Nonfiction Book Reviews

This morning at work, I had a patron walk up to the front counter and ask, “Can I use a computer?”

Which happens a million and one times a day, and wouldn’t be at all memorable, except he kept swaying on his feet as if he was onboard a boat, and his words were slurred together.  Then it hit me - the smell, that is.  He smelled as if he took a bath in a vat of alcohol.

He was completely and utterly drunk.  At 9:40 in the morning.  His blood-shot eyes had a hard time focusing on my face and the smell was overpowering.

I don’t know if we just live in too small of a town or what, but I have to say that this is not a common experience at our library.  I can only remember helping a couple of drunk patrons in my year and a half at the library, and they weren’t as bad off as this.  The stench of alcohol made it difficult to breathe.

Years of customer service experience kicked into gear, and I was able to pretend as if the guy wasn’t completed soused.  “Do you have a card, sir?” I asked him.

Still swaying on his feet, he mumbled, “No, but I’d like to get one right now!”

As I pulled the application out of the drawer and handed it to him, I thought, “What are the chances he’ll remember he did this tomorrow?”  The image flashed through my mind of him pulling his library card out of his wallet later and saying, “Where the &@#$) did this come from?” lol.  At least library cards are free, right?

He took the application and laid it on the counter.  He studied it for a second, decided that couldn’t be right, and flipped it upside down.  Studied that for a couple of moments, decided nah, that wasn’t right either, and flipped it right side up again.

While he was trying to decipher the English language, I was searching the database to see if he already had a card with us.  That is standard procedure when someone is signing up for a new card, because many times people will forget that they had a card before (or try to sneak it by us) and sign up for a new card when an old card has large fines on it.

Before he could finally decide how to spell his name, I had found his name in the database.

“Sir, have you ever lived on Main Ave?”

“Well, yeah.”  He pauses and looks at me with bleary eyes.  “I think so.  A long time ago.  Maybe…” his voice trails off.

“Bad news, sir,” and I handed his drivers license back to him.  “You’ve already got a card with us, and it has $35 in fines on it.  From 2000.  You don’t have to pay for that, but you also can’t use the internet or check out books.”

“Oh.”  His face fell as he stuffed his drivers license back in his wallet.  “Can I look around?”

“Not a problem,” I assured him.  “You don’t need a card to look around, you only need a card to take books out the front door.”  Which was all true, normally.  He shambled off into the nonfiction section.

I stepped away from the counter and took my first clean breath of air of the last five minutes.  Ahh…much better.

Right then, my boss Brenda happened to come up to the front desk.

“Brenda!” I grabbed her and explained what just happened, and then said, “I’m kinda worried about him - what if he goes off and pees on the books?  Or throws up?  Or passes out?  Do we do something when they’re that drunk?”

Side note: I worked at a plush resort for a year and a half as a front desk clerk.  There was a bar in the lobby directly across from the front desk, and I smelled guests (as we called them on the resort) that stunk like alcohol quite often.  But as far as I knew, I had never smelled alcohol like this before.  It was emanating off him in waves.  That, combined with the swaying, the red eyes, the slurred speech, and the complete inability to tell which way was up on a form, told me that this guy had to be coming off one heck of a bender.

On one hand, I really wanted to keep him at the library as long as possible, in order to let him sober up before he went back out into the world (and possibly got behind the wheel of a car, God forbid.)  It was also a cold and windy day outside - not the kind of weather you’d want to hang out in.  So I felt bad thinking that we needed to get this patron back out the door.

But on the other hand, if he went walking up the stairs, lost his balance because he was plastered, fell backwards, took out the innocent patron walking up the stairs behind him, and they land in a crumpled heap at the bottom of the stairs, both of them dead from broken necks, I would feel pretty darn guilty about that too.  Our library is good at putting up with a lot of things, but possibly endangering other people’s lives is obviously a big problem.

Plus, he was docile at the front counter, but you never know what a drunk will do.  What if he got angry about something and started hitting other people, or ripping books to shreds?

This was one of those “Neither choice is a good choice” situations.

