Literal Laura

priorities

Prior to reading War on Peace, I knew a few things about Ronan Farrow but was not familiar with his backstory. Had I been aware of everything he accomplished at such a young age, as well as the astonishing depth of knowledge he had accumulated about America’s foreign policy, I would have jumped the book War on Peace to the top of my to-read list.

What a read. Farrow interviewed every single living Secretary of State for War on Peace, and his research was beyond exhaustive. Not only did he conduct interviews but his citations draw on an exhaustive bibliography, including materials only made available through Wikileaks.

Farrow tells the tale of his own experience at the State Department, which was colored heavily by his mentor, veteran diplomat Richard Holbrooke. Under Holbrooke’s tutelage, Farrow learned of the stark divide between diplomats and military officials, from their priorities to how they and their opinions are treated by the executive branch of government.

In War on Peace, Farrow teaches the reader about diplomacy as a dying art form, and argues that a resurgence of respect for and interest in this relic from the past could possibly save the country from a foreign policy that is overly reliant on the military. He traces the decline of diplomacy and illustrates the manner in which the after-effects of 9/11, including the Patriot Act and an uptick in communications surveillance, have led to that decline.

Both Republican and Democratic administrations have made a habit of surrounding themselves with military leaders rather than civilian diplomats, and the distance from the State Department to the Oval is much further than from the National Security Advisor’s office, Farrow explains.

While military officials (current or retired) are enticing options for many Cabinet level positions due to their leadership qualities, Farrow argues that experienced diplomats should fill the roles. He also discusses the vast shortage of currently filled jobs within the State Department, and the lack of applicants looking to begin their careers in the diplomatic corps.

As Farrow tells the story of his mentor, Richard Holbrooke, and how he successfully and artfully helped to forge a peace accord in Bosnia, he ends up making quite the case for a return to the heydays of diplomacy. It’s a terrifying story, beautifully told, and highly worth the read.

in your neighborhood

Ah, the suburbs. Matchy-matchy houses, sidewalks, greeting the neighbors, the sounds of children playing. It’s where Americans want to raise their families, right? Julie Langsdorf’s White Elephant takes readers inside a development in Northern Virginia in which the suburban utopia is being replaced by high drama.

When a construction magnate purchases a few homes in Willard Park, then begins to level and build massive new houses in their place, his neighbors resent the intrusion. Everyone in Willard Park has homes that were purchased from a Sears catalog after World War II, and they’re fine. I mean, they each have one bathroom and they’re very small. But they are fine. They’re livable.

Tensions boil over when the “new neighbor,” Nick Cox, is suspected of cutting down trees around Willard Park in addition to his other sins (of building large, ugly monstrosities). His wife and children aren’t welcomed with open arms, and the neighbors begin to harbor secrets. They want to add on to their homes, or they are unhappy with their spouse/job/life.

White Elephant was an interesting read, and it reminded me of “Little Fires Everywhere,” which I also enjoyed. It had less of a lasting impact, maybe because the ending was a bit of a letdown. Some of the characters were more well-drawn than others, and I was actually left to wonder about the motivations of some. Either way, it was compelling enough.

low cabin pressure

Maybe this is a personal shortcoming, but if I find a main / narrator-type character to be despicable, I don’t like the book. If I can find one quality in that person that is endearing, maybe I’ll like the book a bit. Unfortunately, the flight attendant (Cassie) in Chris Bohjalian’s aptly named book was not endearing. In fact, the book should have been named “The Shit Show.”

Cassie is a long-tenured flight attendant for an American-based airline. She gets to bid on routes that she really wants and sometimes gets them because she’s put her time in. One one of those highly sought after flights, she goes out to dinner with a passenger and then ends up in bed with him. Except he’s dead. Chaos ensues.

There were so many likable elements to this book, but Cassie isn’t one of them. I think I’d have been able to get past that more if the book was more focused. Was it trying to fit into the popular “unreliable female narrator” genre, or the international crime syndicate one? Is the reader supposed to sympathize with Cassie, whose sister won’t let her be alone with her kids and who gets a kick out of stealing stuff from hotels?

I found myself wanting the FBI to nail her for not telling the truth. I was fascinated by the female assassin who is dispatched to, well, dispatch Cassie. But all in all I was just happy when the book was over, if not disappointed that it could have been so much better if it didn’t try to be more than it was.

an eye for an eye

Anyone who has ever shown up for jury duty has been asked whether or not they are more likely to believe a police officer is telling the truth on the witness stand than a regular citizen. I remember the first time I was asked that question — I was in my early twenties and had to report for jury duty for the very first time. The court convened in my hometown of Reading, and the matter at hand was a homicide — the killing of an assistant manager at the drive-through of a McDonald’s.

