I will find you, Ready Player One.

I heard about Ready Player One on an NPR book review show, and I want it.

It is a nonfiction adult/young adult selection set in 2044 Oklahoma starring Wade Watts. The gist is human civilization is in collapse, and people spend more time in virtual, glossy worlds than in the real world of violent crime and poverty. Additionally, according to the NPR review, the author Ernest Cline has included a whole slew of 1980's pop culture references. And a side note, Cline apparently drove all over the country for Ready Player One's book tour in a DeLorean (very Back to the Future, eh?).

Read an excerpt here.

No time for book requests at le bibliotheque with a pending departure for the north. This girl is headed to a bookstore for the paperback.

*For more fun, check out the Ready Player One playlist put together by the folks at Forever Young Adult, a fun book blog with multipe authors for adults into YA lit (aka nerds).

Some light summer reading between blueberry picking and baseball games.

At last, we've made it to the long, dog-days. Get out your flip flops, put on your blueberry earrings, and lather on the SPF. Summer has arrived.

I've spent the past week or so bouncing between my mom's house in Indiana filled with nieces, grandmas, and other assorted family members and Dave's new apartment in Michigan filled with Dave and fresh air. It has been a week of long runs, driveway basketball, ice cream shops, minor league baseball, and late night reading marathons. Of course, I've also engaged in my fair share of driving, unpacking, repacking, job interviews, and transcript requests, but no one wants to hear about that.

My mom and I visited the local public library (love!) earlier this week, and I grabbed a few middle grade novels. It was a bit ambitious with the to do list I've got going, but I'm shooting to get through them before I head north Monday. After all, you can't take library books on canoe trips. Oh no.

Maniac Magee by Jerry Spinelli, 1990

Just read this dang book, MC. Just read it. Who hasn't heard of it? A classic of young adult literature, Maniac Magee (Newbery winner) is the story of a young orphaned boy who runs away from his home with his aunt and uncle and becomes a legend. Intriguing, right? Also, Spinelli is the author of one of my all time favorite YA reads...Stargirl!

Moon Over Manifest by Clare Vanderpool, 2010

A 2011 Newbery medal winner, Moon Over Manifest is set in Kansas in the heart of the Great Depression. All signs point to a nice read about a girl discovering herself as she unearths her father's mysterious past. I like that kind of thing.

After Ever After by Jordan Sonnenblick, 2010

And I know next to nothing about this book except that it keeps showing up on new must read lists for teens and is receiving sweeping praise. So sure. I'm hip. I'll do it. It is also important to note it is a sequel to Drums, Girls, and Dangerous Pie, but apparenlty, it stands alone as the story of a teen whose cancer is in remission.

For now, I'm off to chat away the evening with my lovely, best neighbor friend. And then rise and shine in the AM to pick blueberries with my mom and grandma. It should only top out at about 100 degrees tomorrow. What's there to worry about?!

*Pics from BarnesandNoble.com!

My Antonia by Willa Cather, 1918

Willa Cather has been floating in and out of my orbit for a while now as one of those "great American writers" that I just must read. And it feels like I've always known a little about her what with her Nebraska roots. One of Cather's most famous works is titled O Pioneers! Come on. Given my weakness for all things Little House on the Prairie, she seems like my kind of gal. So when my brother Matt picked up his Calvin and Hobbes at the Harvard Bookstore, I decided to be sophisticated and purchased My Antonia, a novel of Cather's that is sometimes heralded as her finest work.

And before I go any further, it should be noted that Antonia actually has an accent over the first A, but my keyboard skills are hurting so please tolerate its absence. Also, I spent the better part of this read debating exactly how one pronounces Antonia (with an accent). Thoughts?

Jim Burden is the narrator of this novel. He tells his personal history of leaving Virginia as a boy after the passing of his parents and riding a train to Nebraska to live with his grandparents. On the train is where Jim gets his first glimpse of the book's namesake Antonia. The Shimerda family is completing the last leg of their long journey from Europe and settling in the sweeping plains of Nebraska. Jim begins tutoring Antonia in English and a friendship is soon formed. Through the many hardships of life on the plains in the late 19th century, Jim and Antonia grow into adults and into Nebraskans.

Remember all that stuff I said about being prone to nostalgia? Well, My Antonia is the perfect book for a Midwestern girl who spent a little time on the east coast and is longing for her homeland. It is heavy with yearning for not only a place out of reach but a time and a person. To our narrator Jim, Antonia is his youth, his Nebraska, his past. And these days, it is always out of reach. Similarly, Antonia spends the better part of her life missing her village in Europe, missing her father. This book is a celebration of the past and an acknowledgement that you can never truly go back.

Again, to someone like me who gets a heavy heart reminiscing, this book is a great read. However, I can see where it might grow a bit tiresome for those who can't handle maudlin nostalgia. Also, it has  that very plot driven, simplistic prairie style of writing without flowery language or metaphors. I suppose some of Cather's motivation for writing My Antonia was her personal experience. After all, she was born in Virginia, raised in Nebraska, and spent most of her adulthood in and around New York. Jim Burden is Willa Cather. And I, for one, can always appreciate a champion of the Midwest.

