The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver

epic.
tragic.
humbling.

As I load my automatic dishwasher, and perform other mundane tasks with the help of modern domestic technology, my thoughts often turn humbly to pioneers who lived full, happy, difficult lives without running water, indoor plumbing, electric stoves or forced air heating. What I now know I've been ignorant about, and what this book revealed, is the poverty and lack of modern conveniences that people TODAY live without. And that's just the backdrop to this epic novel of a religious southern American family who travel to a small village in Africa's Congo in the 1950s to live as missionaries. To call their fictional experience culture shock is an understatement. Told first person by each member of the family in turn except the cruel father, the book explores how one tragic and pivotal experience affects each family member for decades to come, while delving into the social consequences of real life political and societal events of the time. A deep story of love and loss leaves the reader with a better understanding that nothing is simple, and that at times, hope must be found within.

The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake by Aimee Bender

vivid.
introspective.
confusing.

I love it when adult fiction is narrated first person from a child's perspective. It always reminds me how confusing this crazy world is to little ones, who often have to grapple with experiences that far exceed their understanding or ability to navigate. So, subconsciously, they translate the things they don't understand into their own language, making a sort of sense of thing that make no sense. This book is told from the perspective of a child (and on in to her teen years) who develops the ability to taste others' emotions and moods through food. From the standpoint of someone who loves food, and appreciates vivid descriptive fiction, I really enjoyed the journey, up until the climax, which was deliberately written in a vague way and left me craving answers rather than understanding a revelation. I believe the author did this on purpose--the "child" narrator didn't fully understand it herself. And often in life we don't get the real, concrete answers that movies or stories tend to provide. But the "big revelation" in the book was diminished for me because it was so confusing, I couldn't really put my finger on what actually happened. What I think happened is a very cool story. If only I could know.
3 out of 5 stars

The Education of Little Tree by Forrest Carter

poignant.

vivid.
lacking.

 

The first chapter of this book, highly recommended by a friend, hooked me, narrated by a half-Native American child whose mother dies and is sent to live with his almost aboriginal grandparents in the backwoods of 1930s America. The conflict between mountain-dwelling "pure" Native Americans and "civilized" city-dwellers is apparent within the first few pages, when the grandfather is publicly mocked by a bus driver, but after that, the promising plot dwindles. Yes, the descriptions of the land and country are vivid, and the innocence and docility of the narrator are sweet. But while a series of events that make up the coming of age of a child caught between two clashing civilizations is certainly a great basis, there is nary a plot to be enjoyed and struggled through. The tragedy is that with the writer's undeniable talent, this book could have been great. Instead, it left me wanting.

2 out of 5 stars

My Name is Asher Lev

coming of age.moving.
controversial.It seems only fitting that my first review on Fiction Convert be by my favorite author, even though the book is definitely not new. Chaim Potok, as I mentioned in my "conversion" story, became my obsession in middle school. Potok, a Jewish Rabbi, didn't waste time explaining every Yiddish term or Jewish custom, he simply wove them into the story. His audience reached much farther than his own religious circles. Instead, he is considered one of the great American authors of our time, rather than one of the great Jewish authors.


I now recognize that I was drawn to the Jewish author's stories of Hasidic Jews living in urban America because of my own orthodox Mormon (LDS) background. Here was an incredibly gifted author making no apologies for his faith. He seemed to have the gift of pride in his faith, while simultaneously admitting the shortcomings and almost sinister side of its members, if not the orthodoxy itself. Could it be possible for me, then, to write a story with LDS characters and backdrop, that would be considered not just a Mormon story, but a human story? And one that didn't betray the religion I hold so dear and continue to practice faithfully? The rhetorical question seemed always in the back of my mind, and I loved Potok for his boldness and his insight into the human experience.


My Name is Asher Lev was Potok's third novel (after The Chosen and its sequel, The Promise), but it was my introduction to Potok. Like The Chosen, Asher Lev is a coming of age story, following the title character from early childhood through early adulthood and exploring his artistic inclinations in a time when such pursuits were frowned upon by his fellow Hasidic Jews. Lev must choose between his relationship with those he loves and indulging his compulsion to create art, culminating in a climactic and controversial ending. The book's ending is somewhat of a cliffhanger; luckily it's followed by a sequel, The Gift of Asher Lev.


5 of 5 stars

Nikki's Conversion Story

It all started with Green Eggs and Ham. My name is Nikki, and I'm a reading addict.

Books have always provided me more entertainment than a movie could ever hope to. In middle school, my best friend Becky and I became obsessed with Jack Weyland, to the point of writing him a letter, to which he replied! (Side note: years later, as an adult, Weyland's grown son moved to my hometown. I happened to be at a friend's house when the son stopped by. When they told me who he was, you'd have thought I was meeting Brad Pitt, I was so star-struck. And this was just his son!) From Weyland, Becky and I moved on to much deeper and darker material, mostly Chaim Potok novels. I also devoured Edgar Allan Poe and Mary Shelley's Frankenstein. Potok remains my favorite author to this day.

My love of fiction continued through high school where I ate up even assigned books like Lord of the Flies. (Don't get me wrong, though, I hated my share of assigned material just like the rest of the kids. To this day, I have no clue what Beowulf or Heart of Darkness were about.)

After high school, as a young married adult, I read Anna and the King, Les Miserables, and Little Women as I walked to and from work and school every day. Les Miserables was the first non-religious book to make me cry. In a way, it was a turning point in my reading "career." Books could really move me and maybe even change my life. I would later be so moved by books like The Kite Runner, A Thousand Splendid Suns, and These is My Words.

Then my beloved babies were born. Between the diaper changes, the lack of sleep, and generally getting the hang of motherhood, I was lucky to get in a book every 6 months (compared to my current 1-2 books per week). My love of fiction, like my love of alternative music, was put on the back burner. Until Twilight. Reading Meyer's heart-wrenching saga awakened my love of fiction and I've been a relapsed addict ever since!