Read in 2013 - 44: Falling for Christmas

I know, I know. It's a bit early yet to start on reading Christmas books, but this was in a parcel Mary sent me from England a week or so ago, and somehow it held the most appeal of the five or six books in there.

I have written about Debbie Macomber before on my blog; unfortunately, the "search" box on my blog seems to have disappeared, and I have unsuccessfully tried to get it back. Blogger keeps giving me server error messages this morning, so I can not link to my previous Debbie Macomber book reviews. 
EDIT: By using the "search" option on my own "posts" page, I found my previous review of a book by the same author here. 

"Falling for Christmas" contains two novels: "A Cedar Cove Christmas" and "Call Me Mrs. Miracle". Both are nice, cosy reads, just as you would expect from this author. I liked "Call Me Mrs. Miracle" more, maybe because "A Cedar Cove Christmas" was limited to only two days (Christmas Eve and Christmas Day) and one place (mainly one house in Cedar Cove), whereas the second story is set in New York and spans a slightly longer period.

Also, by starting "A Cedar Cove Christmas" with the main character looking back from a year's distance to the events of those two days spoils the fun a little, since you as the reader are told from the very first page who the main character, Mary Jo, is going to end up with.
Mary Jo is a young woman about to become a single mother. The father is an irresponsible man who has no interest whatsoever in settling down, and Mary Jo knows that when she sets out on Christmas Eve to find him and his family in Cedar Cove.
Her three brothers, worried about her, follow on the next day on what they think is going to be a rescue mission. But by the time they locate their little sister, she is in very good hands.

For me, it is a bit too loaden with Christmas clichées, but then again, I wasn't to expect anything else, and I did enjoy it in that it was very cosy and relaxing to read this tucked up in bed at night after a demanding day at the office.

The second story is also rather foreseeable, but not quite so much. Also, I can relate a bit more to its main character. Holly is a hard-working woman who has recently taken in her 8-year-old nephew to live with her while his father, her widowed brother, is in Afghanistan with the army. She has to adjust to living with a little boy, and troubles at work as well as a just finished relationship to a man.
All ends well, of course, and for Holly as well as for all the other characters in the book, this Christmas turns out to be "the best ever", and one none of those involved will forget.
I have never been to New York, but for me, the author has managed to convey the atmosphere of New York at Christmas time really well.

Read this if you want some light, unupsetting and cosy entertainment in theme with the upcoming season. Do not read this if you dislike happy endings and cheesy clichées.

The Bluest Dress I Ever Had

In this post I told you about my shopping afternoon and showed you one of the spoils I brought home. I also mentioned that I was going to show you my other finds, and here they are:

This blue dress simply HAD to come home with me! It said "Meike" all over when I saw it at the shop, and although it does not look much on the hanger, I think it looks really good when worn. I have already worn it to work, but it is good enough for an evening out, too.
What you can't see properly in the picture are the earrings I am wearing. My Mum gave me these during our shopping trip, because they so perfectly match the dress: just one single glittery "stone" of exactly the same blue.

Here is how my dress is presented on the Hallhuber (the dresses' fashion label) website:

Even if I say so myself, I like it much better on me than on her! (She may be less than half my age, very pretty and with beautiful hair, but she is too skinny.)

Hallhuber is, by the way, a label where I almost always find something, and usually, those finds become firm favourites that stay with me for years, for instance the yellow dress.

My third new acquisition is the one I actually went shopping for: I wanted a simple, classic, no-nonsense grey pair of trousers fit for business, and I found this one at comma:

Comma is yet another one of those labels with a high potential for favourite pieces, such as the knit dress and this suit, or the silk skirt I wore to the Golden Wedding recently. With both comma and Hallhuber, I often browse their clothes racks at the shop and don't see anything I like - or if I do, it is too expensive -, but when I do find something, it seems as if it was made for me. And that is the only reason why I continue to look at their range of clothes; I don't mind at all what brand names I wear, but I simply know that some labels have just what I like (and I wear clothes found at the supermarket, too; that tells you something about how "label conscious" I am!).

