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Showing posts from July, 2014

Praise for In the Garden of Beasts, by Erik Larson

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Late last night, or rather early this morning, I finished reading Erik Larson's In the Garden of Beasts . I purchased this book with nothing to go on but my interest in WWII history and satisfaction with other works by Erik Larson - notably Devil in the White City and Isaac's Storm . I was not disappointed. Those seeking a more shocking account of the atrocities committed during the war might be disappointed, for this book tells the story of the U.S. ambassador to Germany and his family during Hitler's rise to power. Ambassador Dodd was not the popular choice for the post, and his daughter Martha's zest for romantic encounters and her generally free spirit raised some eyebrows. She cavorted with young Nazi officers and a Russian spy alike, and it's worth noting that it is a mark of her time that her character is called into question for merely behaving almost as brashly as the men around her. Ultimately, Martha and Ambassador Dodd see the true and horrific nature

Eulogy for Melva

Recently, I faced the solemn task of trying to capture in words all that my grandmother meant to me. I felt honored to honor her at her funeral service, but I did worry about what to share; how much of my personal connection with my grandmother should be discussed versus an overall tribute that everyone would recognize as the woman they knew and loved? Ultimately, I decided that the same traits that made her such an incredibly loving force in my life would be instantly recognizable to others as what they knew about my grandma. Three of us spoke at the service, each with a different approach, and I think that, together, we did the best we could to capture the compassion, wit, and love that my grandmother exemplified. Some friends asked me to share what I wrote, so it follows here: 3 6 9 0 9 8 7. Imagine the numbers on a phone’s touchpad. 3 6 9 0 9 8 7.             “There’s an easy way to remember this if you ever need me,” my grandma told me.             She guided my tiny fi

I Really Wanted to Appreciate This Book

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I just finished Uri Orlev's novel Run, Boy, Run . It relates the true (yet partially fictionalized) account of a young Jewish boy who fights to survive during WWII against all odds.   Being fairly well-versed in Holocaust literature and memoirs, I understand that many survivors have seemingly impossible stories. Impossible because of the depths of evil that occurred and impossible because of the strength, courage, and perseverance of others. Yet these events did occur, and it's important that the world does not forget.   This is where I felt disappointed with the book. It has the abstract feeling of inauthenticity. It just doesn't quite ring true, and I feel like this does a disservice to the very real survivor depicted in the novel. I understand that some holes in the story must be filled in with the best information possible, but I don't feel that this has been seamlessly done here. Maybe I've been spoiled by Erik Larson.   Here's the problem: Goo

You Can’t Buy an Aztec Pyramid at Kmart!

You Can’t Buy an Aztec Pyramid at Kmart! By Amber Counts Of all the teachers who shaped me, for better or worse, there are a few I wish I could speak with now that I am an adult. I was fortunate enough to tell two of my favorites just how much they meant to me before they retired, and I’m still trying to track down my high school biology teacher, Mr. Reichle, though I fear he is no longer with us, to tell him how much his encouragement, expectations, and enthusiasm still mean to me. However, there is one teacher with whom I would have a very different conversation if given the chance.             In Spanish I, we were asked to construct a cultural or architectural artifact from an ancient culture that once existed in a region that currently speaks Spanish. Inspired by their architecture, I decided to construct an Aztec pyramid. I studied pictures in encyclopedias and library books and bought supplies at the craft store with money I had earned babysitting.             Bas