Book Review: Ladder of Years by Anne Tyler

I picked up this book because a) Anne Tyler is a respected literary novelist worthy of emulation, and b) the story intrigued me: middle aged housewife wanders away from her family while vacationing at the seashore -- just gets up and walks off into a new, solitary life for no apparent reason.

I've read other Anne Tyler novels in the past and I saw the film adaptation of The Accidental Tourist, so I knew that she favored flat, staid (even emotionally dwarfed) characters -- they are in this book as well. Even Delia, the main character, flattens before she gradually expands. (Her life becomes excruciatingly dull while she's 'on the lamb,' because she's on a vacation from all emotion -- at least I think that's why.) I found Delia's husband Sam to be unrealistically dull and humorless. I'm not sure that such people actually exist. Everyone, in my experience, takes some pleasure in life and has some moments of levity -- everyone has some emotional range -- but not Sam. When her husband, her children, her mother-in-law, and her siblings interact with her while she's away, they are unrealistically polite and composed. Delia's 15-year-old son is slightly belligerant, but not as belligerant as he might reasonably be after being abandoned by his mother.

As the book progressed, I kept expecting Delia to suffer some negative consequences for leaving without saying a word to anyone. I wanted someone to yell at her. I wanted her to miss someone inconsulably, realize her mistake, and go home. While I liked the ending (which I will not divulge), I thought it still lacked some satifying emotional quality for me.

But then who am I to criticize when on the whole I really liked it? Anne Tyler's writing is good, simple, and clear. She invokes the sense of smell frequently throughout the book (from the very first sentence), which was very effective in making me feel present in many of the scenes.

Review: Utah Book Festival 2008

Salt Lake City Library (Nice venue!)

I spent all day Saturday at the Utah Book Festival at the City Library downtown. I didn’t enjoy it quite as much as last year, but I enjoyed it nonetheless and parts of it were excellent. Here’s what I learned in my two favorite ‘classes’ this year:

Ann Cannon
The Loser’s Guide to Life and Love (her most recent novel)

This author writes a weekly column for the Deseret Morning News in addition to writing young adult fiction. She’s been a working writer since 1989 and she’s the mother of five sons. All of her stories take place in Salt Lake or Provo, though they are published in New York.

Ann Cannon was delightful! She talked about how she uses real people in her books – from neighbors and family members to a guy she saw at 7-11 with a boa constrictor around his neck.

She said when her sons were younger she tried to write at least 20 minutes or one page per day, but now she tries to write more. She stops writing while she’s still excited to be writing so that she will look forward to getting back to the story and know exactly where it’s going. (Sometimes she leaves herself a keyword to help her remember what scene is coming next…) What a great idea!
Richard Peck
Newbery Award winner for A Long Way from Chicago; author of 37 books

HE WAS FANTASTIC! He said he writes with his feet because he travels about a quarter of the time, but he lives in NYC and grew up in Decatur, Illinois. His mother was an educated woman, but his father was a car mechanic who stopped going to school in the sixth grade. When he read Huckleberry Finn in the fourth grade he knew he wanted to be a writer. He said he still wants to be Mark Twain, and that every writer needs a writer they wish they were to inspire them.
He said all of his books start in the library in the hope that they will end up there – he does a lot of research. When he had to write a book that took place in 1937, he did not go to history books because people who write history books are a) democrats and b) they know the future (since the book is invariably written much later than 1937). He read Time magazines from 1937 and discovered that people in the United States knew who Hitler was but weren’t very concerned about him yet, etc. Good tip – makes a lot of sense. A lot of his books are historical.
He was hilarious! He spoke about the process of getting cover art for his books and how they often get it totally wrong, which infuriates him.
Peck avidly collects opening lines and stressed the importance of a great opening line for all books. One of his favorites is “Where’s Pa going with that axe?” Do you remember where that line comes from? You’ve probably read the book…by E.B. White…That’s right – Charlotte’s Web.
He also read passages from his most recent book which will be published next fall called A Season of Gifts. I actually came home to see if he does audio for his books on CD and it does not appear that he does – but it was delightful listening to him read.



Other authors who spoke include Paul Fleischman (Newbery Winner for Joyful Noise), Sara Zarr (Story of a Girl) and the Watts Writer’s Workshop poet Wanda Coleman, who read from her most recent collections. The concluding speaker was Thrity Umrigar, an Indian writer who wrote Bridging the Space Between Us.

On Carpooling

(Our current mini van in its natural habitat, the Wal-Mart parking lot, on a family road trip.)

I began 'carpooling' (i.e., driving my children to school) out of necessity when my sons started attending a magnet school several miles from home ten years ago. I concluded it was the least I could do to give them the best possible education, and giving them the best possible education is one of my primary goals as a mother, right? (Of course it is!)

So when Taylor was in fourth grade and Tom starting first I began driving them every morning and every afternoon. Abby and Emily, strapped in their carseats as pre-schoolers, went along for the ride as well before they were themselves the reasons I went back and forth, back and forth, back and forth...adding middle schools and high schools as time went on...back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.

There was an inevitable degree of inconvenience and expense involved in the decision to carpool: scraping frost and snow from car windows, fighting traffic, racing the clock. (And as a naturally punctual person, racing the clock is the worst part of all!) On two memorable occasions Tom forgot his shoes at home (since he often put them on in the car en route) so we had to turn around and go home again...back and forth. Over the years we've added and deleted passengers to the carpool to help other families as needed.

