World Series picks up immediately where The Kid from Tomkinsville leaves off. Roy Tucker and dem Bums have somehow made it to the World Series where they have to face the Cleveland Indians.
With two of their best hitters out, with an injured catcher behind the plate, the Dodgers wen after that two run lead.
I’ve read this young adult baseball book a million times and loved loved loved it, which is why I picked it up when I was stressed out and needing something easy and comforting to ease my monkey mind. I can’t say it was everything it had always been to me when I plucked it from my shelf this time around. It was as absorbing as ever, but I was more conscious this time through of how dated it is--and not just because Tunis uses the word “pickaninny” casually once to refer to the Dodger mascot. It was originally published in 1940--just seven years before Jackie Robinson broke into the majors. Weird, right?
This is one of the best literary novels I’ve read in recent memory. I’ve been too mentally fatigued to enjoy much but genre fiction lately. Lucky Third Girl is both an easy and satisfying read. It tells the story of three generations of African-American women: a woman scarred by a 1921 race riot in Tulsa, her daughter who went to Hollywood to be a movie star and instead became a Playboy bunny and blaxploitation bit player in the 1970s, and then her daughter, who aspire to be a filmmaker in present day New York.
I’m a contributor to this book, and so am not my usual cool and neutral self when it comes to reviewing it. (Who wants an impartial review anyway?) However, the truth is I didn’t love the book. Favorite contributions include Jessamyn West’s and Melissa Morrone's. And also mine, “Pinko Vs. Punk: a Generational Comparison of Alternative Press Publications and Zines.” After it was peer skewered by one of the editors, I felt pretty insecure about it, but reading it again, I’m pretty happy with it, even if it is a little intellectually lazy and probably too casual in tone.
When Ms. Scoppettone reached out to me to say that she liked seeing Ms. Beane on this here blog, I was excited enough to brag about it on Facebook. One of the responses I got referred not to to Suzuki Beane, but to a teen novel, The Late Great Me that had been made into an After School Special. I wrote back to Sandra that I’d requested it from interlibrary loan, and she seemed a little horrified because as she said the book is “so out of date.” I might say the book is a little dated, but not out-of-date.
I have discovered many things. I am a young woman, an artist, both considerate and inconsiderate, generous and selfish, funny and sulky, rigid and open, arrogant and humble, and absolutely, definitely, without any doubt a drunk. My name is Geri Peters and I’m an alcoholic and I think you should know about it. p.11
BREAKING NEWS: This book was nominated for the Governor General's Literary Awards (click poetry tab), Canada's top literary prize.
I'm not sure I can top Kate's inscription in my copy "some pulp, some porn, some poetry" as a review for her stylistic story poem. I think I've said here before that I like my theater experimental, but my literature linear. Despite my literary laziness I didn't find Fieldnotes difficult to stick with. I was taken in right away with a screenplay element that starts immediately--as in, begins on the inside cover.
With poetry, it's often easier to get a grip if you can see/hear it read by the author. Thanks to YouTube, here's your chance with FaF:
Saffian’s birth parents made contact with her via telephone a month before her 24th birthday. She wasn’t prepared for that. What follows is the three year journey to her becoming prepared to meet with them, and her three biological siblings.
I found this because someone posted or referenced the author’s great Ten Rules for Fat Girls, and I saw on her site that she writes vampire novels. Protagonist Miranda Grey isn’t fat, but when she’s thin its viewed as a sign of poor physical and mental health.
Thanks Kate Haas for telling me to read this graphic memoir about infertility. The comics are detailed and funny, and frequently feature the author’s cat Reuben.
Cantwell’s writing in American Girl is just as good as Manhattan, When I Was Young, though it’s a little more impressionistic. Perhaps that’s I found it less satisfying than its sequel. I still recommend it. Should I bother with the third of the Trilogy, Speaking with Strangers?
