tiny Book of Tiny Stories

It is very possible to flip through all 88 pages of the book in under 10 minutes, but I’m not sure why anyone would want to. Aesthetically speaking, one can easily lose track of time flipping back and forth between the pages just to admire the different styles of art. The great thing about this book is that since there are so many different collaborators, there’s also a ton of variety in the illustrations.

The same can be said for the stories. It’s fun to see how much people can say with a scant handful of words. Some of the stories serve to capture fleeting moments of innocence in their characters’ lives, while others were surprisingly poignant. Of course, there were several that simply delighted in whimsy and silliness. This story was one of my favorites (click to see larger image):

And, you know, there’s something to be said for the overall cuteness of the book: it fits in your hand, it lends itself well to random browsing, and it just makes you want to smile. When you mix that in with the quirky storytelling and evocative artwork, it’s impossible to go wrong. Volume II and Volume III are planned for release in 2012 and 2013 respectively, and I’m very eager to see more of the collaborations that hitRECord has in store.

Oh, and one more thing:

Come on…I can’t mention Joseph Gordon-Levitt on this blog and not post a gratuitous picture! You’re welcome.

The Tiny Book of Tiny Stories: Volume I was released on December 6, 2011 by It Books, an imprint of HarperCollins.

IndieBound | Powell’s | Amazon
I read it as a(n): hardcover
Source: publisher review copy
Pages: 88

The challenge rules are very simple: you set your own reading goals, so long as you read and write about at least one book on the banned list. The list has been updated since I originally posted it last week, and I’ll keep adding to it whenever I learn of new or missing titles (speaking of which, if you see anything missing, let me know).

And if you’ve already written about some of the books in the past, please do me a solid and add your links to the database! I want people to have access to as many opinions about the books as possible.

I hope you decide to join. Spread the word!

The Condition begins in 1976 with the demise of the McKotch family. The is vacationing at their summer home in Cape Cod when things start to fall apart. Frank and Paulette’s marriage is starting to fray, but the real shock of the summer is seeing their 12-year-old daughter play at the beach with her cousin. When compared to her developing pubescent cousin, it becomes obvious that Gwen isn’t just a petite late bloomer. By the end of the summer, the family is dealt a blow: Gwen has a rare genetic condition called Turner’s syndrome, and she’ll be trapped in the body of a child for the rest of her life.

Fast forward a couple of decades. Frank and Paulette have long been divorced, their oldest son (Billy) is a doctor harboring a secret, their youngest son (Scott) is a hopeless screw up, and thirty-something Gwen is working in a dead-end job, tucked away in the basement of a museum. Her life is mostly solitary, and she’s guarded and emotionally stunted. Any semblance of the family the McKotches once was is completely gone; at any given time, communications between family members are strained at best.

But if Gwen was to “blame” for tearing the family apart all those years ago (an unfair weight she has carried all her life), she’s also to “blame” for unwittingly bringing them all back together. A coworker talks her into going on a Caribbean vacation, and during her stay, a wondrous and unexpected this happens: she falls in love and forgets about being “a Turner” for the first time in her life. Unfortunately, overprotective Paulette won’t hear of it, and the dysfunctional McKotches are drawn back together with only one goal in mind: to bring Gwen back home.

Interestingly enough, I didn’t think I’d like the book at first. It happened to me with Faith, too, where I just couldn’t get into the first few pages. But, as with Faith, once I passed that initial hump I couldn’t put the book down. Haigh’s ability to make painful situations come to life amazes me — there were several moments where I’d just get lost in the complex inner lives of the book’s many characters (each member of the McKotch family is given ample time in the spotlight).

It also becomes evident that, though the title mainly refers to Gwen’s Turner’s syndrome, “the condition” morphs into different meanings depending on the family member. However, while the McKotches each bring their own brand of dysfunction to the table — some more than others — the book is still sprinkled with enough wry humor to keep things from getting too heavy (there was one particular line in Billy’s narrative that even made me burst into laughter). Fans of the dysfunctional family drama genre might want to keep an eye out for this one.

The Condition was released on paperback on June 30, 2009 by Harper Perennial, an imprint of HarperCollins.

IndieBound | Powell’s | Amazon
I read it as a(n): paperback
Source: Publisher review copy via TLC Book Tours
Pages: 416

One of my favorite reading projects last year was A Year of Feminist Classics. Twelve books were chosen by the hosts, and an informal monthly discussion was held online. I didn’t get to participate as much as I’d hoped, but I did get to cross a few feminist classics off my list, including the behemoth that is The Second Sex.

