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Book Review: Born to Lose

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September 14, 2018
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Stanley B. Hoss doesn’t have the same name recognition as, say, Ted Bundy, and unlike The Stranger Beside Me, you’ve probably never heard of Born to Lose: Stanley B. Hoss and the Crime Spree That Gripped a Nation. But if you’re a fan of true crime, historical nonfiction, edge-of-your-seat thrillers, or all of the above, then it should be next on your to-read list.

Hoss, a burglar and thief from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, graduated to the national stage when he landed himself on the FBI’s Ten Most Wanted list in the fall of 1969. His crimes—including rape, murder, kidnapping, and breaking out of prison—eventually earned him a life sentence. Four years into that sentence, with the help of two other inmates, Hoss murdered a correctional officer at Western Penitentiary and as a result, was sent to an isolation facility in Philadelphia, where he hanged himself another five years later, in 1978.

Despite the nationwide manhunt, Hoss’s story is very much a small-town one, as much a product of the local social and political climates as his own violent crimes. What makes Born to Lose so fascinating is the way in which completely external factors and seemingly inconsequential details determined the progress of Hoss’s crimes and the outcomes of his arrests, trials, and detainment. The author, James G. Hollock, a Pittsburgher himself, streamlines Hoss’s chaotic, near-senseless actions into a specific—albeit dizzying—timeline, pieced together from previously sealed state and federal documents, police transcripts, court proceedings, and first-hand accounts. Judges, police officers, prison guards, inmates, Hoss’s wife, his mistress—all on-record for the first time, drawing an intimate, chilling portrait of the evil behind the man.

Worried I’ve given too much away? You shouldn’t be. Born to Lose is filled with the kind of insane circumstances and unbelievable coincidences (Edgar Snyder, the Edgar Snyder was Hoss’s public defender) that make reality so much stranger than fiction.

Check it out now.

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You Can Leave That Book Behind

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August 9, 2018
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Consider this the permission you’ve been waiting for: You can stop reading that book you hate.

Maybe you’ve been reading it the last few weeks—or months—but you’re having trouble finishing it because every time you pick it up it puts you to sleep after three paragraphs. Maybe the writing is too dense—or too simple. Maybe you find the main character obnoxious or the point of view is all wrong. Maybe it’s not a genre that interests you.

Maybe you just don’t like it.

At the end of the day, that’s all that really matters. The “why” is irrelevant. You don’t like it. Stop reading it.

And I get it. It can be hard enough admitting that we don’t like a book, let alone putting it down and walking away. Could be a leftover habit from high school, when we didn’t really get a say in what we read or whether we liked it, when we had to finish books. (Although, let’s be honest, anyone who says they never took advantage of SparkNotes or CliffsNotes is obviously lying.) Could be that we feel guilty for not liking it, for so clearly not enjoying someone’s work that we don’t even want to finish it. But we don’t seem to have the same problem turning off a movie or changing the channel to a different TV show.

So what is it about books?

For one thing, books require more of a time commitment than a two-hour movie or a 45-minute TV show, so there’s the mentality that if we don’t finish a book, all the time we already spent reading it was wasted. (The solution to this one, though, is actually a no-brainer. If you already feel like you’re wasting time, don’t waste any more.) And because books are more of a commitment, our reluctance to step away from them could be as easy to explain as the age-old adage: Nobody likes a quitter.

But here’s the thing—books shouldn’t be a commitment. Outside of reading for work or for school, reading shouldn’t be an accomplishment or a task or a chore. It sounds lame and cliché, but reading should be fun.

Should your opinion really change and you find yourself regretting the decision to move on from a book, you can always go back to it. But until then, leave books unfinished—guilt free—and read whatever the hell you want. Whatever genre, whatever style, whatever author you like, so long as it’s just that: something you like.

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Adaptation Meloncholia

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July 14, 2018
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As an avid consumer of all things movies, books, TV, and music, I tend to keep myself fairly up-to-date on entertainment news—which of my shows are canceled or renewed or brought back from the dead; when a favorite author or artist is dropping a new book or album; which summer blockbuster hits the big screen when—so imagine my surprise when I click over to YouTube last week and I see Netflix’s new trailer for its small-screen adaptation of Jenny Han’s To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before.

