No, I did not read all three since I posted my last book. Two of these books I read before<em> Love in the Time of Cholera, </em>but never blogged about them. The third I finished last night. I have realized I need to post baout the books as soon as I finish them or I loose track.


Gods in Alabama by Joshilyn Jackson
After Love in the Time of Cholera I needed something light and funny. So if you know the premise of this book you might be thinking a murder mystery is not light and funny reading. Given the subject matter, murder, rape, dysfunctional family, it does not seem like it would be a funny and light read, but it was at least for me. I did really enjoy this book. It will not rank up with one of my all time favorites, but it was definitely entertaining. I was taken in by the story from the first line and did not want to put it down.
<strong>From Publishers Weekly
</strong>Arlene Fleet, the refreshingly imperfect heroine of Jackson’s frank, appealing debut, launches her story with a list of the title’s deities: “high school quarterbacks, trucks, big tits, and also Jesus.” The first god, also a date rapist by the name of Jim Beverly, she left dead in her hometown of Possett, Ala., but the last she embraces wholeheartedly when high school graduation allows her to flee the South, the murder and her slutty reputation for a new life in Chicago. Upon leaving home, Arlene makes a bargain with God, promising to forgo sex, lies and a return home if he keeps Jim’s body hidden. After nine years in Chicago as a truth-telling celibate, an unexpected visitor from home (in search of Jim Beverly) leads her to believe that God is slipping on his end of the deal. As Arlene heads for the Deep South with her African-American boyfriend, Burr, in tow, her secrets unfold in unsurprising but satisfying flashbacks. Jackson brings levity to familiar themes with a spirited take on the clichés of redneck Southern living: the Wal-Mart culture, the subtle and overt racism and the indignant religion. The novel concludes with a final, dramatic disclosure, though the payoff isn’t the plot twist but rather Jackson’s genuine affection for the people and places of Dixie.

I really enjoyed this book. It is about a now sucessful woman, despite her upbringing, that grew up in a very dysfunctional family. It starts off with a story of her being badly burned while she was cooking herself lunch, (because her mom thought kids should be independent) and spending weeks in ICU when she was only 4. It tells of her, what most would call neglectful, parents exploits while dragging their 4 kids along with them all over the country. The author easily could have told a poor me sob story, and deservingly so, but does not. Her stories of growing up, as crazy and shocking as they are, are told in a very matter of fact way. I found myself often yelling at the parents in this book. You would think it would be depressing and hard to take but the story of the kids, especially Jeanette is actually inspiring. It is amazing what people are able to overcome, maybe those kind of hardships make us stronger. What does kill you makes you stronger, right?
<strong>Amazon.com
</strong>Jeannette Walls’s father always called her “Mountain Goat” and there’s perhaps no more apt nickname for a girl who navigated a sheer and towering cliff of childhood both daily and stoically. In <i>The Glass Castle</i>, Walls chronicles her upbringing at the hands of eccentric, nomadic parents–Rose Mary, her frustrated-artist mother, and Rex, her brilliant, alcoholic father. To call the elder Walls’s childrearing style laissez faire would be putting it mildly. As Rose Mary and Rex, motivated by whims and paranoia, uprooted their kids time and again, the youngsters (Walls, her brother and two sisters) were left largely to their own devices. But while Rex and Rose Mary firmly believed children learned best from their own mistakes, they themselves never seemed to do so, repeating the same disastrous patterns that eventually landed them on the streets. Walls describes in fascinating detail what it was to be a child in this family, from the embarrassing (wearing shoes held together with safety pins; using markers to color her skin in an effort to camouflage holes in her pants) to the horrific (being told, after a creepy uncle pleasured himself in close proximity, that sexual assault is a crime of perception; and being pimped by her father at a bar). Though Walls has well earned the right to complain, at no point does she play the victim. In fact, Walls’ removed, nonjudgmental stance is initially startling, since many of the circumstances she describes could be categorized as abusive (and unquestioningly neglectful). But on the contrary, Walls respects her parents’ knack for making hardships feel like adventures, and her love for them–despite their overwhelming self-absorption–resonates from cover to cover.

I did not care for this book. I read this one right after <em>I Know this Much is True. </em>I felt I need to read something light, funny and to be honest after the 900+ pages SHORT! I thought this would be a funny short book about how you do not have to be super mom in order to be a good mom. It was short, thank goodness or I never would have finished it. I did not find it funny at all though. It did speak to the point of not having to be super mom and have all the latest toys etc to be a great mom, but I felt in a very judgmental way. I felt like the author was saying you are a bad mom if your kid does have a lot of toys or if you do baby proof your house, or god forbid you are a stay at home mom. I thought the author had some really good points but did not like the judgmental tone I felt while reading this book.
<strong>From Publishers Weekly
</strong>A welcome relief from the flood of how-to-mother-perfectly tomes, Mead-Ferro’s short and sweet book is a reminder not to take parenthood so seriously. The author, who in addition to being the mother of two young children also has a demanding career as an advertising copywriter, has drawn valuable lessons in “making do” from her grandmother, who “had none of the proper equipment by today’s standards” yet “never described motherhood as a hardship.” Mead-Ferro doesn’t care for creating clever scrapbooks, accessorizing the nursery or trying to impart baby genius status to her three-year-old. Rather, she teaches her children that “making do” with their imagination is as good a route to inspiring creativity as any educational toy. She believes in letting her kids learn that the physical world is a complicated place; it’s better than smothering, isolating and “child-proofing” the world for them, she says. Rejecting the mentality that results in pre-school admission anxiety attacks and overly competitive soccer leagues for six-year-olds, Mead-Ferro both soothes and inspires as she prompts parents, and mothers in particular, to trust their own instincts rather than that of the “experts.” Let the kids get messy, she says, and let them figure some things out for themselves. While Mead-Ferro’s not at all sheepish about labeling this approach similar to that of a “slacker,” readers will come away with the feeling that the author is in fact a wise veteran who has experienced many of the conflicting messages women face today, and who nevertheless comes up smiling.