As I filled out the prospective juror questionnaire, I thought it was silly to be asked about believing police more than everyday people. Police swore an oath to serve and protect the citizens of the district in which they work… then they swear ANOTHER oath to tell the truth on the witness stand. Two oaths! Of course you can trust the police. The lawyers for the defendant asked me to stand up, and asked me if I really believed the police were more likely to tell the truth. I said yes, with all the bright, shiny, naivety that a young white woman possesses. I was excused from duty.

Bryan Stevenson’s incredible Just Mercy was published in 2014. Had I read it before that first jury duty appearance, it would have gone differently.

Stevenson’s book (soon to be a major motion picture!) is part memoir, part gentle, eloquent introduction to the criminal justice system’s failings in some areas of the United States. I have never been a strong advocate for or against the death penalty, but some recent true crime stories on Netflix (The Staircase comes to mind) have made me wonder whether it’s truly fair to put a person to death because it was proven that they killed another human. In 2019. In the United States.

As Stevenson shares his story of studying law at Harvard and lacking a passion for any particular subject matter, then being thrust into criminal defense in the Deep South, I was at first amused (just “happening” to get into Harvard Law without being drawn to any particular area of law almost made me giggle) and then I was captivated.

Here was a man who not only found a subject to focus on — he found a reason to breathe. He lived for these men and women on death row. He visited the homes of their families. He listened to them. He grieved with their loved ones. He showed them respect and dignity. When a man called him from prison and left him a confusing voice mail, which made it clear that he suffered from some sort of mental incapacity, Stevenson drove for hours to the facility to see how he could help. He cared. He did the best he could, with the (limited) resources at his disposal to give them justice for the first time in their experience with the justice system.

Treating people with empathy has always come naturally to me. But it’s hard to imagine being able to look past the conviction, the jumpsuit, the jail cell, the handcuffs, and really see the person behind all of it. The way Stevenson tells his story, at first he was afraid — how would he tell this convicted murderer that he was just an intern, a student, not even a lawyer yet? It turns out the man didn’t care. He just wanted someone to listen to him, to treat him with humanity.

The cases that Stevenson describes are heartbreaking, and many are tough to read. As he lays out the evidence uncovered after the mostly young, mostly black, mostly men are sentenced to die for crimes they did not commit, it’s unfathomable that they were treated with such disregard. But they were. He works hard to overturn the convictions, but the time, the stigma, can never be erased.

If you’re like I used to be and have a sunny outlook on the justice system, give this a read. If you want to know why Colin Kaepernick took a knee, give this a read. If you’d like to be surprised by how corrupt institutions can be, give this a read. If you’re interested in how much money witnesses may be paid for false testimony, (you guessed it!) get this from your local library.

And if you want to check out the trailer, see it here. When I googled the author after finishing the book, I was pleasantly surprised to see it was being turned into a film (read about it here).

hope within grasp

It seems like an exaggeration to describe a book as devastating, but Disappearing Earth fits the bill.

Set in Russia’s Kamchatka peninsula, Julia Phillips’ novel explores families, biases, fear of immigrants, and the pain of loss through a variety of characters whose lives touch at the margins following the disappearance of two small girls from the downtown district of the closest large city.

After the sisters go missing, we are given small glimpses into the daily existences of a number of people who are tangentially related to the ongoing search in the weeks and months that follow: a school administrator, a local police detective, a photographer, a college student, a volcanic researcher and more.

The tragedy that befalls one family (which is a single mother and the two girls, now gone) influences everyone in the area differently. Many wish that the peninsula’s borders were still closed, “We were safer that way,” they mutter, harkening back to life under Communist rule.

The implicit judgment of families with only one parent… the perceived dangers of the city to those who have never ventured outside of the peninsula… the deep and unique pain felt by family members whose loved ones are perceived dead… the dual longing to be a mother and yet not be a mother… Phillips does a remarkable job expressing feelings that many have experienced but never divulged. She has an uncanny knack for turning a phrase in a way that is both poignant and overwhelming. The power in her expression is somehow held in both what is said, and what goes unsaid.

“What’s the type of girl to do anything?” one of the female characters asks, challenging her male friend who is making an assumption about how girls think and act. That line struck me with its insubordination; one woman sticking up for the rest.

So much about Disappearing Earth was satisfying, brilliant, and striking. As I read one particular chapter regarding a female scientist and her devotion to her dog, I actually had tears rolling down my face. By the final page, which I read while hunched over and feeling tense, I felt as if I had been on a journey with these characters–one in which I learned a lot about myself, and how similar many people actually are if they let go of pretense.

one for the girls

Earlier this year I tore through Cristina Alger’s The Banker’s Wife, so I anxiously awaited the arrival of her newly released thriller Girls Like Us at my local library. I’m happy to report that I was not disappointed.