Winter is my least favourite time of the year, but it is made a little easier and nicer if I know I have nice things to wear.

Read in 2013 - 43: Frances

This book was a surprise in that I had not checked any product information before downloading it as one of the many free ebooks (it is not free now) on my Kindle.

"Frances" by Mary Carmen is the fictional autobiography of Frances Myllar, written from her hospital bed in the year 2040.

By and by, the reader learns some of the things that have happened in the decades between now and 2040: there has been another world war, with all its political and economial consequences, and climatic changes mean that people dress different from the way we do now.

Let me give you the story's synopsis directly from Amazon's product page:

"Frances Myllar is a beautiful, intelligent, and rich prisoner of her family. She and her three siblings are guarded around the clock. In 2040 Frances is crippled by a terrible accident and uses her convalescence to write her life's story. Frances's story includes romance, honors for her work, a loveless marriage, and two children. It also includes her close relationships with her happy-go-lucky brother and her brilliant mother. The events of 2040 turn Frances's life around. From her hospital bed she makes decisions and sets in motion events that will free her from her family and her cold husband. Frances cannot know these decisions will also give her the opportunity for worldwide fame and executive responsibility."

While the story unfolds, one can not help wondering how come Frances allowed her life to be completely ruled by others and not once decides anything for herself. Instead, she goes about all her manifold duties and tasks with not a word of complaint. Everything she does is a success, and there is not one single thing that could be considered a failure.
Even her "romance" does not sound romantic at all; the (few) "steamy" scenes are extremely clinical, like describing sex between Barbie and Ken. Her feelings are as good as non-existent, or at least they never become apparent to me.  There is no humour, everything sounds technical and perfect.
Frances and everyone else in the book appear therefore rather flat, not like people of flesh and blood. I can not relate to her at all, and wonder if it's just me, or others who have read the book feel the same.

Now that I am putting my impression into words, I begin to think that maybe this technical perfection is exactly what the author meant to convey. If this was her intention, she has succeeded very well.

You can learn more about Mary Carmen and her books on her website.

Good Days, Sad Times

My life isn't different from anyone else's in that there are always Good Things as well as stuff that makes me sad or angry, although I often get the impression that I get a lot more of the Good Things than many people I know.

The last two weeks or so are a good example of such ups and downs, with definitely more ups than downs, so here is a brief (at least I'll try to keep it that way) summary:

The week before last, I only worked on Monday and Tuesday, and had the rest of the week off. I spent those days off doing such nice things as going shopping, having cocktails and resting.

My Mum went shopping with me, and showed a lot of patience in moving with me from one shop to the next, finding the items I was trying on in a different size and so on. I came home with a pair of shoes, a pair of grey trousers (for the office) and a dress - and in need of a nice mug of coffee on my settee!

The shoes. I am going to show you the dress in another post, and maybe the grey trousers, too.

On the following day, I went for lunch at my Mum's. Before climbing the stairs to my parents' place, I stopped at the ground floor flat of a friend of my Mum's who had asked us for a glass of sparkling wine. We shared that with her and one of her cats (don't worry, of course the cat did not have any of the sparkling wine - but she threw down and smashed one of the glasses shortly after this picture was taken).

She's a Maine Coon, her name is Velvet, and she's just beautiful - and of a very pleasant, easy-going disposition.

While my Mum was getting lunch ready, I took this picture of her balcony. Today, when I went there for my lunch break again, the beautiful hibiskus had been moved to its winter place in the staircase, and the flowers were almost all gone. It is, after all, November.

Later, we met up with my sister and went to have cocktails together, something we had not done in a long time. It was a proper girls' night, with some giggling and several drinks for each of us. The one I am holding there is what I almost always have at that place. It is called Bounty and tastes just like the chocolate bar of the same name: of coconut and chocolate. Its colour is a creamy white with a light brown chocolaty tinge, not yellow at all - that's just due to the very low lights at the bar.