Not a press release announcing Netflix had optioned the movie rights, not a casting announcement or even a filming notice—the two-minute-long official trailer, complete with release date. And this was the first I was hearing about it.

Even more to my surprise, I didn’t feel excited. It wasn’t just concern about the quality of the adaptation; I felt disappointed, maybe even a little bit sad. (Maybe more than a little bit sad.)

I read To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before, the first in a trilogy, last summer. At the center of the book is 16-year-old Lara Jean, who’s loved exactly five boys in her life. Every time she fell out of love with one of them, she wrote them a letter, expressing her love and why she’d moved on. She sealed it, addressed it, and tucked it away for no one to find—until someone does and mistakenly sends all five out with the mail, delivering her private letters to the very people who were never supposed to read them. What follows is a sweetly romantic, wonderfully heartfelt comedy of errors that would only ever take place within the pages of fiction but is all the more magical because of it.

I liked it enough to run out and buy the sequel as soon as I finished it. It was sugar-spun YA fun, a perfect summer read, and Lara Jean—so patently human, endearingly genuine, and almost painfully earnest—was a narrator I loved spending time with.

So why wasn’t I thrilled to see her brought to life? As much as I loved reading about Lara Jean and her romantic mishaps, I wasn’t anywhere near as attached to her story as I was to, say, Harry Potter or the Hunger Games, and I was over the moon about the announcements of those adaptations.

But a book doesn’t have to be a favorite for us to feel connected to it, and unlike the Hunger Games and Harry Potter, no one in my immediate social circle had read To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before. I experienced it entirely alone, and Lara Jean’s journey—a very personal one—became personal to me as I read it.

Seeing that trailer on YouTube, a promo for the movie’s wide release, robbed me a little of that feeling.

Reading is, after all, an individual activity, even when we talk about it with our friends and family. What we imagine when we read—the way we imagine it, the way we react to it—all belongs solely to us, in that moment and after we close the book. Sometimes that experience runs so deep, so true, that we want it to stay that way—between us and the page—forever.

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Get Ready to Battle

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June 1, 2018
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Growing up with a librarian for a mom means attending 90 percent of the library programming for your age group (not that I’m complaining). Growing up with a best friend whose mom is also a librarian means spending a lot of time at those programs together.

So when that friend becomes a librarian herself and finds out the main city library is hosting one of your favorite programs from when you were kids but for adults, she signs you up without even asking.

Which is how, last summer, I came to participate in the first ever adult Battle of the Books in my area.

Not familiar with Battle of the Books? Take your basic bar trivia night and add a reading list.

Teams of 3-5 sign up to read a list of 6-10 books, then meet a few months later for the main event. The battle is usually three themed rounds—people, places, and events—during which you’re asked multiple questions about each of the books. The team with the most points at the end of all three rounds—and usually a bonus round—wins.

(Pro tip: No one is ever able to read the whole list and keep all of the books straight, so don’t even try. How you split up the books is up to you, but it’s a smart move to double up on readers for each of the titles.)

My team competed in another battle this spring, and we’re getting ready to sign up for a third in a couple of weeks. Between the two tournaments, I was responsible for reading five books I wouldn’t have otherwise read—two on my to-read list I had never gotten around to, and three I never would have picked up on my own. I’ve made three new friends (aside from my BFF, I didn’t know the other members of my team before we became teammates) and even taken home a third-place prize. (Humble brag.)

It’s not really about the points or the prizes, of course, so much as it’s about reading new books and—as corny as it sounds—having fun. It’s another way to interact with books that’s different from your average book club.

If you’re looking to challenge yourself to read more this summer—or you just can’t decide what to read—check out your local library and see what they have to offer.

After all, we may be done with grade school and book reports, but we’re never too old for summer reading.