Luckily for me, I didn’t have to make the decision.  Brenda went to Sally, the director of the library, who called me in and asked me what happened once again.  I told her the story as they peered up to the second floor, where the patron was sitting at a desk, apparently reading a book.  I kinda doubted he had the ability to actually read anything, but I guess he wanted to act like he was, in order to appear “normal” or at least prolong the chance of him not getting kicked out.

It didn’t work.

Sally grabbed Christie, our maintenance supervisor, and they went upstairs and talked to the guy.  Sally told me about it afterwards - apparently, he didn’t give any sort of fuss at all when Sally said, “Sir, I need to ask you to leave.”  He just stood up and walked down the stairs and out the front door.

As he was leaving, Christie told him, “Sir, we’d love to have you come back when you haven’t been drinking.”

He said sadly, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” and then left, walking down the street.  We watched him until he went out of sight.

The whole thing bothered me.  I always want to save everyone - I am one of those people who actually tear up when I see a homeless person on the street; I’m pathetic that way, I know - and it really bothered me that we kicked him back out into the cold.  After all, isn’t a library supposed to welcome everyone?

On the other hand, there were definite risks if he stayed.  If he peed all over the floor, I wouldn’t want to clean it up.  Same if he threw up or defacated on himself.  Not to mention the risk of him hurting himself or others, knowingly or unknowingly.

I guess it just made me sad.  How did he end up like this?  What would cause a man to be blindingly drunk at 9:40 in the morning?  Did he have any family who cared about him?

I just hope he went somewhere warm and dry to sober up.  And I really do hope he comes back.

Your thoughts?  Do you think we should have let him stay?  Do you think we did the right thing by sending him back out into the streets?  Do you think we should have called the police (which is what my husband thought we should have done when I told him the story)?  Leave your thoughts below.

Hava
Who wants to save the world but can’t and it makes her sad…

I picked up Seabiscuit: An American Legend by Laura Hillenbrand while doing check-in.  When I saw the book, I thought, “I’ve always wanted to read that book.  I wonder if I should take it home with me.”  Within seconds, I was pulling another copy of the book out of the book drop.

“Hmm…” I thought.  “Kinda weird two people would return the same book on the same day.”  And then I pulled out another copy.  And another.  All together, I pulled out seven copies of that book - I’m guessing that some local group got together and read it as a book of the month or something. ??? But I took it as a sign that I ought to get my rear in gear and read this book that was apparently so good, they just had to make it into a movie.

Now that I’ve read Seabiscuit, I understand why it became a Hollywood blockbuster.  This book is absolutely fantastic.  The writing is superb, the pictures are terrific (I read the “Special Illustrated Collector’s Edition” which I highly recommend - the pictures definitely added something special to the book) and the pacing impeccable.

By the end of the book, I felt like I knew Seabiscuit as well as an old friend.  And when he died (sorry if I ruined the ending there, but this story did take place in the ’30s) I cried.  I know that’s rather ridiculous (what was I expecting to have happen?) but it’s just that this horse had so much spirit, it was heart-breaking to finally say goodbye to him.

One thing that made this book so fantastic is that it wasn’t just about Seabiscuit.  It was also about the Great Depression, about horseracing, about what it takes to be a jockey, and especially about the people around Seabiscuit, who saw his true potential.  Seabiscuit was doomed to a life of obscurity, until these men saw something in him that no one else did.  I felt like I got to know the men who loved Seabiscuit, and came to love them too.

A couple of things to keep in mind: I don’t particularly count myself as a huge horse lover.  My grandfather had horses that I rode as a child, and they were quite simply some of the orneriest things you’d ever come across.  I got stepped on and thrown off more times than I care to count.  So yes, you can love this book even if you don’t love horses.

Secondly, I have never watched Seabiscuit the movie, so I did not pick up the book with preconceived notions.  Since I have never paid attention to the world of horse racing before, I knew almost nothing about Seabiscuit.

So if even someone like me (with little knowledge or understanding of horses, horse racing, or Seabiscuit in particular) could absolutely love and adore this book, it seems like pretty much anyone could.

Now I just need to watch the movie.  While I’m watching Seabiscuit, I also need to watch Marley and Me, another book that I’ve read and reviewed that’s been turned into a movie.   I really loved Marley the book, so I’m hoping I’ll love the movie just as much.