Friday was spent relaxing, cleaning and shopping for food, and on the Saturday, RJ and I finally went dancing again, for the first time since June or July! We had a great time on the dance floor.

I had one more day off on the Monday, but ended up with a headache bad enough to keep me from working on the following Tuesday. By Tuesday evening, I was right as rain again. And no, that headache had nothing to do with sparkling wine or cocktails!

The mulberry tree in front of my living room window

The quince tree next to it

On Wednesday and Thursday, I worked as usual. Thursday was Halloween, as you all know; it is not a German tradition and has been introduced here only about 10 or 15 years ago for the sake of business. I never got into the whole Halloween thing, and am always glad that nobody rings my doorbell then. My house is in the second row from the road, and not many people know that it is even there. When my doorbell was rung 10 minutes after I had come home from work, I expected it to be some trick-or-treating kids, and at first did not want to answer. But then I did answer, and a woman's voice, sounding rather agitated, asked whether I had a cat. I said that I didn't, not anymore, but the family downstairs had one, why? She then explained that she and her husband had just witnessed a cat being run over by a car on the street where I live, and when I asked her what the cat looked like and she said it was a tiger, of course I thought it was Lucky, my downstairs neighbours' cat (you've seen him several times on my blog). Nobody was home downstairs, so I put my shoes and my coat back on and followed the woman, her husband and their babies in the twin pram to the street corner where the poor cat had died a minute ago.

Another neighbour had by then wrapped the dead cat in a towel and removed it from the road. I asked to see it, so that I could identify it, and immediately recognized it as not being Lucky, but another cat I'd often met and sometimes stroked on my way to the supermarket. Once I said which cat it was, the neighbour with the towel had a closer look and said that I was right; it turned out the knew the name of the cat (Krümel, which means crumb, a German nickname for someone really small) and was on first-names terms with its owner. He now had the sad task of taking the dead cat to said owners and break the sad news to them. I went home, still a bit upset, but also glad that it had not been Lucky - and even more glad that poor little Krümel was already dead by the time I got there. It would have been unbearable to find him still alive, knowing there was nothing that we could do, the injuries were too serious.

Adding to my sadness was that I thought of Steve more than usual; it would have been his 45th birthday.

Friday, November the 1st, was a bank holiday in my part of Germany, and I was glad to have another day of rest.

RJ and I wore matching outfits.

On Saturday, my parents, RJ and I attended my Godmother's Golden Wedding. It was a nice day, starting off with a church service, during which the "Golden couple" renewed their marriage vows. The choir sang, the old church was warm and cosy, and I felt rather moved by some of the lines in the songs and in the prayers. For me, it was the first time after 43 years that I was back at the church where I had been baptized.
The reception after the service was good, too; there was plenty of delicious food, conversation with many people, some of which I had not seen in 20 years, and some games and performances by the couple's children and grandchildren.

Sunday was another Good Day. It was sunny and very, very windy, and RJ and I went for a long, wind-blown walk across the fields. At times the wind was so strong I could lean into it without falling over!

This week, I am back to my normal work schedule. Today is the 4th anniversary of Steve's death. It does not feel different from any other day, but of course that bizarre evening, the 5th of November 2009, is very much present in my mind. Nobody could have predicted the events of that day, or how my life changed after that. What I feel today, more than anything else, is immense gratitude towards all who were (and still are) there for me - not only during the first few hours, days and weeks, but also in the months that followed, and still bear with me when I keep mentioning Steve in (almost) everyday conversation. And of course I am thinking of Mary, my mother-in-law, a lot today. I have written about her a few times already; you can read one of those posts here.

Oh dear - this post has become much longer than I thought. If you are still here and have not fallen asleep from my rambling, congratulations - you've made it! Today's post ends

here.    

