Sleepwalk with Me by Mike Birbiglia

Mike Birbiglia is someone that I've watched for quite a while. He's a stellar stand-up comedian and an occasional NPR contributor. So when I heard him talking about his battles with cancer and sleepwalking on Fresh Air, I knew I would read this book.

Everyone looks for points of connection, and I am no exception. We're the same age, so most of the cultural references are extremely relevant for me (pop or otherwise). Birbiglia takes a lot of road trips, loves Mitch Hedberg, and vividly remembers random incidents from childhood. Plus, he likes to see if he can drink enough water to make his pee clear. Safe to say, we'd be friends in real life.

I kept waiting for it to get heavy, for the cancer issue or the sleepwalking to really culminate into something BIG. While it never did, this book was a satisfying read. (However, the stand-up may forever be ruined for me. I went back to watch one of his earlier specials and it wasn't as funny. His voice is different to me now.)

She: Understanding Feminine Psychology by Robert A. Johnson

(An interpretation based on the myth of Amor and Psyche and using Jungian psychological concepts)

In October I started preparing myself for some Jungian therapy, writing down my dreams in a journal and intending to make an appointment. In January (3 months later, in typical Jill fashion) I had my first session. I was told that "my depth was on the move" and recommended some books. Another 3 months later, I finally picked this up.

During the opening chapters I found myself remembering why I didn't study much psychology in college. It seems to me that it's a whole lotta simple repetition. Change a few words every few sentences, and inundate yourself with seemingly obvious principles. (However, just because you understand it doesn't mean you've absorbed it. As became apparent each time I went back to read and found myself having to reread the previous chapter to put myself in the right headspace.)

Using the ancient characters of Aphrodite and Psyche (not to mention Eros), Johnson delves into the traditional everywoman issues. Along the way we study cultural differences, primitive societies, parables and the universal ongoing quest for love.

This is definitely a book that I will return to, and won't comment upon too much extent. Revisiting my original thoughts on psychology, I find that as the questions get bigger, my thoughts on them get smaller. I have less to say, and mostly just nod my head in agreeance. As opposed to philosophy, whereas the questions and the ideas take on a massive shape for me, and encourage all kinds of thought and open up discussion. Perhaps that's simply because I've got my intellect pretty well lined up, but my heart is out of sorts in every regard.

The Narrows by Michael Connelly

This is the sequel to the first Michael Connelly book I read. In March. That's right, a month later and I'm back for more. (I see your smirk, Adam.)

Opening 8 years after the action from The Poet closed, it draws FBI agent Rachel Walling back. Walling had been booted from the FBI's good graces and posted in smalltown North Dakota as a result of some blunders made in the original Poet case. However, the killer really only wants Walling on his trail.

Meanwhile, Harry Bosch (Connelly's main recurring character) has been hired independently to investigate a former LAPD partner's death. Inevitably, their sleuthings lead them to each other and...dun dun dun...."the narrows". Mostly I think it's lame that the title doesn't become remotely relevant until the last few chapters.

While I won't be regaling these books as literature, or even respectable reading, Connelly can whip out 500 pages of a 2 day addiction from me. And, yes, I found The Scarecrow at a thrift store for $3, so I'll be reviewing that one soon.

Things Not Seen and Things Hoped For by Andrew Clements

Now, I recently said that I wouldn't become a science fiction fan. That's the truth. I accidentally got hooked on this series. After the previous 2 books I read, I was ready for something light (enough with the heartbreak and Holocaust, already). I went to my trusty bookshelf and this was the only young adult book there that I hadn't read.

Bobby is an 11 year old living in Chicago (holler). One day he wakes to realize that he is invisible. In the ensuing weeks, Bobby and his physicist father attempt to figure out why this happened and how to reverse the condition. Clever and realistic storylines unravel, including Bobby meeting a blind girl at the University of Chicago library.

I read Things Not Seen in one day, and immediately bought Things Hoped For online, eagerly awaiting its' arrival.

The second book revolves around Gwendolyn Page, a teenage violinist in New York City vigorously preparing for her Julliard audition. Bobby, now 17-year-old Robert, is visiting New York, for his trumpet auditions. The two unexpectedly run into one another and form a fast friendship.

Super light, super cute and just what I needed. Now I wait for Things That Are.

Beatrice and Virgil by Yann Martel

I read Life of Pi. Twice. Nearly hated it the first time, and read it again for a book club and liked it. When I saw Beatrice and Virgil on the shelf at Tattered Cover, I was excited...if only because it's been so long since Martel published a novel. It wasn't until page 82 that it dawned on me to make any sort of comparison between the two. When that idea first struck me, I was pissed. Frustrated that he would employ the same tricks, and angered that I might fall for them again.

Needless to say, I didn't love this book. Gladly, it was a short read and held some interest in that a plethora of literary references are made within the 224 pages. Orwell, Camus, Diderot and Flaubert all make appearances-and then the obvious allusion to Dante in the title characters.

Henry is a novelist, a rather famous novelist who uses a pen name. He receives a manuscript of a play from a fan, looking for ambiguous help, and Henry tracks him down. The guy is a taxidermist, and Beatrice and Virgil are not only the main characters in his play, but also stuffed animals he keeps in his shop.

Martel repeats himself in getting to his point, and uses a combination of the play and Henry's trepidation to come to a conclusion as to what this guy wants...even though it is clear to both Henry and the reader where this story is going and what has inspired it.

The most disturbing thing, for me, is that I tortured myself by reading the appendix (of sorts) called Games for Gustav. Some 18 random hypothetical situations, each more terrifying and gut-wrenching than the last. Sadly, I then read a few aloud to friends simply to relieve myself of some of the horror.

The Maytrees by Annie Dillard

I was discussing books that affect us with my friend Danielle at The Thin Man, and this book came up as one that made her cry. Trying to blog about books as I read them, I just finished this tonight.

Toby Maytree is the books' namesake. His wife, Lou, their son Petie, and a random host of friends from the Cape Cod shoreline make up the majority of the characters. The theme of the book is love. Using poetry, Plato, and Socrates the book contemplates the idea of love being a feeling, or more likely, a choice. It acutely and gently unravels the question as it tells the story of their thirty-plus year friendships. Ugh. Profound beauty lies in these quotes. Dillard has a quiet way of pondering some of the bigger questions with which we all grapple.

"With each injury you learn how that patch of you feels."

"Every day she failed to tell him about herself and her solitude led him further astray."

"Does familiarity blur lovers' clear sight of essences and make surfaces look significant?"

"He never stopped looking, for her face was his eyes' home."

"It was never too late to record the faces you love."

"Love letters do not so much document daily love's long hours as precede them."

"Anyway, how could he ever start when now was far too soon and later was impossible?"

"Only in the face of the other did each find home."

"Could a person hold all people past and present in awareness? She further wondered if doing so was, by errant chance, the point-toward what end she had no clue. Not that life required a point. But she found herself starting to sway toward eventually considering that there might be one. A point. Any point."