This year, I was invited to join as a co-host! In September I’ll be leading the discussion for Gloria Anzaldua’s book, Borderlands/La Frontera. It’s a cherished classic, especially among feminists of color. It’s one of my favorite books, and I’m doubly excited to be hosting the discussion since I live in the same borderlands Anzaldua grew up in (she’s buried less than 30 miles from where I live). I can’t wait!

There are a lot of really great books on the list for this year:

• February – Feminism is for Everybody by bell hooks
• March – The Book of the City of Ladies by Christine De Pizan
• April – Whipping Girl: A Transsexual Woman on Sexism and the Scapegoating of Femininity by Julia Serano
• May – Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë read alongside Wide Sargasso Sea by Jean Rhys
• June – Stone Butch Blues by Leslie Feinberg
• July – Little Women by Louisa May Alcott
• August – The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison
• September – Borderlands/La Frontera by Gloria Anzaldua
• October – The Feminine Mystique by Betty Friedan
• November – Beyond the Veil by Fatema Mernissi
• December – Women, Race, and Class by Angela Davis
• January – Feminism Without Borders: Decolonizing Theory, Practising Solidarity by Chandra Talpade Mohanty

As you can see, some are old classics — de Pizan’s book was written in 1405! — and some are fairly recent, but all of them have made an impact. Hopefully, there’s something for everyone.

I read Feminism is for Everybody and Whipping Girl last year but didn’t get a chance to write about them (though I have plenty to say about each). I haven’t read Women, Race, and Class or Feminism Without Borders in years, and am about a decade overdue for a reread of The Bluest Eye. I (grudgingly) read Jane Eyre back in high school and only remember feeling tortured, but unlike my teenage self, I actually look forward to reading it as an adult. Many of the other books have been on my TBR list for years. My nerdy feminist self is in heaven!

Anyone can participate, and you don’t have to read every book on the list; even if you only read one of the books, we’re more than happy to welcome you into the fold.

So please…join us!

Untitled, 1949; Dimmit, Texas. Photograph by Russell Lee.

As some of you may have heard, the acclaimed ethnic studies (read: Mexican American studies) program in Tucson schools was booted out of existence effective January 1, 2012. Though some schools have student populations where Mexican Americans comprise up to 90% of the student body and Native Americans comprise up to 5%, students are no longer allowed to study some (and in some cases all, especially if the name sounds Latino) of the works by certain authors including the likes of:

• Sherman Alexie
• Isabel Allende
• Rudolfo Anaya
• Gloria Anzaldua
• James Baldwin
• Ana Castillo
• Sandra Cisneros
• Junot Díaz
• Laura Esquivel
• Dagoberto Gilb
• bell hooks
• Tomás Rivera
• William Shakespeare
• Leslie Marmon Silko
• Henry David Thoreau
• Luis Alberto Urrea
• Luiz Valdez
• Howard Zinn

Apparently Shakespeare’s The Tempest is a breeding ground for discussions about race and colonialism. And only a commie would read something titled Civil Disobedience, even if Thoreau was mostly a nature dude. Or something.

The more I find out about which books were banned and which classes were dropped, it really does sound like all books by Mexican American authors are now off limits to students on the grounds that they promote “resentment toward a race or class of [white] people,” among other things.

It’s bullshit. Eurocentric, xenophobic bullshit.

I *wish* I’d had something like this back when I was in high school. I, too, went to a school that was about 90% Mexican American (if not more). It wasn’t until I was well into college that I was properly taught something that was culturally relevant (like the fact that there had been an entire Chicano civil rights movement I never knew about). And books?! HA! I will die of shock if I find out that my former schools are teaching something besides the requisite The House on Mango Street, Zoot Suit, and Bless Me, Ultima. It’s shameful. And providing something like the Mexican American Studies program in Tucson, only to take it away mid-year — or, frankly, ever — is just downright cruel.

In solidarity with the MAS program, in solidarity with the thousands of young students who are now forbidden from learning about their own heritage in schools, I’m going to read the banned books. All of them (the list starts on page 116). Consider this post the official beginning of one of my long-term reading projects.

I’m also considering organizing a weekend-long online read-in that would be open to anyone who’s interested, but that’s still swimming around in the ether that is my brain. Would anyone be interested in participating in something like that?

Unlike a lot of cookbooks that only have a handful of pictures printed on glossy paper, this one takes a more cost-effective route by printing its pictures on the same matte paper as the rest of the cookbook. I love this because they were able to include a lot more photos of the recipes — always a plus where food is concerned!

The intro is short and sweet: a few FAQs to point you in the right direction, some substitutions you can use if you’re out of something or have certain dietary restrictions, and that’s pretty much it. Some of the staples are also very no-frills, sometimes to a fault. The recipe for dry beans (meant as a staple to be incorporated into other recipes, not as a stand-alone dish), for example, basically amounts to “put beans in water and cook for 6 to 8 hours.” I’ll admit, that had me worried at first.

