My rating: 5 of 5 stars

An amazing story that’s disturbing and entertaining (as this writer tells it) at the same time.

I would’ve had no interest in the subject matter if the author hadn’t presented the story in the way she did, like a family mystery unfolding.

There were times when I started to lose my grip on the understanding of exactly why the “immortal” cells in question were able to live on the way they have–has there truly never been another living human whose cells could be as valuable in research as Henrietta Lacks’ have been? But otherwise the author breaks down the scientific matters to a level that the layperson can understand.

I read this book while I was (and still am) in the process of teaching African American adults who struggle with literacy, and I have to say I had serious trouble sleeping one night because of the way the black family in this book was left in the dark (until the author steps in with her investigation) about what had occurred after their mother’s death. The author also recaps certain medical experiments done on humans (but particularly blacks) that are unfathomable.

Overall, though, I thought the book was uplifting despite some of its disturbing subject matter, and inspiring to see how one journalist helped a family find answers and closure (and, to some degree, peace).

P.S. I read this book on my Kindle, and I “checked it out” from my local library, and, despite what I might have thought previously, I survived!

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I’ve been told it was once a car dealership, and also that it was once a fallout shelter. I lose my cell signal when I’m down in the basement, which is where we ESL and ABE teachers dwell.

no takers yet this morning, as of 8:40 a.m.

At some point in the near future, the center where I’m teaching is supposed to re-open in a brand-new, multi-million-dollar, state-of-the-art (that’s a lot of hyphens) building in a more suburb-y part of Davenport.

the current building is ...er... *not* state-of-the-art

The move-in date has been pushed back several times since I started late last fall. I’m telling my students that I promise I’ll give them the heads up as soon as I know the date for sure. Most of them are excited. One is concerned about how she’ll get there now that the bus route she’d have to take would double in length.

I’ll try to remember to share some “after” photos of the new, fancy-schmancy location. (I’m excited about the move, on the one hand. On the other, I’d be content just to have a locker or a cubbyhole to park all of my books and papers, wanderin’ adjuncter that I am. Or some index cards [for homemade flashcards] that I didn’t have to purchase with my own money. Or…you get the drift.)

From laughter to near-tears, in less than two hours flat

I snapped these photos with my phone in a nervous moment this morning when none of my students had yet arrived.

I have to admit, I was most worried about the absence of D____, an African immigrant, usually the most punctual student, who also happens to be the one I’ve been high-fiving and doing little excited dances around because he’s making such awesome progress. When I see that I’m actually helping him recognize and read words for the first time in his life, I feel so excited I make loud whooping noises that I’m sure prompt some of the other teachers to wonder about me.

But he didn’t show up today. He missed all of last week, too.

Three other students did show up, about five minutes after I snapped these pictures. And we ended up laughing a lot. We did an exercise that depicted two people stuck in an elevator, and one of the students noticed that, in the drawing, the man’s shirt was un-tucked when he and his lady elevator-traveler emerged, finally unstuck after 19 hours.

“They talked, and talked, and talked,” the caption had read. R____, an American who is in her 60s, said slyly, with a cocked eyebrow, “Look like they did somethin’ else up in there, too.” The whole class cracked up.

But about a half hour after class, my phone rang, and I knew it would be D____, and I knew that he’d be telling me something was wrong.

I was correct on both counts.

D____, I learned, has found himself to be in a situation that has left him homeless. He might be living out of his vehicle–or, if he can get enough money together, a hotel.

I wasn’t sure what to say. I told him I was sorry about his situation and wished there was something I could do to help. I dug up some phone numbers for shelters, though they seemed to require certain specifications, none of which apply to him. I told him I very much hoped he’d be able to come back to class.

I’d been warned, in my little online trainings before starting the job, that adult learners often experience  “outside circumstances” that effect their education.

Somehow, though, that doesn’t make it feel any less heartbreaking.

–

3) That you can stop in to Boozie’s (above) for a beer, and then head downstairs to Faith Explained, the Catholic store. (But only if you make an appointment.)

2)… and just a few feet down the street, you can pick up some beauty supplies…or maybe not.

It’s Flickr’s fault. But I will try re-posting the pictures.

Thanks for your patience–the management.

1. When the word “partner” came up, (as it will frequently, since nearly every page of our new textbook encourages the students to work with a partner), one student said, “I say ‘partner’ one day at work and someone say to me, ‘Are you gay or something?’ Is ‘partner’ like a bad word or mean gay or something?” (…thus resulting in my awkward attempt to explain use of “partner” for “person with whom someone makes a home, but who said person may not …uh…be married to…”)
2. and, (from the same student, after I had said, “Good question. Please speak up if you have questions about any other words”), thus resulting in an awkward charade that I hope no one noticed as they walked past my classroom): “What is ‘wrestling‘?”

And, ingrate that I am, I’m going to publicly list everything I don’t like about it.

