Who knows how I did any reading last month, but I did. These books I think I inhaled in 2-day chunks of time. Each was very engaging in its own way. I’ve got many on my nightstand and in my kindle waiting to be read, so hopefully I’ll have a bigger report for December books. Please share anything good you are reading!
SUCH an incredible story and a very well-written account of what must have been quite an exhausting experience. How could Lipstadt NOT refute so-called “historian” David Irving’s claims that WWII was a legend and the Holocaust a hoax? When Irving sued Lipstadt in 1995 for criticizing his many absurd notions that the Holocaust never happened and that Jews are forming a conspiracy in her book Denying the Holocaust: The Growing Assault on Truth and Memory
I could not put it down, more so because it is all fact. Learning about the British legal process and courts, learning evidence and facts about the Holocaust I did not previously know about, and the manner in which historians balance free speech with outright blatant racism and antisemitism. The large financial support (for legal fees) of major Jewish institutions led me to feel that we have come quite a long way from 70 years ago, when none of them existed. I’m excited to get to see the movie Denial in February with a group at our temple. This is one instance when I’d like to see the movie after reading the book. I can’t think of any other!
“Love Warrior is the story of one marriage, but it is also the story of the healing that is possible for any of us when we refuse to settle for good enough and begin to face pain and love head-on.” – Goodreads
It doesn’t feel that long ago that I was laughing out loud as I listened to Glennon’s personal stories in her book Carry On, Warrior: The Power of Embracing Your Messy, Beautiful Life
Glennon is definitely strong and brave in her unmasking and in delving inside to face her own truths. It is only in healing ourselves that we could ever hope to help someone else or connect meaningfully with them. I am thrilled for Glennon that her troubles have been resolved and her marriage is stronger than ever.
Instead of understanding that there might be something wrong with the world, I decided there was something wrong with me. I made a hypothesis about myself: I am damaged and broken. I should be shiny and happy and perfect and since I’m not, I should never expose myself. I should just find a safe hiding place. And so I retreated out of my body and out of the world, every chance I could.
I consider the possibility that I’ve been right and wrong my whole life. I was right to want to be beautiful and sexy; I was just wrong to have accepted someone else’s idea of what those words mean. It strikes me that I need to throw out the dictionary the world gave me about what it means to be a mother, a wife, a person of faith, an artist, and a woman and write my own. I’ve finally unlearned enough. I have unbecome, and I am ready to begin again.
This jointly-told memoir is a love story in the best of ways, not only between two unlikely people but two completely different worlds. Kennedy and Jessica began a successful movement to help girls and the urban poor in Kibera, the largest slum in Kenya. Their union and work have changed many lives and their words experiences are humbling and inspiring to hear about.
On Kennedy’s first trip to America:
“One time while we are driving Linda asks me if I am hungry. I tell her yes, I would like to eat some chicken. She drives us somewhere, reaches through the window, and pulls money out of a wall. I’m like: ‘What’s going on?’ Then we drive to another wall, and she speaks into it. She tells the wall she wants chicken…The food and the drinks just fall into the car window and she pays with a card. What is going on in America? You don’t even have to get out of the car and things just fall automatically into your lap like this? I am shocked.”
And one more, after Kennedy is accepted to Wellsley:
“‘So I’m confused about something,’ I tell Jessica. ‘Can I ask you?’ ‘Of course!’ ‘So let me just get this straight. All I have to do here is read, go to class, discuss what we’ve read, and write some papers about it.’ ‘I guess that’s pretty much it.’ ‘And then I get to eat and take a shower, and everything I need is right here and that’s all I have to do?
“Jessica just starts laughing, and it does sound like I’m poking fun. But I’m serious for once. ‘There is one thing I just don’t understand. I I think sometimes that I’ve died and gone to heaven but I have one question. If this is heaven, why is it that I can still call home, I can still talk to that other world?’
“She is suddenly serious too, seeing the pain in my face and hearing it in my voice. ‘I guess I thought your fight would suddenly be over; instead it’s just changed forms. You don’t have to fight for your life here, but you do have to figure out how to be from your world and live in this one.'”
I know how the lives of the women who have come to the school have changed. Whereas they were once dependent on men for money, they are now earning and sharing their wages. Whereas they were once household slaves, they are now respected decision makers. Not all of them, not all of the time. But enough to give them and so many other women here hope.
I know this book has been out a while but for some reason I’d never read it. I actually read the followup story Rodriguez wrote, published first as A Cup of Friendship, The Little Coffee Shop of Kabul
Many Americans think Afghans are Arabs, just because both are mostly Muslims, but this is not true. Afghanistan was the original melting pot. Its geographic location made it a central thoroughfare on the Silk Road from Asia to the rest of the world, and—contrary to its distinction today as one of the most remote and isolated countries in the world—ancient peoples crisscrossed it again and again. Some came to trade, some came to conquer, and all left their mark. Most Afghans have Turkish or Persian roots, but many other ethnicities abound, too.
I can’t really say what drew me to this book, but maybe it’s because it takes place in Jazz Age New York. There are love triangles, hidden secrets, and unexpected twists here and there. It kept me entertained when I needed to read something fun. Williams’ writing is sensual and exciting….
They say it was one of the greatest races ever, that Dwyer Stakes run in the first year of the new decade after the war. I haven’t been to many horse races, so I can’t really say one way or another. All I remember is that I came back to life in those last thirty seconds or so: that my cold little heart burst free from its ribs and climbed all the way up my throat to the roof of my mouth, as John P. Grier hung gamely on, taking perhaps two strides for every one of Red’s, and they bobbed closer and closer and no one was winning, neither colt had beaten the other, and they couldn’t possibly keep this up. They would kill themselves. They would kill me. On and on, back and forth, my heart throttling my breath, and just as they flashed past the eighth pole (or so I understood later, for I didn’t notice that pole at the time) Grier stuck his head out in front.