But even if you skim the book, you’ll see that Hester knows her stuff. Contrary to popular belief, you don’t just throw a bunch of stuff in a slow cooker and set it to high for the day (well, you can, but your food won’t be as awesome). There’s a bit of prep involved, and flavors always blend a lot better if you saute some of your ingredients first. Hester makes it easier for you by telling you what you can prep the night before, that way you can just toss all your ingredients together in the morning before heading to work.

For my test recipe, I decided to go with Indian food. There isn’t a good Indian place near me for literally hundreds of miles, and every time I go visit friends I make sure to go somewhere that serves good saag paneer. When I saw the recipe for chana saag (chickpeas in pureed spinach), I went for it:

I know it looks, um…interesting (the saag dishes I eat aren’t usually so pureed), but it tasted great; I ended up eating like three servings. It was pretty inexpensive, too. Rather than go to the grocery store and buy containers of spices I’ll use sparingly (like garam masala), I went to the health food store, which sells spices in bulk. I only purchased a tiny amount of each, and ended up getting all the spices I needed for about a dollar. It’s a good way to go if you’re experimenting on a budget (Hester mentions this tip in her intro).

The Vegan Slow Cooker has something for everyone…even pizza! There’s still a bunch of recipes I want to try like the Fall Harvest Fruit Butter, the Tofu Bouillabaisse, the Citrusy Rosemary Breakfast Bread, and the soup that I have been craving for the 11+ years that I’ve been vegetarian but have yet to find a good veg*n version of: Hot and Sour Soup. I can’t wait to make more of these recipes in the months to come. This one looks like a keeper!

The Vegan Slow Cooker was released on October 1, 2011 by Fair Winds Press, an imprint of Quayside Publishing Group.

IndieBound | Powell’s | Amazon
I read it as a(n): paperback
Source: Review copy from publisher
Pages: 224

The book is about Samuel Klayman and Josef Kavalier, two cousins who are lucky enough to break into the comic book industry during its golden age, the 1930s – early 1940s. With Sam creating the stories and Joe providing the artwork, the two are able to create a quality comic series  at a time when people were churning out bad product in hopes of raking in a small share of the lucrative industry. Their star: The Escapist, who is able to fight his way out of any bind in his quest for justice.

“Escapist” is a significant term in the book. The superhero’s past is similar to Sam’s in many ways, though it takes a while before Sam even realizes this.  There’s another way that it applies to Sam, but I won’t get into that because it’s a surprise in the plot. It also reflects Joe, who recently — and just barely — escaped Hitler’s occupation of Prague. His entire family is still trapped there, and his main goal is to make a lot of money and find a way to get his family to the United States. This pain and frustration over his family is often poured into Joe’s art; and most of the early issues featuring The Escapist have him fighting various recognizable Nazi figureheads, Hitler included (see: book cover).

Chabon’s writing perfectly reflected the comic book atmosphere of the story: over the top and fearless. His vocabulary is to die for. I also loved that it was a coming of age story unlike any other I’ve ever read, much darker and set against the dramatic backdrop of World War II, taking the boys well into an uncertain adulthood. This was my first time reading anything by Chabon, and I know I’ll be seeking out more of his work in the future.

The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay was originally released on September 19, 2000 by Random House.

IndieBound | Powell’s | Amazon
I read it as a(n): hardcover
Source: Library
Pages: 639

I first stumbled upon Oscar Wao kind of serendipitously via Bookslut’s interview with Junot right before the book was published. At the time, I had no idea that the novel was eagerly anticipated by certain literary circles. Hadn’t read Drown, didn’t know about the New Yorker 20 Under 40 thing. None of that. It was just a straight up, “I like you,” and then a couple of weeks later I grabbed the book from the library and fell in love on the spot. I’m so grateful that I first came to this book completely unaware of all the buzz leading up to the Pulitzer.

And now here we are: Oscar Wao was the first book I picked up in 2012, and it was like falling in love all over again.

The book introduces readers to several generations of the de Léon family, who, because of their tenuous ties to the brutal Dominican dictator Rafael Trujillo, carries the curse of the fukú. Carrying the brunt of the curse is Oscar, a depressed, overweight sci-fi geek growing up in New Jersey who is the antithesis of everything one expects in a young Dominican male: he has zero social skills, zero game with the ladies, and has resigned himself to dying a virgin. All the help in the world — and believe me, people have tried to help — can’t save him from this bleak fate.