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Books Were Made to Be Broken

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May 21, 2018
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When I was younger, I worried a lot about keeping my books in pristine condition. No bent spines, no wrinkled pages, no folded corners, and no torn dust jackets. I wanted my books to look nice, as if how nice they looked was a direct reflection of how well I took care of them, and in turn, how much I cared about them.

The first book I properly trashed as an adult was my hardcover copy of The Hunger Games. I bought it for myself on a weekend shopping trip a few weeks into my freshman year of college. It was a story I could read over and over again without losing interest, which is how I ended up carrying it in my backpack every day for the entire fall semester a year later. Because you know what couldn’t hold my interest? Anthropology. The Hunger Games was my cure for perpetual narcolepsy during the six hours I spent in two anthropology classes each week—in a class of thirty students in a lecture hall with seats for a hundred, there’s nowhere you can fall sleep where the professor won’t see you.

A semester spent at the bottom of my backpack wasn’t enough to ruin it, but it took the shine off. Scuffed the edges, dirtied the pages, ripped the jacket. And I was upset about it. This book I loved—that helped me survive the consequences of my misguided thinking that anthropology was the major for me—and I wrecked it.

I ended up carting that copy of The Hunger Games to and from school all four years of undergrad. And somewhere along the way, I stopped lamenting its sorry state. It wasn’t a wreck; it was a reminder. Not of a crappy semester when I took a couple of classes I hated, but of a semester when that book went everywhere with me. Because it saved me.

Use isn’t destruction. It’s a memory: The greasy sunblock stains in my copy of Persuasion a testament to the week I spent reading it at the beach; the chocolate smudge in my copy of The Fault in Our Stars evidence of the days I spent reading it on my lunch break. The broken binding in my favorite Eloisa James novel proof of the number of times my sister and I traded it back and forth to reread it.

My books hold a lot of value, but they aren’t valuables. They aren’t precious because they look pretty on a shelf and wearing them out doesn’t mean that I don’t love them.

It just means that I do.

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Movie Novelizations: A Rogue Obsession

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May 4, 2018
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A few weeks back, Jess covered the page-to-screen adaptations that don’t get enough credit—the ones that measure up to the source material and the ones that exceed it—but there’s another kind of adaptation that doesn’t receive much fanfare: movie novelizations.

I myself had never even read one until this winter, when I picked up my copy of Rogue One: A Star Wars Story by Alexander Freed, in honor of the movie’s one-year anniversary.

I’ve been a lifelong Star Wars fan, raised by parents who saw A New Hope in theaters half a dozen times, but I’d never dived into the wealth of Star Wars material that existed alongside the original three—then six, now eight—episodic films.

Until now.

Who’s to say why we become obsessed with the things we do? How to explain why certain things take hold of us and others don’t, why the attachment runs so deep? Maybe there is no explanation. Maybe it’s just a feeling. Maybe the wand chooses the wizard. Maybe you’re born with it; maybe it’s Maybelline.

Any way you slice it, my Rogue One obsession? Very real.

So I did what any sane (if you can be considered sane while more than mildly obsessed) person would do: I went looking for more content. Official Spotify playlists, fanart (gasp!), fanfiction (double gasp!), and last but not least, its novel companion.

Reading the book version of the movie was, in many ways, exactly what I expected. I knew the entire plot, after all, when I started reading: the characters, the worlds, the circumstances, the consequences. I also knew there would be differences—scenes described in greater detail than I saw on screen; new ones added to give the reader more background, more context.

But the best part—and what I didn’t see coming, although I should have, because too often it’s exactly what gets sacrificed first when adapting in the opposite direction—was the depth of the characterization, caring and empathetic portrayals of each of the characters that matched the movie but improved upon it. Strengthened it. Their pasts, their emotions, their interactions and relationships with each other all richer and more meaningful. And because of that, the stakes even higher.

Rogue One—maybe more than any other Star Wars movie; don’t hate me—is a true ensemble film, so maybe it was particularly well suited for novelization, for following the different points of view of characters I already loved and loved even more by the time I finished reading.

