Intuition

Intuition, a novel by Allegra Goodman, is about a world I have never experienced: the world of a cancer research lab and the quest for a cure. Goodman creates wonderfully real characters, and as flawed as they are, you still like them. You still want to know more about them.

Sometimes authors let their characters be pulled along by the story, as if their inclusion is merely a passing thought. With some books, the characters are so one-dimensional and predictable it's as if the author believed the story to be good enough without significant character development.

Not so with Intuition. And that is its predominant strength. Goodman's writing is a close second.

Intuition follows the lives of several post-doctoral students toiling away in a cancer research lab run by two eminent researchers. Some have more success with their experiments than others, and jealousy, pride, and ahem... intuition come into play.

Cliff is struggling with his assignment. The virus he had been injecting into the test mice was doing nothing to cure their cancer. He is aware that his appointment at Boston's Philpott Institute is in jeopardy, but he can't imagine not doing research.

His girlfriend, Robin, a fellow post-doc at the Institute, understands his pain. Her research interests have been pushed aside while she is expected to conduct experiments for the good of the lab and she is frustrated. Her life is research - it's what she's good at. She's working on getting better at her personal life.

And then we have Marion Mendelssohn and Sandy Glass. Sandy, the head of the Philpott, is a brilliant oncologist, though a bit headstrong. Marion, his colleague and professional partner, is more collected and inquisitive. These two characters have everything and yet nothing in common. They work together quite well, and are, at first glance, stereotypical opposites. But Goodman doesn't let that happen. She created a beautiful partnership in Mendelssohn and Glass, and doesn't allow them to evolve into parodies even when faced with crippling negativity.

The plot is actually quite simple: Cliff's experiments start to get positive results and Robin is seemingly jealous. What follows is a whirlwind that no one expects. The ending is perfect.

Goodman writes so well. She equalizes the most trivial processes and specific scientific terms with her descriptions of the human experience, bringing the reader to a level footing. By explaining the scientific jargon - but not treating the reader like an idiot - she is able to make every sentence interesting and important. A story that could have drowned in terms is enhanced by her style. Her extensive exploration of cancer research, lab environments, and post-doctoral attitudes just enhances the book's quality.

Goodman introduces a good number of secondary and tertiary characters, and you can't help but enjoy each and every one. She allows each to be more than just background - they all enhance the plot.

Intuition was languishing on my bookshelf for over a year. I am so glad that I finally gave it a chance.

It's FINE!

Everyone at work thinks that I should just "give up" and "let it die," but I think that they are all extremely pessimistic. I think that it's got a little life left, in a Charlie Brown Christmas sort of way:

Besides it is NOT my fault that I didn't water it for like, a week. I was the one to pick off all the dead petal/leaves, wasn't I?

Whatever. I've been told that it has until the end of the week. PRAY. FOR. MOJO. you guys.

Did I mention that it's a poinsettia? Yeah...

The Book Thief

"I'm always finding humans at their best and worst. I see their ugly and their beauty, and I wonder how the same thing can be both."

-The Book Thief's narrator, Death

I'm not really sure that I will ever be able to adequately describe my feelings for The Book Thief. If I consider the impact this book has had on my life and the ways in which I live and love, it's easily one of the top three books I have ever read.

As a World War II historian, I know full well the horrors of war. And unlike many of the people in my collegiate courses who more interested in the battles and strategic decisions that propelled the bombing of cities and attacks of naval bases, I studied the sociological and cultural implications of those on the Home Front.

I read memoirs and newspaper articles. I read accounts of life in Germany, Poland, Great Britain, and Austria. I read about rationing and bomb shelters. I read survivor's stories of the brutality and inhumanity of the concentration camps. I read about Jewish children, saved from certain death and sent to live with foster families in Great Britain, who never saw their parents again.

But even reading the true accounts of what ordinary people experienced on the European Home Front could not have prepared me for this electrifying story by Markus Zusak.

How can you simultaneously love and hate a book? How can you crave each word, each upcoming sentence, yet curse those words for making you cry? Brilliant, thoughtful, imaginative writing has the power to do these things. It is strong enough to keep the pages turning, even when the reader knows what lurks around the next corner.

For Liesel Meminger, life has changed drastically. Her mother has made the decision to surrender Liesel and her brother into foster care.

Her brother doesn't last the train ride.

Near her brother's freshly dug grave, Liesel notices a book, lying in the snow. At the last possible minute, she snatches The Grave Digger's Handbook. This single act of thievery will define her young life.

