Becky's Book Reviews

Tuesday, October 12, 2021

130. The Case of the Cryptic Crinoline

The Case of the Cryptic Crinoline. (Enola Holmes #5) Nancy Springer. 2009. [160 pages] [Source: Library]

First sentence: "Miss Meschle," said Mrs. Tupper as she took my empty plate away, "if ye 'ave time to set an' talk a while..."

Premise/plot: Enola Holmes' newest case involves her landlady. Her landlady, Mrs. Tupper, just happens (oh-so-conveniently) to be receiving threatening letters in the mail. These threatening letters followed a little while later by a kidnapping....

Enola Holmes will have to outsmart the kidnappers and sort out WHY her landlady is being threatened. All while continuing to outwit her two older brothers.

My thoughts: I didn't like this one as much as I wanted to. I did really like the fourth book in the series. This one not as much. Again, Enola Holmes always manages to find and solve all her cases almost by coincidental circumstances. She is just always in the right place at the right time. I'm not entirely convinced it is her amazing detective skills solving these mysteries so much as coincidence and luck.

129. The Case of the Peculiar Pink Fan

The Case of the Peculiar Pink Fan. (Enola Holmes #4) Nancy Springer. 2008. 183 pages. [Source: Library]

First sentence: So far, my only clients as "Dr. Ragostin, Scientific Perditorian" had been a stout, elderly widow anxious to find her lost lapdog; a frightened lady who could not locate a valuable heart-shaped ruby which had been given to her by her husband; and an army general whose most cherished souvenir of the Crimean War had disappeared, namely, his bullet-riddled leg-bone signed by the field doctor who had amputated it.

Premise/plot: Enola Holmes (aka "Miss Ivy Meshle") bumps into a former acquaintance--the young lady gone missing in a previous book. The young lady carries a PECULIAR pink fan and the fan language she is using to communicate with Enola, well, it signals trouble for her and a potential case for Enola. Turns out, she's being forced into marriage. The idea of her father--not her mother.

My favorite aspect of this one is that while she's investigating this case--trying to find her so that she can rescue her--she learns that SHERLOCK HOLMES has been hired by the mother for the same reason. So this one actually has these two somewhat working together. Their scenes together were quite entertaining.

My thoughts: This so far has been my favorite of the series. I haven't always appreciated the light, fluffiness of these mysteries. They've seemed light on history, light on mystery, and light on character development. I liked this one because of the scenes with Enola and Sherlock together.

Monday, October 11, 2021

128. Letters from Father Christmas

Letters From Father Christmas. J.R.R. Tolkien. 1976/1999. 160 pages. [Source: Library]

First sentence: Dear John, I heard you ask daddy what I was like and where I lived. I have drawn me and my house for you. Take care of the picture. I am just off now for Oxford with my bundle of toys--some for you. Hope I shall arrive in time: the snow is very thick at the North Pole tonight. Your loving Father Christmas.

Premise/plot: The earliest letter from 'Father Christmas' to the Tolkien children is 1920. The latest letter is dated 1943 to his daughter, Priscilla. The letters speak of Father Christmas' affairs--his adventures and misadventures. Little details about the Tolkiens slip through, of course. He refers to their letters in which they mention pets and toys, etc. He speaks of Polar Bear, his greatest assistant. He speaks of red elves--some. But Father Christmas has a war to fight of his own--against the goblins! (Christmas is almost sabotaged several times!)

My thoughts: How quickly time flies! These letters capture moments. I suppose that's as good a way as any to describe this one. We don't get to see the children's letters to Father Christmas through the years, but, we do get to see Father Christmas's letters to the Tolkien children... But children don't write letters to Father Christmas forever, one by one they grow up and grow out of belief. Still these are moments where we catch glimpses of Tolkien as both loving parent and creative artist.

Near the North Pole

Christmas 1925

My dear boys,

I am dreadfully busy this year—it makes my hand more shaky than ever when I think of it—and not very rich; in fact awful things have been happening, and some of the presents have got spoilt, and I haven’t got the North Polar bear to help me, and I have had to move house just before Christmas, so you can imagine what a state everything is in, and you will see why I have a new address, and why I can only write one letter between you both.

It all happened like this: one very windy day last November my hood blew off and went and stuck on the top of the North Pole. I told him not to, but the North Polar Bear climbed up to the thin top to get it down—and he did. The pole broke in the middle and fell on the roof of my house, and the North Polar Bear fell through the hole it made into the dining room with my hood over his nose, and all the snow fell off the roof into the house and melted and put out all the fires and ran down into the cellars, where I was collecting this year’s presents, and the North Polar Bear’s leg got broken.