Before my oldest graduated from the carpool to drive his own car, the odometer in our van whirled like the electric meter on the side of our house. I was constantly replacing tires and brake pads and pumping gas. My long-haul trucker brother was even impressed with the miles I logged in my mini van.

Was it worth it? Was the school that great and the teachers that exceptional? I think so. I hope so. I'm pleased with the results so far.

But the best part is...I am the vehicle for my children. I am their resource. I take them places and I bring them home. We talk en route. Sometimes we divert. Always we connect.

And all of this mutual interdependence is made possible by my husband.

Thank you, Scott.

Food for Thought

First, a quote whose source is very surprising:

..., unheard-of wonders are to be seen, performed by God: the sea is divided, a cloud has shown you the way, water has gushed from the rock, it has rained manna; all things have conspired to your greatness. The rest is up to you. God does not want to do everything Himself, and take away from us our free will and our share of the glory which belongs to us." – Machiavelli, The Prince


We are all prime numbers divisible only by ourselves. – Jean Guitton

And some wise words to soothe our worries at this time of political and economic uncertainty:

How small, of all that human hearts endure, That part which laws or kings can cause or cure! - Samuel Johnson

Trying to Live in the Moment

I wish I had some profound insight or hilarious experience to share, but it's just me - blogging to get the old blog off the screen. It haunts me sometimes how long a blog can linger in cyberspace as if its contents constitute the author's 'famous last words.'

I've been struck lately by the quick passage of time. Whole months are going by in what used to feel like a week of days. It's September 24th already? Impossible!

So in order to slow time down a bit, I'm trying to focus more consciously on each day and date. What's possible today? What do I want to accomplish? Journals (and blogs) are good for chronicling that sort of thing, but in order to make time slow down a bit, I need to appreciate more of its incremental moments.

Human felicity is produced

not so much by great pieces of good fortune

that seldom happen,

as by little advantages

that occur every Day.
Benjamin Franklin, Autobiography, 1771

Frivolousness

Let me see if I can explain this emotion I have from time to time, this sense that I am not taking life, or, more specifically, life’s blessings, seriously enough.

I first recognized it when my children and I were sitting ducks in a car crash and our minivan – the most beautiful minivan I had ever seen – was totaled at both ends and completely destroyed. I was thrilled to be alive, of course – and especially that all of my children were alive and virtually unscathed. I would gladly have sacrificed ALL of my material possessions for that outcome. So I was surprised when days later I felt a sense of loss. It wasn’t really that I had lost the minivan – we were already at work replacing it – it was that I had never fully appreciated it.

We give our time and resources to people, activities, and, yes, even to 'things' that are important to us: the people we love, the activities that bring us joy, and the things that serve us or make our lives better, like our homes and our cars. In my life, 'things’ always fall to the bottom of the list, as I believe they should, but I do wish I knew how to appreciate things more.

A few years ago Scott and I were driving down State Street in Salt Lake when we pulled alongside a 1970-something small pickup truck. Neither of us is a car-afficianado at all, but we both noticed it for its immaculate condition. It was a hideous orange color with a crisp white camper shell and shiny windows. The woman driving it had white hair - probably the original owner. The truck itself must have spent every night in a hermetically sealed garage. She probably vacuumed it weekly, gave it sponge baths on schedule, and parked far away from store entrances to avoid door dings. I was awestruck, admiring this woman and her truck, even as I told myself that she was undoubtedly a perfectionist who led a tortured existence in an effort to preserve all of her possessions indefinitely - that having a 30-year-old car that looked brand new really would not be worth the sacrifices she had made along the way, even if a complete stranger is blogging about the experience of seeing it years later.

Obviously, I still have a lot to work out on this subject. I reassure myself that things are only there to give us pleasure, so I should not allow them to give me even a moment of angst.

I'm Being Rebellious...Again

I see that I have not blogged in a week.

Brownies are baking in the oven as I write, so a chocolate aroma is wafting through the house. My children are gone to the playground with their cousins. I'm neither hot nor cold (Scott has discovered that I have a half-degree tolerance range on household temperatures, so this fact alone is remarkable.) It's Friday, so we are all breathing a sigh of relief because we will not have homework tonight. And BYU plays tomorrow...All is right with the world (well, almost all...I'm sure if I put my mind to it I could complain about something.)

Anyway, I am rebelling. How? By procrastinating. I'm supposed to be writing newspaper stories. I've been researching and interviewing for days -- stories about comediens, truck drivers, fun runs, etc. I have six stories due at noon on Monday, and they'll all be done, but at what cost in terms of sanity, family harmony, etc.? My legs will be permanently bent by then.

I've read that doing what you're supposed to do WHEN you're supposed to do it is a sign of maturity. I am not mature. I pay my bills on time -- that ought to count for something -- but I'm weak. I lack discipline. I AM A PROCRASTINATOR. There must be a support group somewhere for people like me.

I know, I know. Time is a valuable thing! A very, very valuable thing. Thoreau's words haunt me: "As if you could kill time without injuring eternity." Ah, the guilt!

But here I sit, blogging.