I feel the need to do this, you see, because I once hated the idea of the iPod, (which I now can’t live without).

I’m aware that I’m on the brink of abandoning something I care about deeply (the book, the printed word, the future of human civilization, blah blah blah). So,

I Knock Before I Try, Because:

1. The damn things necessitate accessorizing. I dread this scenario (which I’m sure will happen in the not-too-distant future): Person 1: “What color Skin did you purchase for your Kindle?” Person 2: “I got a pink polka-dotted one to match the pink supply of Air that I purchased to breathe for this month.”It’s like taking the last decent, non-materialistic part of our culture and turning it into one more consumer experience. This is just simply wrong. (Never mind that a certain person  may or may not have added a bright pink, lighted cover to her Amazon Wish List today).
   
2. Books were the last things that encouraged patience, sitting still, focusing on one thing at a time. Now you can buy another book when you’re supposed to be reading the one in your hands. Soon we’ll see the new Amazon “Order with One Blink” option. (Amazon Prime will provide a free tube of Latisse.)
3. Libraries, which you could say are central to democracy, are already struggling. So, you’re already down, eh? Well here’s a big swift kick in the arse!
4. The way people defend the necessity of the Kindle’s existence by saying “It’s so much more convenient.” Really? Holding a small paperback in your hands was seriously “inconvenient”? I will allow this line if you are, say, Susan Orlean, or the President, and are therefore traveling constantly and reading and researching a lot. (That’s the kind of President I hope for, anyway). But otherwise, the number of books you’re reading simply cannot be breaking your back. My great-grandmother probably hauled water for the wash–which she conducted with a washboard–from the well to the farmhouse and back again. My ancestors’ ghosts laugh at your definition of inconvenience. (Take that, Jeff Bezos.)
5. Magazines don’t mind if you drop food on them. (I read at the table when I’m eating lunch. A lot.) Kindles probably cannot tolerate such abuse. (Wimps.)
6. The fact that I know I’m going to be an underdog here. Just like all those poor fools who are trying to save the U.S. Post Office from going under. (If only the U.S.P.O. had invented Blink Mail or colored Air.)

Left: books I received for Christmas. In this corner (right) the opponent awaits.

The Marriage Plot by Jeffrey Eugenides

My rating: 4 of 5 stars

In the days since I finished this book, I’ve been struggling with what to say about it, because I want to do it justice, and there’s too much to say.

But, I just read an interview with the author, and decided I will let Jeffrey Eugenides himself articulate why the characters of this novel–private-school kids who do things like major in English or religious studies–are worthy subjects:

“…when you think about your 20s…. Everything was at such a high pitch. Intellectually, you’re learning an amazing amount, reading an amazing amount, and you’re discussing these books with your friends. That’s not always the case now, when we seem to read more solitarily, and maybe discuss our reading now and then. But that time is kind of a hothouse of reading and talking. Then that gets all bound up with perhaps the first great love affair that you’ve had or the most intense desire that’s unfulfilled that you’ve ever gone through. College is full of all of that. You’re old enough to make decisions, to be on your own, and yet you’re totally confused. It was easy to re-enter that atmosphere, and I enjoyed having characters who were intellectually fully formed but also unsure of themselves, confused, and passionate about what they thought and who they loved.”

Quickly, I will also add that, despite my own similarities to the collegiate experiences of the heroine (who finds herself, to her chagrin, being asked to deconstruct literature and language in a semiotics/literary criticism course, when the real reason she’s majoring in English is simply that she loves to read), it wasn’t until the novel began to follow one of her male suitors, Mitchell (based loosely on the author), on his spiritual/religious quest, that I really started to get drawn in.

As a novel that is (very loosely) formed around the structure of a Jane Austen-era plot, there’s a heady level of referentiality that bookish types will especially enjoy. (And, ironically, it was this very writer whose first novel, The Virgin Suicides got me excited about contemporary literature and indirectly led me to become an English major myself).

The one mild criticism I have with the book, and I’m not even sure it’s a criticism, is that I’m not sure why the author chose to set it in the 1980s (other than the fact that this was his own collegiate era). I never felt that it was entirely necessary to the story for it to have taken place in the Reagan era.

One thought that crossed my mind, however, is that for Eugenides to create the characters (and place and time) that shape the arc of the narrative, he needed them to write and receive actual letters, and for those letters to take some time (weeks or months, in Mitchell’s case, as he treks across Europe) to get delivered and received.

There’s also the possibility that he chose the 80s to create sympathy for the other major male character, who suffers from mental illness–because, back in the 80s, so much less would’ve been known about how to diagnose or treat it. But almost everything seemed as if it could have been taking place today.

(See? I actually can’t just let the author speak for himself like I said I was going to. There’s still so much more to say, too. But I will leave you here so you can go read the book yourself.

There.

No more talking from me.

Now go.)

(Or if you’ve already read it, please tell me your thoughts below).
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