He is well again now, but I was so cross with him that he says he won’t try to help me again—I expect his temper is hurt, and will be mended by next Christmas. I send you a picture of the accident and of my new house on the cliffs above the North Pole (with beautiful cellars in the cliffs). If John can’t read my old shaky writing (one thousand nine hundred and twenty-five years old) he must get his father to. When is Michael going to learn to read, and write his own letters to me? Lots of love to you both and Christopher, whose name is rather like mine.

That’s all: Good Bye

Father Christmas

Cliff House

October 31st 1931

Dear Children,

Already I have got some letters from you! You are getting busy early. I have not begun to think about Christmas yet. It has been very warm in the North this year, and there has been very little snow so far. We are just getting in our Christmas firewood.

This is just to say my messengers will be coming round regularly now Winter has begun—we shall be having a bonfire tomorrow—and I shall like to hear from you: Sunday and Wednesday evenings are the best times to post to me.

The Polar Bear is quite well and fairly good—(though you never know what he will do when the Christmas rush begins.) Send my love to John.

Your loving

Father Nicholas Christmas

Glad Father Christmas has wakt up. He slept nearly all this hot summer. I wish we kood have snow. My coat is quite yellow.

Love Polar Bear

Cliff House,

near North Pole

Christmas Eve 1940

My Dearest Priscilla

Just a short letter to wish you a very happy Christmas. Please give my love to Christopher. We are having rather a difficult time this year. This horrible war is reducing all our stocks, and in so many countries children are living far from their homes. Polar Bear has had a very busy time trying to get our address-lists corrected. I am glad you are still at home!

I wonder what you will think of my picture. “Penguins don’t live at the North Pole,” you will say. I know they don’t, but we have got some all the same. What you would call “evacuees”, I believe (not a very nice word); except that they did not come here to escape the war, but to find it! They had heard such stories of the happenings up in the North (including a quite untrue story that Polar Bear and all the Polar Cubs had been blown up, and that I had been captured by Goblins) that they swam all the way here to see if they could help me. Nearly 50 arrived.

The picture is of Polar Bear dancing with their chiefs. They amuse us enormously: they don’t really help much, but are always playing funny dancing games, and trying to imitate the walk of Polar Bear and the Cubs.

Very much love from your old friend,

Father Christmas

Sunday, October 10, 2021

127. Abel's Island

Abel's Island. William Steig. 1976. 117 pages. [Source: Bought]

First sentence: Early in August 1907, the first year of their marriage, Abel and Amanda went to picnic in the woods some distance from the town where they lived.

Premise/plot: Abel is separated from Amanda as a result of a sudden storm. Both seek shelter, of course, but Abel finds himself situated far from home (from a mouse's perspective) and on an island. Cut off by nature from the home he loves, Abel's challenged in more ways than one. He has to learn how to physically survive in a strange-to-him environment. He also has to deal with the emotional and mental stress caused by loneliness and depression. Will he ever see Amanda again? Will he ever get off the island? What does his future hold for him?

My thoughts: This was my second time to read the novel. I did know what to expect the second time around. Since I read it the first time, I've read Robinson Crusoe and ventured into Swiss Family Robinson. This is survival fiction that just happens to star animals.

I also noticed the second time around that it was his romantic (idealistic) gesture that led to their separation and isolation. Readers get his perspective, not hers, but it must have been truly terrifying for her. To see him get swept away. And to not know if he even survived. She might have thought he died and blamed herself (for better or worse) for what happened. (Not that she asked him to save the scarf.)

2020 has also happened since I first read this one. I think the isolation and loneliness aspects of this one--and the NOT knowing when--if ever--things could/would get back to "normal" comes into play. Certainly the past two years have impacted how I read this one.

Tuesday, October 05, 2021

126. How To Find What You're Not Looking For

How To Find What You're Not Looking For. Veera Hiranandani. 2021. [September] 384 pages. [Source: Library]

First sentence: How to be the lazy one. It's harder than you think. First, lie on your messy bed wearing your Wonder Woman pajamas that are too small because you’ve had them since you were nine. Then, watch your older sister, Leah, pin up her hair for dance class. She sits in her black leotard at the small white vanity, her back straight as a board, a magazine cutout of Paul Newman taped to the corner of her mirror. She uses at least fifteen bobby pins for her bun. Count in your head while she sticks the pins in. One, two, three. She’s rushing because she has to be on the #4 bus by 9:00 a.m. for pointe class at Madame Duchon’s Dance Academy. She dances there every day except Sunday. You’re not even sure how she spends so much time at dance and still does well in school. Leah seems to do well at everything. Not you. You’re the lazy one. You’re just trying to keep up, but along with all the other things Leah does, she helps you keep up.