As the story unfolds, we start to learn more about Oscar and his family. His mother, Beli, may be dying of cancer, but she still rules her household with an iron fist. Lola, Oscar’s sister, is a headstrong young woman who spends much of her time frantically rebelling against her mother; the two are always at each other’s throats (perhaps because, sometimes, they’re similar in more ways than they’d care to admit). I love Lola, of whom the narrator says, “Now that her crazy years were over — what Dominican girl doesn’t have those? — she’d turned into one of those tough Jersey dominicas, a long-distance runner who drove her own car, had her own checkbook, called men bitches, and would eat a fat cat in front of you without a speck of vergüenza.” In the periphery of their lives is Yunior, the narrator (a.k.a. Oscar’s college roommate and Lola’s on-and-off philandering boyfriend). As Yunior narrates, it’s clear that the story will haunt him for the rest of his life.

Though the family is based in New Jersey, it’s in the Dominican Republic where the book truly comes to life. The brutal history of the country is weaved in through footnotes and the plot itself. It’s where Beli grew up and ultimately ran away from, and where Lola and Oscar found peace under the watchful gaze of their grandmother, La Inca.

I said earlier that I used excerpts from this book to teach tone, and that’s because the writing in the book is incredible. It’s at turns fast-paced, tender, somber, crass, and funny (I wish I could count the number of times I kept bothering my sister to read lines out loud). Spanish is sprinkled in throughout the narrative; sometimes you can translate it from the context, but there are also moments where things get lost in translation; I know some people found this frustrating, but I love the inside joke nature it. Another thing that I adore about the book is that, unlike other books whose main protagonist is male, the women of this book are fully-fleshed and given their chance to shine.

There’s a reason I used Oscar Wao in the classroom: students who have an aversion to reading have an idea of what a book is “supposed to” sound like and be about (i.e., dead white guys using Queen’s English, set in some completely unrelatable era); using this in the classroom turned that idea on its head. The book speaks to people and shows that non-traditional narratives are relevant and powerful. I love the book because of its memorable characters and its playfulness with language and narrative structure, but I also love it because it’s thrilling to see the passionate reactions it has elicited from people. Because ultimately, isn’t that what a good book is supposed to do?

The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao was originally released on September 6, 2007 by Riverhead, an imprint of Penguin.

IndieBound | Powell’s | Amazon
I read it as a(n): paperback (this time)
Source: Purchase
Pages: 339

Oldest book read: A Vindication on the Rights of Women by Mary Wollstonecraft, first published in 1792.

Longest book read: The Second Sex by Simone de Beauvoir; my edition clocked in at 976 pages.

Most-read review: Surprisingly, it was She-Wolves: The Women Who Ruled England Before Elizabeth by Helen Castor. Who would’ve thought? But I have a feeling if I’d published my review of Vegan Cookies Take Over Your Cookie Jar earlier in the year, it would easily win in a landslide.

Favorite bookish moment: Meeting Sandra Cisneros, then finding out she linked to my blog from her Facebook page! That remains the most-viewed post of all time on this blog. But seriously, I could care less about the stats…I met Sandra Cisneros!

Guiltiest pleasure: Sweet Valley Confidential. The writing is atrocious, but the book rocks my world. And you know what? I don’t even feel guilty about saying that!

Most pleasant surprise: The Wandering Falcon by Jamil Ahmad felt almost surreal. I loved it.

Favorite blogger recommendation: A Monster Calls by Patrick Ness, which came recommended by Heather of Capricious Reader. That book slayed me.

Most disappointing: Sugar in My Bowl: Real Women Write About Sex, edited by Erica Jong. It made me really mad.

Biggest triumph: Hands down, The Second Sex! Gawd…there were times I didn’t think I was gonna make it. But I’m glad I did!

Favorite reread: The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros. I’d forgotten how much I loved that book!

Most disturbing: I know I keep saying how unsettling Bonnie Nadzam’s Lamb is, but Margo Lanagan’s Tender Morsels also had its moments. The book is incredible. Seriously disturbing, but incredible. And Jamrach’s Menagerie…I really wasn’t prepared for what happened. At all.

Favorite new-to-me authors I discovered in 2011: Jennifer Haigh, Manuel Muñoz, Michael Chabon, Ernessa T. Carter, Francisco Goldman, Margo Lanagan, and Jesmyn Ward.

Favorite book covers of 2011:

Book that had the greatest impact on you in 2011: Cherrie Moraga’s A Xicana Codex of Changing Consciousness was major for me in terms of Chicana identity politics and the importance of embracing the past. The Arab and Arab American Feminisms anthology was eye-opening and led to many book purchases; I’m especially dying to read more books by Palestinian authors.

Book you can’t believe you waited UNTIL 2011 to finally read: East of Eden. I’ve had it on my shelf for years, and I never read it…PURE MADNESS! I think it’s one of my favorite books of all time now. Also: you can officially consider me a Steinbeck groupie.