I can’t speak to all movie novelizations, obviously, having read just the one, but this one might have been enough to convince me to try others. The interest has to be there, of course; I don’t think I’ll ever feel inclined to read hundreds of pages of a story I only feel lukewarm about. But the next time the credits roll and you find yourself wanting more, my advice? Look to the shelves.

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To Reread or Not to Reread?

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April 5, 2018
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That’s my question.

Because last weekend I found myself picking up a book I hadn’t read in ages—I got my copy at Borders, to give you an idea of just how long we’re talking—but that I must have read at least two or three times in the first couple of years after I bought it. It was on my mind because my best friend and I had just been talking about how much we loved it way back when—and still do.

There’s something about picking up an old book. It’s like putting on your favorite sweater. It’s cozy and comfortable; familiar. It’s worn in all the right places, and you know exactly how it’s going to fit.

But I—like many of you, I’m sure—have a reading list about 8,000 miles long, and there have been days when I’ve looked around at all the unread books on my shelves (my mother, sister, and best friend are all librarians; are we surprised I have a sizable collection?) and thought, “There is no way I’m going to be able to read all of these in my lifetime.”

That’s not even counting all the books I want to read that I don’t own. Or all the new books coming out every year!

Too many books, too little time.

So I can’t help but think: Should I feel guilty about rereading a book I’ve already read more than once? Granted, it’s been so long that reading it feels new, or at the very least, like a series of “Oh yeah!” moments, and as my mother says, reading is never a waste. But am I doing myself a disservice by choosing an old book over a new one? By leaving those unread books waiting even longer?

Hard to say.

All I know is, when I was curled up with that creased paperback Friday night (hot weekend plans, I know), reading the end of chapter one—a cliffhanger I already knew was coming—grinning like a fool and practically giddy with excitement, I just couldn’t bring myself to regret it.

Because what more can you ask for from reading a book?

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Sometimes, the Movie Is Just Better

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March 23, 2018
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It’s time for part 2 of our book-to-movie adaptation discussion. Last week, I talked about three of my favorite adaptations where the movie actually did right by the book. This week, I’m bringing you three movies I think did it better than the book. Yep. You read that right! Truthfully, some books just aren’t great and a film format allows for a more appropriate fit for the story. That’s certainly true of the three listed here.

Julie & Julia by Julie Powell and Julie & Julia, 2009

I’m sorry, but Julie Powell is annoying. In the book, she’s pretentious and whiny, and her whole cook-your-way-through-mastering-the-art-of-french-cooking thing doesn’t read as anything more than a way she wants to make herself famous. It felt far away from a love of cooking and experimentation in the kitchen. The very opposite of Julia Child. Yuck.

In the movie, Meryl Streep steals the show as an authentic, lovable, complicated Julia Child. And who could ever accuse Amy Adams of being pretentious and whiny? She’s actually pretty charming as she fails her way through the cookbook. Would that we all could cast someone to play us in the movie of our lives. Goodness knows it helped poor Julie Powell. And how darling and adorable is Stanley Tucci? This is a great move to catch 45 minutes of on TV on a lazy Saturday.

The Devil Wears Prada by Lauren Weisberger and The Devil Wears Prada, 2006

Speaking of whiny characters. Andrea Sachs is just that. I found her really hard to like, and if you’re not rooting for the main character, what else is there? I mean, I even cheer on Dexter, y’all. Miranda is truly the devil with little that redeems her. What she really needs is a Meryl Streep interpretation.

This is completely convenient because in Streep’s hands, the movie’s Miranda is complicated, emotional, and somehow, I daresay, a little bit likeable. Anne Hathaway is perfectly cast. She’s just a little annoying and fake, but also has enough redeeming qualities that she’s palatable. The movie is well-paced, fun, and let’s not discount everything that Emily Blunt and her snarky quips bring to the table.

The Notebook by Nicholas Sparks and The Notebook, 2004

It’s a book by Nicholas Sparks. Do I need to write any more of a review? The writing is about what a crafty 8th grader can handle. Sparks’s stories are designed to blatantly pull at the heartstrings, which is to say that they are both predictable and sad. There’s not a lot of depth, because, again, an 8th grader is writing it, and much of it could benefit from a good editor and better pacing.