Premise/plot: Ariel Goldberg stars in Veera Hiranandani's How To Find What You're Not Looking For. The theme of 'how-to' continues beyond the title. Each chapter begins with a 'how-to' title. The first chapter being titled, "How to Be the Lazy One." The book is written in second person present tense, to "you." Ariel and Leah are sisters, and perhaps surprisingly close considering the seven years age difference. But when Leah falls in love with an Indian boy--as opposed to a JEWISH boy--bonds of all sorts are tested.

The novel is set circa 1967/68. It focuses on home and school, and all the DRAMA that occurs.

My thoughts: I really loved, loved, loved this one. Despite the second person present tense! I thought the characterization was great--very lovely. I thought the details were good. It was well-paced; it kept me reading. I love the writing. Very quotable. I also love the fact that writing poetry helps Ariel make sense of life.

One of Ariel's poems:

The Ways of the World

The world has many ways

of spinning.

Many I don’t understand.

But love

is not that hard

to understand.

Doesn’t it just spin one way,

one person toward another,

without stopping?

Quotes:

Keeping a secret is not your favorite thing to do. Secrets make your stomach hurt. You can count on one hand the secrets you’ve kept. You once took a report card out of the mailbox and hid it in your schoolbag for a week. But you got caught. Sometimes when you hang out with your friend Jane, you make it seem like you have other friends. But you don’t. Occasionally you steal cookies from Gertie’s and keep them in a coffee can in your room. You’ve never had to keep a really big secret before, and certainly not forever.
Leah’s cheeks get blotchy, and her eyes start to fill again with tears. “Oh please,” she says. “I have to tell someone, and I need it to be you.” Leah saying she needs you—is there anything more special than that? Maybe if you know her secret, some of her specialness will spill over onto you. She bites her lip and grabs your hand.

You read the title on the album: Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. You wonder what it means. Were the Beatles changing their name? Your hands feel sticky with ice cream. You press your thumb and forefinger together, and they stay stuck that way.
“I’m just so happy. I don’t want anything to ruin it. I feel guilty about being so happy.”
“Why would you feel guilty about being happy?” you ask.
“Because there’s so much wrong with the world,” she says and starts walking again.
There is, according to the newspapers. But you look around your town. You see someone driving by in a blue Chevy convertible. You see people walking down the block in sunglasses, sipping soda pop, riding their bikes, happy to be out on such a nice Saturday. This world seems okay.
“Do you know what happened at Rocky’s last week? A guy came in and heard Raj talking. Then he asked John, the manager, why he had foreigners working there and not Americans. He asked Raj if he was here legally. Raj said he was a US citizen, and the fellow demanded to see proof and wouldn’t leave! John had to threaten to call the cops until he finally left.”
“Gosh, that’s terrible,” you say. Now she’s walking so quickly, you can barely keep up.
“But our love is stronger than the racist establishment.”
“ ‘The racist establishment,’ ” you say, trying out her words.

How’s my muffin?” he asks.
“I’m all right,” you say and stuff the rest of the bread in your mouth. “Same as always.”
Daddy nods. “Me too, Muffin,” he says. “Same old, same old.”
This is what you and Daddy always say to each other after school. And every day, you know that you are not the same and neither is he. When you and Ma get back to the apartment, you go into your bedroom and take a sniff of the Chanel No. 5 perfume on the dresser, a sixteenth birthday gift that Ma gave Leah. The apartment used to smell of it when Leah was still here, along with her Breck shampoo, but you didn’t notice until she was gone and the smell faded away.
A little part of you still hopes you’ll find her sitting on her yellow-and-white bedspread, playing the Beatles or the Rolling Stones. Or maybe even the Doors real quiet because Ma hates the Doors.

Ma does get headaches a lot. She calls them migraines and says she even sees flashes of color before they start. That sounds sort of magical to you rather than painful, but Ma sure does seem like she’s in a lot of pain when she gets them. Since Leah left, it’s been happening more often.

“Sorry, I mean your mom,” you say.
“It’s all right,” she says and is quiet for another few seconds. “He left my mom when he found out she was pregnant. They weren’t even married. And he never came back. My mom always tells people he’s dead.”
Now it’s your turn to be quiet.
“I was always afraid to ask. I didn’t mean to make you sad,” you say after a moment.
Jane shakes her head. “It’s okay. I don’t think about it that much. I never knew him, but I also don’t think my mom would care if I married someone Jewish. I guess most people aren’t like Peggy, though.”

Suddenly you feel the shape of your friendship with Jane changing, in a good way, like chocolate chips melting into a cookie as it bakes.

“The words I wrote might mean something different to you.”
Miss Field sits back in her chair and crosses her arms.
“They might,” she says.
“I don’t want them to. I want them to mean to you exactly what they mean to me.”
“That makes sense,” she says and pauses for a moment. “But that’s art, Ariel. It’s your gift to the world. People will see what they need to see. Sometimes it will mean to them exactly what it meant to you. Those people are your soul mates.”