She arrives on Himmel Street, in Molching, and meets her foster parents. Rosa Huberman is a large, foreboding woman, strict from her first words to Liesel and quick to insults. Her contrast is her husband, the kind, warm-hearted Hans, who takes an instant liking to Liesel and teaches her to read the beloved books she steals.

The Book Thief is the story of a young girl who learns her life lessons far too early on. Living in Hitler's Germany exposes her to more than injustices; her life in Molching reveals the true nature of people.

Early on she learns that the punishments reserved for the pure of heart are sometimes worse than those doled out to those who consciously act improperly. Early on she learns that secrets are more valuable than rewards. Early on she learns that love can't always conquer all.

It's... kind of heavy.

What I loved and yet hated about this book was the unpredictable nature of its storyline. If you know anything about the Nazi regime and why good people failed to do right, more often than not, you'll be surprised. Sometimes the surprise will be pleasant. Mostly, it won't. I loved that I was wrong about the conclusions of certain storylines, but hated that their alternates were even more difficult to accept and understand - for the mere fact that I wasn't expecting them, and wasn't prepared for the emotions that poured forth.

Zusak's writing is absolutely brilliant and completely engaging. Every word has its purpose, and that is one of the central themes of the story - the power of words. I was so impressed by the creativity and originality of the oft-told story and the ways that Death, the narrator, dealt with... well, death.

As I devoured each word, I continually wondered how The Book Thief had been designated a young adult novel here in the United States (in other countries, including the author's native Australia, it was marketed as an adult novel). I thought that the subject matter was extremely advanced, and the details were much too intricate for a young person to comprehend.

But then I thought of myself at fourteen, reading books far ahead of my grade level and while I didn't fully understand parts of books, I was able to use the clues in the text to understand the author's message.

Most reviews state that The Book Thief should be reserved for sophisticated teens and adults. That sounds about right. However, I urge you to avoid reading any online reviews, as they generally give away every single important storyline and their results.

This is a book that will be in my mind for a long time to come.

It Was So Freaking Good, You Guys

The last time I ate at Five Guys was sometime in 2007. Because I made the decision to move back to Michigan so quickly, I really didn't have time to do all of the things that I wanted to do before leaving DC (most were food and alcohol related). That included visiting Five Guys for a caloric free-for-all.

When an Ann Arbor bookstore closed last summer, its amazing location was just begging for something to appeal to the college crowd. Right in the heart of campus, I pretty much jumped for joy upon learning of the new tenants.

I didn't go on opening day - good thing, too, as I would have had a bit of a wait. The line led out the door and wrapped around the corner - ironically, just as it did when the store was one of the student bookstores. It wasn't that long when I hopped in line, but there was still a bit of a wait. Although this time, I knew that I wouldn't be buying a grossly overpriced 150-page paperback (that I would later only be able to sell back at one twentieth of the price), and instead get a fabulous burger.

I splurged and got fries, too, because it was a banner day. A banner day, you guys! I took my lunch to my desk and proceeded to stink up the entire office with the smell of french fries and beef. Mmmmmm... beef.

God, I love a good burger.

Thieves

Look how fat they are!

My neighbors fill up that bird feeder every single morning, and by nightfall, it's empty. Lards.

At one point, there were FOUR squirrels on this feeder, but two of them were intelligent enough to take off when I edged closer and closer with my camera.

These two? Too engrossed in becoming enormous.

What?

This Is What Happens When Left Alone to My Thoughts

Mike's mom got me a neat calendar for Christmas (among many other fabulous gifts), and it's already provided me with daily entertainment.

For example, there are word searches and mazes, opportunities to doodle and daydream, and I have done JUST THAT.

For example, this day asks, "If you could, what would you write on your office's hallway wall?" So many things, calendar. SO MANY THINGS.

They can totally suck it.

This day requests that I "Doodle the planet this guy is going to land on." Fine:

I bet he didn't know that the planet was full of
bloodthirsty killer cats and lovely flowers.

So Mary - was this what you expected? You're only aiding my eventually fall into insanity, you know.

Today Can Suck It

I set two alarms this morning. TWO. You'd think that two alarms would be enough to get my ass out of bed on time, but no.

No, they were not.

I have cause to think that there may be something legitimately wrong with me. Why do I not get out of bed? What is wrong in my brain? I get out of bed to walk across the room and turn off the alarm, so why do I crawl back in?

I think that I should look into this.