Read in 2013 - 42: The Incomplete Amorist

"The Incomplete Amorist" is the first adult novel by Edith Nesbit I have ever read, and I must say it did nothing to make me want to read more. I love her children's books - they are, along with Astrid Lindgren's works and the Narnia books, my all-time favourites. And when, not that long ago, Monica wrote about some of Nesbit's books on her blog, I went straight to the kindle shop and downloaded all the free ones I could find. "The Incomplete Amorist" was among them.

While researching for this review, I came across this review, which sums up very well what I would have told you about the book myself. 

For those of you who do not wish to follow links leading elsewhere, here is my brief summary of this (relatively short) novel:

Young Betty grows up an orphan with her strict stepfather, a vicar in rural England in Edwardian times. She dreams of being an artist, and one day, while she is out sketching, happens to come across a man who really is an artist. Predictably, the two of them embark on something we today would certainly not call an affair (they never even kiss or hug), but what was deemed improper from society's point of view back then.

Her stepfather finds out, and to make Betty forget the man (Vernon), he sends her to Paris, where she is to study art. In Paris, very predictably, she runs into the man again. And when the lady who is supposed to chaperon her dies, Betty grabs the chance to take her life into her own hands without anyone back home knowing about it. 

She has enough money (originally intended for the chaperone) to rent her own rooms and does indeed study art, making friends among her fellow students, and meeting Vernon regularly for meals. The two of them think they are in love with each other, but neither tells the other what they believe to be feeling. There are another woman and another man to complicate matters, leading to Vernon leaving Paris, and Betty going away, too.

Still, nobody at home knows about any of this, but finally, Betty's aunt and her stepfather decide to go visiting the girl in Paris, where they find out that she never lived with the chaperone and spent the past months all on her own.

They follow Betty, who finally learns the truth about her stepfather, and returns to England with him. She does get married to the man who loves her in the end, but I must admit that the "happy ending" left me quite flat; I never cared for Betty throughout the book, or for any of the men. The character I felt most for was her stepfather, and you just have to like the aunt.

My free ebook version came without illustrations, but I found the illustrated one at Project Gutenberg, and am nicking two of the pictures for this review.

Do not read it if you expect a typical Edith Nesbit book; the Edith I love shows herself in only very few instances in this story. Still, it makes an interesting picture of life for a young woman in Edwardian times, and how that life (and that of those around her) was restricted in so many ways by society's conventions.

Read in 2013 - 41: The Uninhabited House

Yet another author I'd not heard about previously, and yet another one who, according to wikipedia, was very popular and well known in their time.

"The Uninhabited House" is a Victorian ghost story (published in 1875), but there is nothing scary about it. The narrator is a young man who works at an attorney's office. One of their clients owns a large, beautiful house, but is travelling across Europe most of the time and therefore seeking tenants for the place.
The attorney keeps finding tenants, and these in turn keep leaving the house within months or even just weeks of moving in, claiming that the house is uninhabitable, without ever giving a proper reason.

Finally (one wonders why this has not happened before), the young man is sent to interview the latest of the unhappy tenants, and is told that there have been strange goings-on and supernatural apparitions in the house.

Our young man does not believe in ghosts, and is determined to solve the mystery of the uninhabited house by moving in for a while himself. He is also interested in finding out who or what is behind it all because the promised reward would enable him to propose marriage to the young lady he has fallen in love with.

What he learns, and whether he and his sweetheart get married, I won't tell you here; the free kindle book is short and readable enough for you to find out for yourselves, if you like. I enjoyed it, although it held no surprises.

A few words about the author: Charlotte Riddell lived from 1832 to 1906, and wikipedia calls her "one of the most popular and influential writers of the Victorian period. The author of 56 books, novels and short stories, she was also part owner and editor of the St. James's Magazine, one of the most prestigious literary magazines of the 1860s."

With this review, I have cut down my current backlog from five books to three. There is now one non-fiction, one Edith Nesbit and one modern novel waiting to be reviewed.

Read in 2013 - 40: Mary Marston

A lesson in patience: this is what this book was for me. More than once, I was very much tempted to stop reading, delete it from my kindle and start on something else, but in the end, I decided to take that lesson, let the story and the author's arguments unfold in slow motion, and finish it.

