Carla
Re-read: just as delightful the second time ‘round. Highly recommended as a refreshing antidote to perfect-mommy books and blogs, for Jackson admits to mistakes, fears, annoyances, anger, and the desire, to paraphrase my grandmother, to throw up her hands and run out the back door.
Grandma's full saying bears documentation in this context, for Jackson could have said it herself. When the family would have her at wits' end, Grandma would threaten to throw up her hands and run out the back door, and not stop until she reached Dix Hill.
Dix Hill was local slang for the Dorothea Dix Psychiatric Hospital.
I want to break bread with Rachel.
I just finished, and I feel refreshed, as if I just had the most rejuvenating fellowship. Not with finger foods and gossip and complaints veiled as concerns, but early church gathering of The Way style. I wasn't even part of the book, yet I feel celebrated, as a woman daily fighting chronic illness, as a woman of valor.
I felt especially drawn closer by the chapter of the veneration of motherhood as the goal and role of the Christian Proverbs 31 woman. My illnesses have taken that ability away from me–unable to conceive, too sick to adopt. Rachel's study, words, and bright, feisty spirit showed me that I am no less for that, but that childless women played pivotal roles in God's plan and Jesus' ministry!
Should Team Dan and Rachel welcome a newcomer to break bread, I shall come bearing my own gifts: knitting needles and stories of growing up in a tiny Southern Episcopal church.
This is how you should feel after reading a book, as if you are a better person for it!
Read in one gulp
Tonya does not pull punches, not with the details of the graphic accusations, nor with her own weaknesses and mistakes. This blunt honesty makes her story most compelling and powerful. For people who watched Making a Murderer and thought, “Could small town social politics become so petty that such a conspiracy develops?” In Tonya's case, at least, the answer is yes, and she unflinchingly explains how.
I loved it, I recognized myself in certain parts, which made me feel both seen and heard. I relished the honesty. Reading it made me proud that I promote his show Maron via thedollop.net. It also made me a little horny. There's your stream-of-consciousness, alphabet soup, heartfelt, five-star review.
Loose ends, abrupt ending
Introductions of important places and rituals were dropped without explanation. I cannot honestly say I understand the use of the word “Killing” in the title.
This book feels like one author started it, and another finished it. The first half is a lovely, charming story about a genius mind in a child's body (with one glaringly out-of-place scene of unprofessional and unbelievable hostility. The second half is a scattershot collection of repartee explaining away the flaws of a young adult who uses his intelligence like a club.
Exactly what I wanted and expected
This is not a polished, ghost-written Hollywood vehicle, ready for the Movie of the Week script. Reading this book feels like sitting down for a cup of coffee with Pam while she burdens some painful, nostalgic, and confusing memories.
I learned which family member acted differently before and after the murder. I learned which family member really raised red flags for me. And I learned what it was like behind closed doors, when the Ramseys, their friends, and their scorched earth ex-friends could catch their breath.
I received an ARC copy of this ebook from the publisher through Netgalley in exchange for an honest review. I have always loved and appreciated Fred Rogers as a gentle soul, who wanted us to love each other and treat each other with kindness and compassion. Everything I learned only made me appreciate him more–and this book, opening my eyes to his Christianity-based politics, was the icing on the cake.
Even as a child, I knew Rogers' inclusion of Francois Clemmons, the African-American police officer as a Mister Rogers' Neighborhood went against the social grain. From this book, I learned Clemmons was the first African-American with a regular role on a children's television series, joining before Northern Calloway (David), Matt Robinson (Gordon), and Loretta Long (Susan) on Sesame Street. I also learned Clemmons' hiring was a deliberate–loving, but deliberate–act, especially the wading pool scenes with him. Those shared soaking scenes were in direct protest to segregated swimming pools, and violent responses to integrated pools.
Mister Rogers resisted pressure from certain cast members to be more visibly and aggressively political, because they felt his responsibility was to his children and family audience; his neighborhood needed to be a quiet, safe place of learning, the one place in their lives where protests were not taking place, where no one was shouting, and where no one was making frightening ultimatums. Michael Long's book touched me, as a child of the ‘70's, in so many ways. This book would make a nice addendum to high school and college courses covering 1960's and 1970's cultural and social history. Highly recommended.
Review: Night Film Thanks to painsomnia, I have spent many darkened hours this week listening to this novel, expertly and deliciously read by Jake Weber. What an odd, previous gift to receive from physical pain.
Deadly, sovereign, perfect
Dario Argento's Suspiria
screams and bright red birds, and astounding hints of hope, as the sun can, in an instant, christen the blackest sea
Dario Argento's Tenebrae
the edge of the end
Horror expansions begin Rose: I've read the first title on my horror expansion list, and it was a corker. Douglas Clegg never fails to bring the fear, and this prequel to the Harrow House series was hallucinatorily terrifying.
It's must-read if you are fascinated by cults, Magick, and the idea of esoteric knowledges. Caveat: if you do not enjoy sexual horror, this book is not for you. At all.
Harrow House:
prequels:
The Necromancer
Isis
1. Nightmare House
2. Mischief
3. The Infinite
4. The Abandoned
Thorn: I have the flu. As I have mentioned, I also have an autoimmune disorder. So I am going to hide under the covers, and read, and try not to think about the damage my immune system is currently doing to itself, or what twisted remix of illness the flu will become. That's my own private horror show, and I don't wanna participate.
Review: We Were Liars This review is short and sweet, mainly because I read this novel in one sitting and am still reeling, book-drunk.
More of a confession than a review, really. Can a book be violent? If so, I have been pummeled by this book, dragged all about the house in a fiery embrace.
And I enjoyed it. The ache is delicious.
Amazing imagery from Jack Ketchum–He can phrase something so skillfully that I have to stop and laugh, or reread, or shiver.
1. Cowboys around a fire, pondering an unpleasant reality, from the story “Luck”:
They passed the bottle and moments passed silent and sullen as kicked dogs...
This is my long dark night of the soul?
His Gethsemane bored him.
The empty hangers in the big walk-in closet seemed ridiculous, poverty awaiting an abundance that would never occur again.
Uneven in one regard: the section on JonBenet Ramsey. I thought in reading another book by Douglas that he has a blind spot with regards to this case, and this book cements that feeling for me. The rest of this book is very professional and unbiased; the JonBenet chapter is biased (he calls Lou Smit a “hero”!) and sarcastic. He also makes statements without evidence, such as mothers and fathers would never do x or y. Interesting...but very frustrating.