An hour after the alarm first sounded, I finally jumped out of bed, grabbed my glasses from the nightstand, and promptly dropped them on the floor. I was still half asleep and it took me a minute to even figure out what happened, and I think that I spun in a circle or two, looking around.

I picked up the glasses, ran to the bathroom, hopped in the shower, and managed to get ready in record time.

After slapping makeup on my face, I grabbed my glasses. But. Something was wrong. They were slightly crooked.

One of the nose-rest piece things was gone. Gone!

Cut to me crawling around on the floor, half dressed, searching for a clear little nose piece and an itty-bitty screw. Miraculously, I found them both!

And then I almost immediately dropped the screw down the heating vent.

Then I remembered that most of the area had been bombarded with freezing sleet and rain since about 2 a.m., and my street was ignored, AS USUAL. My subdivision was a disaster, but the main roads were fine. Of course, this didn't stop people from driving FIFTEEN mph in a FORTY zone.

GOD.

And then I ate all of my remaining Green Apple Tic Tacs for breakfast, and they are gone, and I am now sad.

Is it time for lunch yet?

It's Cold, But Not TOO Cold. Nothing's Too Cold For Evil Genius Cat

"What do you think you're doing, walking to the bus stop?
Do you think that I care about your bus?
COME BACK HERE AND PET ME."

The Best Thing to Happen All Weekend

Mike found these at the gas station:

See, and I thought that the only non-mint Tic Tacs worth a damn were the orange ones. These are spectacular, and I am now on a mission to find every single pack in southeastern Michigan.

The snozzberries taste like snozzberries, you guys!

Rant

I'm not really sure where to start with this one. Have you seen Fight Club? Or better - have you read the book? If you answered "yes" to either of those questions, then you are fairly aware of the nature of Palahniuk's imagination and originality. Or insanity. I'm not sure. If not, then I highly recommend opening your mind to his prose. Start with this book!

Rant: An Oral History of Buster Casey tells the title character's biography using oral history interviews. Palahniuk introduces characters by their own narratives, one by one, and as the reader learns more and more about them, from their own interviews and those of others, he becomes fully entrenched.

The only character we never hear from directly is Rant himself, as he is dead. Or presumed dead.

As usual, I am wary of giving away too much plot for fear of ruining your own reading experience. I would feel awful if I deprived you of any sharp intakes of breath or any exclamations of incredulity.

But really, the main reason that I am having such a difficult time with this review is because Rant is a colossal, amazing, ridiculous mind fuck. And I mean that in the best possible way.

By blending science fiction and what we consider to be the "normal" human experience, Palahniuk created a world that seems completely plausible. And terrifying. The reader simply accepts that some of the citizens in this United States are "Daytimers," while others - the more undesirable lot - are "Nighttimers." Throw in a rabies outbreak, ports, "party crashing," and a healthy dose of fear, this mandated class-based society begins to unravel with even the threat of infection.

The real star of this novel is Palahniuk's writing. I even stopped to write down some of the best lines. When describing one of the characters as pretty, he wrote, "...the pretty you only look when you love the person taking the picture." I think that I mulled over that one sentence fragment for five minutes. Think about it - what a great thought.

This form of storytelling, the oral history, might be slightly unusual when reading fiction, but is not new. Palahniuk's writing is fluid and powerful, and its strength comes from the fact that the characters are "interviewed" after the true story has already happened. There are mini cliffhangers peppered throughout the text that found me flipping through the pages as quickly as possible, and never once did the story falter. Palahniuk cleverly included a "disclaimer" that easily explained away any inconsistencies in the text by explaining that oral histories may have contradictions because people remember their pasts differently than others.

But I never really noticed contradictions.

All of the "interviews" are mostly with people who knew Rant best: his family in Middleton and his "big city" compatriots - fellow Party Crashers. Additionally, we hear from anthropologists, epidemiologists, historians, and government officials. Because of Rant's actions, he's become both an urban legend and a hero. A boogeyman and a role model. He dared to question the status quo and for that he is both feared and revered.

Other reviewers have read Palahniuk's work before. I have not. They were not nearly as enthused as I was after finishing Rant, but still praised his work. I saw a lot of Fight Club in this novel, with an alternate reality and a secret otherworld, and they were similar enough that it helped me to understand the story. I'm sure that some readers might be annoyed by the similarities, but I found them refreshing. I do wonder, however, if this is the format followed by the majority of Palahniuk's novels.

The complexity of Rant is only palatable if one opens his mind to the possibility of a very different world. Allow yourself to be completely absorbed by this world and let go.