A taut, tightly woven whodunnit, Alger’s book follows Nell Flynn, an FBI agent who returns to her hometown on Long Island following her estranged father’s death in a motorcycle accident. She takes some leave from her FBI work in order to settle his estate and prepare his home for sale, as her mother was killed years ago and she is the sole heir.

When Nell is asked by her late father’s partner to lend a hand on an investigation, she begins to wonder whether her father, a homicide detective, had become corrupt in the ten years since they last spoke.

Nell digs deeper into the stories of the two young women who were killed in similar manners in the past year. What follows is a thrilling journey that could be ripped from the headlines — rich men, payoffs and bribes, young women being victimized, coverups and conspiracies.

Pick this one up, give it 50 pages, and you’ll be hooked. It’s worth the read, and Alger’s name is one worth following. I picked up a copy of The Darlings not long ago and can’t wait to read it soon!

her father’s daughter

“You are your father’s daughter,” Alice’s mother told her. “Neither of you can help being conspicuous.”

Stephanie Marie Thornton’s American Princess is a delightful account of the life of Alice Roosevelt, Teddy Roosevelt’s oldest child. She was one of the most famous teenagers ever to live in the White House, and her adult life was spent longing to return to it as a resident.

Thornton’s book is classified as historical fiction, but from what I can tell it’s based on real events, as well as information gleaned from Alice’s actual diary entries–at least, the ones which could be deencrypted from their author’s notoriously illegible handwriting.

Alice was the only child of Teddy and his first wife, Alice Lee, for whom she was named. Alice Lee died two days after giving birth to their child, and Alice’s vivid blue eyes forever reminded her father of her mother. Teddy left his newborn daughter with his sister Anna, who raised Alice for much of her childhood, until he remarried and had more children, then brought Alice to come live with him and his second wife.

Alice had a complicated relationship with her stepmother, who she referred to as “Mother” and whose jealousy of Alice Lee never really faded. As Alice grew into a teenager, her strong-willed nature rendered her unmanageable, and Teddy (now President) knew his relationship with his oldest daughter was similarly troubled. Alice reveled in the media attention she received every time she left the White House — dancing at balls, going on dates with young men, smoking in front of cameramen, driving cars and even wearing pants. She viewed herself as responsible and strong, a woman who did not need a man as a partner.

I will admit that the beginning of this book made me dislike Alice due to her whiny nature. Sure, her childhood was rough but she came across as materialistic and insufferable. It took her growing up a bit for me to find her as interesting and to emotionally invest in her well-being. I’m happy to report, though, that as she careened into adulthood Alice became as formidable and fascinating as you would expect Teddy’s daughter to be.

To avoid spoilers I won’t reveal too many more plot points, but suffice it to say the book does an excellent job of explaining how Alice earned her nickname “The Other Washington Monument.” She never kept her mouth shut about issues and was famous for throwing dinner parties at which alliances were forged and legislation was hammered out. She was a fixture in both the House and Senate viewing areas, at turns for her husband and for her lover. She lived a long, fascinating life, one that I thoroughly enjoyed reading about.

relatable

Stars, they’re just like us. Right? It’s hard to agree with that sentiment, but the honesty with which Busy Philipps pens her memoir makes it tough to disagree — if only on certain topics.

Any review of a celebrity memoir should note the expectation of the reviewer upon starting the book. Are they anxiously anticipating the gossip that they hope will be dished up in said memoir’s pages? Are they a huge fan of the celebrity, looking for new details about that person’s life that had not been previously divulged? Are they reading the book to learn more about how the star views their own life story?

Prior to starting this book, I didn’t know a lot about Busy Philipps. I watched Freaks and Geeks after it aired, and because of my age I saw her on Dawson’s Creek (obv), and on occasional viewings of Cougar Town, but I’m not familiar with her movies. I DO follow her on Instagram, and I will admit I’ve sent her an admiring DM or two about how happy I am to see that someone famous will post Insta-stories of herself sweating profusely at the gym. #refreshing.

Now that I’ve finished her autobiography, I’m a Busy fan. She doesn’t have her shit together, and isn’t trying to hide that fact. It sounds like her childhood was a little tough, growing up in Arizona and feeling as if she did not fit in with people in her age group. She talks about being raped at the age of 14 and getting pregnant by her boyfriend at age 15. These stories are intimate and painful, including her effort to get her rapist to be her boyfriend (so she wouldn’t have to think of herself as a slut) and her boyfriend’s mother blaming Busy instead of her son for getting pregnant.

