Mini Book Review!

So I just finished reading Bel Canto, by Ann Patchett. And all I can say is, "WHAT DID YOU DO THAT FOR, ANN??"

It goes like this: The President of an unidentified South American country wants Mr. Hosokawa, a businessman, to build a factory in said Country. So he throws Mr. H. a big birthday party and invites all kinds of international dignitaries, including Roxane Coss, the opera singer that Mr. H. adores more than anyone simply because of her singing. Roxane reluctantly shows up and sings a few arias, and everyone is happy until a bunch of terrorists (mostly kids, under the command of a few adults) quite literally fall from the sky and take over the party. They want to kidnap the President, but alas! the President is at home watching his novela instead, and the only one there is the VP. So to avoid looking like total failures, the terrorists decide to take everyone hostage anyways. Four months later, everyone is still there. The terrorists and hostages are actually friends-- waaay more than friends, in some cases.

The novel is very nicely written. The narration stays in third person the whole time, he said/she said etc., but shifts every so often to another character's perspective. A lot of the time it's Mr. H.'s translator, Gen, who speaks every language imaginable and is therefore the only way for the hostages, negotiators, and party guests to talk to each other. What I liked was that each character was incredibly distinct, even the numerous terrorists. You'd think it would be difficult to tell Ishmael from Cesar from Benjamin, but Patchett gives each one such a unique personality that it's easy.

A lot happens within the four months: like I mentioned, people fall in love, but they also make friends, learn new things (like how to play chess and speak Spanish), and learn a lot about themselves. If there's a moral to the story, it's that time is all relative. When the days are spread out like leaves on a palm tree, time is long. When you realize that your days have always been numbered, time takes on a frantic, now-or-never feel. It all depends on what you want to do with your time.

The book is funny at times, serious at others, and always thought provoking; the kind of book that you hesitate to close the covers on. When Patchett describes Roxane Coss singing and how it affects all of the other characters, it's impossible to imagine that such a person didn't exist; she is only a collection of other singers, she borrowed other people's hair and eyes and confidence.

Eventually I looked at how many pages I had left and realized that the happy-go-lucky thing the terrorists and "hostages" have going on can't last until the end. They don't live there in the Vice Presidential mansion forever, even though some want to, so it has to end somewhere. It's clear that neither the terrorists nor the government want to give in, so something big has to happen.

And boy, does it.

The big dénoument is what left me screaming at the book (and Anne Patchett) "WHAT DID YOU DO THAT FOR???" Because it just doesn't make sense why it had to end that way. Nothing could be perfect, but it didn't have to be so far from it either.

Aaaaand I've probably given too much away, so I'll end here. If you get the chance, read it. It's a fantastic book.

If You Give a Sam a Cannoli

Once my dad and I went on a search for the perfect notebook. I don't remember why; he needed a notebook for something and I just plain wanted one, as I often do. So one school night--I think it was a Wednesday-- at 7 0r 8, after dinner, we decided to go to Borders and look. It was like going out for dessert, only this time of a literary sort.

We checked the store closest to home first but didn't find it. He was looking for something very specific and so was I, and I think it's funny that even though neither one of us told the other that we were looking for a hardcover black Moleskine, we both knew that that was what we were out for. So we checked the clock and decided we had one more stop in us before we had to get home to bills and homework and kept going.

I remember laughing in the silence of the car just because the whole thing was ridiculous. Here we were, following our treasure map in what felt like the middle of the night, when we were supposed to be home and working. School nights were not made for playing authors.

The second stop was the charm, thankfully, and in the tiny revolving display on the counter by the cash registers we found them. I ended up settling for the soft cover blue books instead, solely because I'd be getting three notebooks to write in instead of one. I've always been that way-- get more for your money, even if you don't know what to do with the more. But either way, we both went back happy and talked on the way home, and my dad's hardcover book went to work and back with him every day and mine (most of mine) stayed at home in the clear plastic bin upstairs labeled "Small Notebooks."

If there's a point or a moral to the story I haven't found it yet; I have no idea why I'm deciding to post this. If I had the energy I would fluff it up more and weave in all kinds of lacy metaphors and images. Maybe I could turn it into a short story one day. For now the point is that there are two cannolis defrosting on the kitchen counter right now, which reminded me of the notebook trip, another thing that no one was interested in except for my dad and me. It's like those If You Give a Mouse a Cookie books, where one thing triggers a memory of another thing and another and another. Maybe the point is that if I think hard enough, I actually remember a lot.