"Mary Marston" was written in 1881 by George MacDonald, an author I had never heard of previously. According to wikipedia, he wrote quite a few works of fantasy (Mary Marston isn't one of them) and was a considerable influence on the works of more famous authors of fantasy stories after him, such as C. S. Lewis, Madeleine L'Engle and my beloved Edith Nesbit. Wikipedia also states that "even Mark Twain, who initially disliked [him], became friends with him". 

The larger part of MacDonald's work consists of realistic (non-fantasy) fiction and non-fiction, almost all of them of a religious character; hardly surprising if you know that the author was a Christian minister. He did get into trouble with his superiors for his refusal to accept certain theological views that he felt were wrong, and so his ministerial career was not very successful.

He had a large family and was a loving and devoted father and husband. Several of his books are classified as children's books, but "I write, not for children," he wrote, "but for the child-like, whether they be of five, or fifty, or seventy-five."

Now to Mary Marston: This is, essentially, the story of a young woman who takes her life into her own hands, never placing any importance on what others think of her, but doing what she feels is right. Sadly, Mary's character does not evolve at all - she is already perfect when the book starts, and remains perfect throughout. But all the characters around her undergo changes; they make mistakes, seek atonement for them, or persist in them; they age and learn, both by their own and Mary's actions.

At the start of the book, Mary works alongside her father in their clothes shop in a small English town. Their partners in business are very different from the two Marstons, in that they only seek to make as much profit from the shop as possible, whereas Mary and her father are shining examples of good morals and business practice.
Eventually, the elderly father dies, and although Mary is now a fully fledged partner in  the business, she decides to leave and goes to live with a rich, unhappy lady as her personal maid. Nobody understands this seemingly stupid move of hers, but of course, Mary's motives are only the most noble at all times.

Later on, she learns of an old friend who has fallen upon hard times, and when the rich unhappy lady does not want her to go and help that friend, Mary packs her bags and leaves the place, putting her friend's welfare above all else. She does indeed manage to help her friend, but not without much more trouble first, some sort of detective story being part of that as well.

By the end of the book, Mary is back in her home town, happily married (to someone else than whom I thought at the beginning of the story) and running her own clothes shop. What becomes of the other characters is told in not so many words; some have changed for the better, others never will.

Yes, there were a few surprises in the story, not just Mary's love interest. There were also some small gems hidden among the lengthy explanations of Mary's and the other people's characters, values, morals, thoughts and dreams, and I want to show you some of them, since they kept me persevering with the book:

He was a common man, with good cold manners, which he offered you like a handle. [This describes one of the principal characters when the reader is first introduced to him.]

Sweet earthy odors rose about Mary from the wet ground; the rain-drops glittered on the grass and corn-blades and hedgerows; a soft damp wind breathed rather than blew about the gaps and gates; with an upward springing, like that of a fountain momently gathering strength, the larks kept shooting aloft, there, like music-rockets, to explode in showers of glowing and sparkling song. [Mary walking across the fields to visit a friend on a sunny Sunday.]

No man's dignity is affected by what another does to him, but only by what he does, or would like to do, himself.

She was not unhappy, she was only not happy. [A description of Mary's friend before she hits really hard times and Mary comes to her rescue.]

When one is quiescent, submissive, opens the ears of the mind, and demands of them nothing more than the hearing—when the rising waters of question retire to their bed, and individuality is still, then the dews and rains of music, finding the way clear for them, soak and sink through the sands of the mind, down, far down, below the thinking-place, down to the region of music, which is the hidden workshop of the soul.

Very few of us are awake, very few even alive in true, availing sense.

It is not where one is, but in what direction he is going.

The two bonds of friendship are the right of silence and the duty of speech.

Maybe I would have enjoyed one of George MacDonald's fantasy/children's novels more, but I certainly drew some food for thought from this one - plus I proved to myself that I can, if I want to, be a patient reader.