I’ll acknowledge that the movie isn’t award-winning cinema. It certainly has its flaws. But let’s remember that this isn’t a list of the Best Movies Ever, but rather movies that are better than the book, and this certainly fits the bill. Rachel McAdams and Ryan Gosling really are sparkly. There is so much emotion, so much pretty and handsome, and so much that takes you back t your own first experience falling in love. It really has shades of gray and more complicated feelings than is ever conveyed in the book. I credit that to McAdams and Gosling and a screenplay that’s at least one step up from the book.

So there you have it, friends. Agree or disagree? Do you have any others to add to this list? Be honest, do I have too many movies including Meryl Streep?

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Life’s Too Short to Read a Bad Book and Other Advice for Reading with Kids

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February 13, 2018
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It’s no secret that at Grammatical Art, we’re huge book lovers. Look no further than our “I Heart Books” totes, tees, and prints for evidence. Our book-obsessed leader Natalie has blogged about her massive reading list from 2017 (read her posts here, here, and here for some awesome recommendations), and she has lofty goals for 2018.

As a former (and still passionate) children’s librarian, I’m an advocate for putting books in the hands of kids. The thing is, not just any old book will do, and that’s a misunderstanding that a lot of people have about little kids and reading. I’m not implying that the only acceptable literature for children has a gold seal on it; award-winners are great, but not necessarily for everyone. So I’ve put together some guiding principles for choosing books for the children in your lives.

Here goes:

  • Make reading fun and loving. Try not to ever force a child to sit down and read, especially one under the age of five. Choose snuggly moments and good moods to introduce books rather than mid-tantrum (I’m exaggerating, but you get my point). If they resist you, try another book or try another time. It’s totally okay.
  • Follow the child’s lead. Are they currently mermaid obsessed? In an all-dinosaurs-all-the-time phase? Find books that relate to their interests, and they’ll be more inclined to enjoy them. The same is true of adults, right?
  • Try to flip through a book yourself first before you hand it to a kid (or read reviews of it online if it’s lengthy). This has absolutely nothing to do with censorship (another post for another time) and everything to do with making sure the reading level and material is on par with the child. The artwork might be too scary, the book too wordy, or the content way over the child’s head. You get to be the gatekeeper as the adult. After all, don’t we do this for ourselves when making book selections?
  • It’s perfectly acceptable to start a book and not finish it. It’s also perfectly acceptable for your child to be more interested in holding and playing with the book than reading it, or in the case of older children, flipping through to look at specific pictures or read only certain passages. For kids (especially little ones) the majority of their experiences are new. They’re getting to know what a book is and how it works. All of this is building literacy and it has nothing to do with reading a book cover to cover. Embrace the play!
  • Graphic novels, comic books, ebooks, and audiobooks all count as real books (yes! really!), and they absolutely enhance and develop literacy skills just as “traditional” books do. I can send you research if you’re curious, but I just want to say it once and for all. Adults: they all count. Now let’s move on.
  • Model reading for children. Kids want to be like the important grown-ups in their lives. They want to do things just like you (it’s true!). If they see you reading and enjoying books, they’re more inclined to want to read, too.
  • My cardinal rule for every person in the world: LIFE IS TOO SHORT TO READ A BAD BOOK. You, too, grown-ups! If a kid is disinterested in the book, who cares? Chances are they may come around later (hours, days, weeks, months, years, whenever!), but if they never do, who cares? There’s always another book. Let go of your completion attitude, and let the book go. Forcing children to read something (in a non-school setting, of course), that they hate is only going to make them hate reading and books. Let the book go. Life is just too short. Some books just aren’t that interesting, aren’t that well-written, aren’t that colorful, or aren’t right for some odd reason, and that’s perfectly okay.

We’d love to know what your favorite books were as children. Maybe they’re still your favorites today? How do you go about choosing books for the children in your life or for yourself? Are you guilty of having a completion attitude about books?