As for Seabiscuit: An American Legend I give it an easy 5 out of 5 stars.  Heck, I should probably give it a couple of extra stars just ’cause.  If you haven’t read Seabiscuit yet, you need to.  It is easily one of the best books I’ve read in the past year.

Hava

I had heard about The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls from SmallWorld Reads (another book blog), who highly recommended it.  It turns out that Glass Castle was on the New York Times bestseller list for two years, and yet I had never heard of it until SmallWorld mentioned it.  Don’t ask me where I’ve been.

Now that I’ve finally read it, I can see why SmallWorld (and the rest of the world, incidentally) loved it so much.  This autobiography reminded me in some ways of Three Weeks with my Brother by Nicholas Sparks.  Both sets of parents had an “interesting” outlook on parenting (basically, let the kids do whatever they wanted, as long as it didn’t actually kill anyone else) and they were both raised in extreme poverty.  But while Nicholas’ parents at least tried to feed and clothe their children, Jeannette’s parents didn’t always even do that.

This is an honest and open memoir - the some of the things that Jeannette went through as a child makes your heart hurt.  Her parents, at many points during her childhood, did not provide even the most basic of necessities - food, clothing, and at some points, shelter.  Yet unlike A Child Called It, where this is because the parent is trying to torture the child, in Glass Castle it is more simply because the parents are free-spirits, with a distinct lack of planning skills.  Oh, and the father is an alcoholic who drinks most of their money away.

At one point, a family member dies, leaving the parents with a house and quite a bit of money.  I was cheering for the family at this point - surely they would use this money to actually get ahead in life, right?  But even as I was cheering for them, I knew it wouldn’t happen.  The parents are beyond irresponsible, and sure enough, the money soon disappeared. The house fell into major disrepair, and they eventually left and moved back East, leaving the house empty behind them.

The most mind-boggling part of the book is that Jeannette clearly loves her parents.  Even though they leave her and her siblings nothing to eat at various times (forcing Jeannette to eat butter for dinner at one point) and even though their parenting style is far beyond neglectful, into the realm of outright child abuse, Jeannette seems to have been able to look back on her life and appreciate the good parts about her parents, and the things they tried to do for their children.

I think this is what makes this memoir so wonderful - it is not bitter or hateful in any way.  She loves her parents, warts and all.  It is a testament to the human spirit that she could endure something like this, and still look back on it all with love for her parents.

Despite this upbringing (or perhaps in some ways, because of it) Jeannette became quite successful in the news world, eventually becoming a columnist for MSNBC.com, until she decided to take a break and just write books for a while.  If you’re interested in more information about Glass Castle, then you’ll definitely want to check out this interview done with Jeannette Walls (warning: It’s long!) where she talks about her parents, the book, and the impact it’s had on her life.

Glass Castle was a terrific memoir - one of the best I’ve read.  I give it 4.75 out of 5 stars.  If you’re one of the few people left who haven’t read this book, go check it out.  You won’t regret it.

Hava

Well, if I ever had any thoughts of using drugs, they’re gone now. Tweak: Growing up on Methamphetamines by Nic Sheff has completely cured me of any desire to use any sort of drug, up to and including sleeping pills.

A lot of personal memoirs seem to follow the same basic structure: Poor me, look at my childhood, I had such a hard life.  The End.  It seems like there are so many autobiographies out there that don’t have anything more to offer than that. (Example.  And yeah, this one too.)

And perhaps it’s because I’ve been reading so many autobiographies, one right after another, but whatever the reason, that’s something that has started to get on my nerves.  After all, a tough childhood is something that I would say a fair majority of America has lived through.  Show me how you changed, and grew to be a better person, or something.

Well, Tweak broke all of the “autobiography rules” by:

A) Talking about what a great childhood he had - he really loved his dad and it shows.  There were some difficult things that happened, like his parents getting a nasty divorce and putting him in the middle of it, but overall, it was much better than say, Richard Pelzer’s childhood.  He also doesn’t dwell on the negatives all that much.

B) Nic Sheff has a lot to offer his readers, other than a long story of boo-hoo-is-me, by writing one of the most gritty and realistic views of drug use I think you’ll ever find in print.  If you’re worried about your teenagers using drugs, hand them this book.  If you want to use drugs after reading this book, there’s something really wrong going on.