These are some nasty stories, and there are more as she gets older. While Busy always wanted to be an actress, it didn’t come easily — her breakout role as a human Barbie doll at a toy convention was fascinating to read about — and as she careened into adulthood, she faced challenges from within her family, the industry, and her group of friends. Sure, the Dawson’s Creek drama was there, as were some tales from her days on set of Freaks and Geeks. Those were the only stories focused on by media outlets when they reviewed her book or interviewed Busy, and she quickly tired of talking about them while promoting her memoir.

Some themes I noticed that carried between the chapters (whose titles share the names of songs) are that Busy was always trying to contain herself, to tamp herself down, to be smaller, to take up less space. Whether that was to please her parents — especially her mother, who always wanted to go be an entertainer in Hollywood but never did — or to make her sister like her more, or to get a man she was into be her boyfriend, or to get a movie role… Busy always thought something was wrong with her personality or her body or her mind until she finally decided she was chasing the wrong goals.

Her relationships with men are terrible to read about, especially the boyfriend who, along with his loser brother, stole the concept for the movie which ended up becoming Blades of Glory and then dropped her story-writing credit after the studio deal was made.

She describes dealing with the housing crisis and suffering financially during the recession in 2008, and how she devalued herself by auditioning for roles she really didn’t want. She is honest about how her marriage suffered greatly in the wake of the birth of their first child, and how her embracing of Instagram’s story feature at its inception was more a way of consoling herself and feeling less lonely in her marriage than of actually liking the medium.

There are a lot of lessons that can be learned from reading this book. It’s not all neatly tied up in a bow, because Busy is still young and presumably has more to learn. Plus, not many things in life CAN be neatly tied up in a bow (this isn’t Hollywood).

She writes very well, especially about her admiration of certain people, such as her bestie Michelle Williams and even her ex-boyfriend Colin Hanks. One of the most moving sections of her book was a description of the days following 9/11, when she was expected to return to set of Dawson’s Creek and considered how silly her job was in the wake of the nightmare the country was suffering through at the time.

In closing, here is one of my favorite lines: “BUT GUESS WHAT? No one is going to tell you all the things you want to hear all the time. You have to know them yourself.”

deliciousity

Chocolate-covered strawberries. Mini chocolate lava cakes. Luscious, mouth-watering desserts are decadent and not recommended for everyday indulgences, much to the chagrin of most people.

Elizabeth Gilbert’s City of Girls is akin to a Shari’s Berries delivery accompanied by two bottles of red and When Harry Met Sally on DVD. It was the PERFECT read for a cross-country flight, and I finished it in a single day. I hadn’t intended to power through it, either. It wasn’t a struggle. It was such an enjoyable read that I didn’t want to put it down in order to watch a TV show or listen to music… I just marinated in the story, reveling in the exploits of young Vivian at the Lily Playhouse, soaking up all that 1940s New York City had to offer.

After getting kicked out of Vassar, Vivian is sent by her disgusted parents to live with her Aunt Peg, who owns and operates a run-down theatre in NYC. She is 19 years old and quite naive, but she fits in to the makeshift family of actors, actresses, and showgirls that call the Lily their home.

Vivian’s proclivity for sewing gives her an “in,” and she becomes an asset to the cast of characters that assemble at the Lily. There’s a woeful playwright, a songwriter whose star is too bright for the Lily, a handful of wannabe actors as well as SHOWGIRLS. Vivian is fascinated by the worldly showgirls, and she quickly befriends them and takes up their fast-paced lifestyle of nightclubs, alcohol, and chasing men.

Not unexpectedly, our Vivian has many learning experiences while living and working at the Lily. I don’t want to spoil the book, but what surprised me was the depth with which I felt her pain through an otherwise frothy read. She tells her tale as an old woman who has lived an unpredictable, nontraditional life, and that was the only part of City of Girls that I wasn’t crazy about — how she has written it all to a young woman named Angela, who asked Vivian in a letter to explain her relationship with Angela’s father. Some of the subject matter and the level of detail is tough to imagine writing to a young woman who is practically a stranger. But anyway.

My best advice: Run a bubble bath, pour a glass of wine, leave the bottle by the tub and indulge yourself by reading City of Girls. That Liz Gilbert is fearless, and I’m so glad she wrote this book.

how about a round of applause

A couple meets in a pub prior to their marriage counseling session in Nick Hornby’s quick-yet-luxurious examination of their partnership, State of the Union.

A brief yet endearing book, Hornby exposes the staggering number of connections between the couple, as well as their resentments, their fears, and the hardships they have experienced. Quite a bit of emotion can be summoned from a short number of pages — though it’s only ten short chapters, it packs a punch.

Hornby’s writing is phenomenal as ever, and while you can tell he didn’t intend for this to be a magnum opus or anything, it lingered on the palate in a very satisfying way.