In Tweak, Nic chronicles almost two years of his life, starting out with Day One, and proceeding from there.  Each day reads like a journal entry - he writes entirely in the present, and by the end, you feel as if you had in fact lived two years of his life.

And what a terrible two years it is.  Day One is found with him starting a bender, where he spends weeks getting high and doing some massive drugs.  He cleans up at one point, and spends over a year clean and sober, which was really good to see, after reading about so much crap.  But then he goes off the deep end again.  *sigh*

This book is rated a solid R, perhaps even something higher than that, because of several huge things:

1) Nic’s mouth (he uses swear words as adjectives regularly);

2) Massive drug use (obviously);

3) And a whole lot of sexual stuff.  Nic does things he’s not proud of, how about that?  I don’t think they’ll nominate him as Man of the Year anytime soon.

There were some really good passages, such as when Nic is talking to his friend/co-drug dealer, and saying that he wants to clean up and get off the drugs:

I tell him I’m thinking about getting clean again.  He tells me it’s a waste of time.
“What is life for, if not for living?”
“Is this living?”
“We’re so free.”
“Sort of.”

And at the beginning of the book, he did think like his drug dealing friend: Using drugs, to him, was freedom.  He didn’t want to listen to anyone else, he wanted to do what he wanted to do, and that was drugs.

Over the course of the book, he starts to realize that using drugs actually takes away your freedom, because you are constantly lying, stealing, and/or prostituting yourself for another hit.  You would sell your mother for a “fat bag” of crack (as he called it - I learned all sorts of drug slang in this book that I’d never heard before and didn’t particularly want to hear, but oh well).  By the end, he’s come to the realization that the only way to be truly free was to be drug free.

This book was raw, dark, and disturbing.  And yet it gave me a small measure of hope that someone who had been so horribly destroyed by drugs could eventually fight his way free of the addiction.

I give Tweak 3.75 out of 5 stars, and add a STRONG parental warning to the book.

Side note: Apparently, the father has written a memoir covering his son’s life, but from his point of view as the dad.  I don’t think I’ll read it, just because Tweak was so depressing/disturbing, but I did think that was interesting.

Hava

A Brother’s Journey: Surviving a Childhood of Abuse by Richard B Pelzer was a very difficult memoir for me to read.  The abuse described in this book made me sick to my stomach.  I’d read his brother’s memoir, A Child Called It by Dave Pelzer, back in high school and remember crying - sobbing really - because of what happened to him.  Richard’s memoir affected me as deeply as Dave’s had.

If you haven’t read A Child Called It, I would say that’s almost a must before reading Brother.  Richard pretty much just jumps into the story with very little explanation - it’s almost as if it’s a sequel to Child.  Reading them one right after another might be a bit much to stomach, however, because they are both so darn depressing.

For the few people who haven’t heard of A Child Called It or A Brother’s Journey, basically what happened is Dave and Richard grew up in California in the ’70s, and were subjected to intense abuse by their mother. When Dave was a part of the family, he was called It or or sometimes That Boy when someone was feeling nice that day. Eventually, the state came and took Dave away. Once Dave left, Richard became the de facto whipping boy, literally.

The mother was unstable, completely unbalanced mentally, and a horrid drunk to boot. She was regularly wasted by 10 in the morning, and sometimes woke up still drunker than a skunk because of how much alcohol she’d consumed the day before. The father was terrified of his wife, and stayed married to her until the day he died, even though he moved out of the house when Richard was still just a young boy.  The mother is a monster, and that’s the nicest thing I can think of to say about her.

One thing that bothered me about A Brother’s Journey is that the story ends when Richard is only 15 years old. I felt like the author had intentionally cut the story in half (after all, he’s still living with his mother and brothers at this point - there is no Great Escape like there was at the end of Child) in order to write another book and make twice the money on the same story. Sure enough, after finishing this book, I did a Google search and saw that there is a sequel, A Teenager’s Journey. I don’t know if I want to read that one or not.

Overall, this was a hard book to read - I felt physically sick to my stomach during parts of it. I wouldn’t recommend it to the faint of heart.

I give it 4 out of 5 stars

Hava