I've been thinking about naming a future child Willa. She would be strong and of the prairie. I suppose it's better than Herman (Melville) or Bram (Stoker).

*Thanks again for the image BarnesandNoble.com!

The Ghostbusters will save the library.

Apparently I've been out of the public library loop in a big way. But I spent the better part of this morning getting right back in it after hearing a story on NPR about the planned renovations of the New York City Public Library's "flagship" 5th Avenue branch. You know the one I'm talking about. Bryant Park. Lions. The face of NYCPL.

Before we get to the topic at hand, let us remember a scene that haunted my childhood:

Whew. Now that that's out of the way, the short and sweet version: the library is shipping an undisclosed number of books from its seven stories of stacks (somewhere between 1 and 2 million) to some locale in north Jersey to make way for the operations of two other well-used NYCPL locations, a mid-Manhattan branch and the Science, Industry, and Business Library. These other 2 well-used branches will close and their services will relocate to 5th Avenue. Read more here.

Let the public outcry ensue.

I don't know enough about it to have strong feelings one way or another. Maybe the reasons for the reconfiguration are questionable? On the other hand, I once worked a circulation desk at a library with off site stacks. And they always delivered ordered material promptly and efficiently. As in, they never made a mistake. Ever. No exaggeration. It is a great thing for that particular library. Maybe this new system could be great for this branch? 

Prone to nostalgia

Dave stopped by my school yesterday to drop off his keys on his way out of town. Though he’s all packed up, I will linger through the weekend. My last day of work is Friday, and it has fallen on me to give our keys to the building manager. I can handle it.

You see, we're moving.

He pulled up in front of the school, car filled to the brim. It was hot and heavy outside. He was wearing old clothes that he likely found on the floor of his closet, clothes that I had never even seen all rumpled and dusty. Thus, my boyfriend struck me as slightly unrecognizable and unfamiliar, a wayward college student heading off on his big summer adventure, moving out and moving on.

In fact, Dave is and I am and we are striking out on a new adventure. He starts a program at a school in Michigan next week. He has a plan. I, well, I'm going canoeing for a month, leaving 3 weeks from yesterday. And then I'm working. Somewhere. Doing something. I guess that's a plan too.

I got home from work and opened the door to an almost empty apartment. A jar of olives here, an umbrella there. This is the detritus, the flotsam of our life in Boston. I got that pit in my stomach.

Being prone to nostalgia, I immediately called every one in my phone book to chat about mostly mindless and distracting things all afternoon. I even walked around the neighborhood pond talking incessantly and was glad I had the phone distract me from the poignancy of it all. Dave and I had just played catch there the night before! Right there! And I had grown frustrated and quit early. Why had I done that? We would never play catch here again. The agony!

And then today an unassuming teenager gifted me such a gift, a gift to go down in my personal history of great gifts. The student handed this undeserving librarian a signed copy of The Fault in our Stars by the much loved young adult writer John Green (who, as a matter of fact, hails from Indianapolis!). She also included a lovely message in the front cover. It will stay on my bookshelf for many moons as receiving it has been one of the highlights of my year. The whole thing really made my heart swell. It just might burst if I don't get out of here soon! (By the way, are any of you nerdfighters? More on that some other time.)

Needless to say, I'm ready to go, go, go and leave these emotional fits behind me. I'll play this song as I peel out of town:

More likely, I'll play this song I've been singing the past 2 weeks since my brother and I played it about 18 times when he came to visit:

Ray Bradbury

Ray Bradbury died this week. I don't think I've ever read even one of his books, but just a few days ago I read a short story of his in that science fiction issue of the New Yorker and was surprised Bradbury was still alive.

And then I listened to some of this great program of On Point, the NPR radio show, celebrating the life of the late science fiction icon.

You know what else? That man loved libraries. He championed them and fought their closings. A friend of mine posted this quote of his online:

“Libraries raised me. I don’t believe in colleges and universities. I believe in libraries, because most students don’t have any money. When I graduated from high school, it was during the Depression and we had no money. I couldn’t go to college, so I went to the library three days a week for 10 years."


I take my hat off to you, Mr. Bradbury.

I mean, come on MC. I haven't read Fahrenheit 451? How did I graduate high school? Add it to the summer reading list.

We ate lunch with Kate Winslet...sort of.

My brother came to town. And it was great.

Dave hit the road Friday with pretty much all the furniture in our apartment. He rented a truck and hauled it to his parent's house (about a 5 hour drive away) leaving brother Matt and I in Boston town to entertain ourselves.

And entertain we did! We bounced around from the North End to Concord, MA and some places in between.

And then Saturday evening, we went to the Harvard Bookstore and stared at a lot of books. I enjoy visiting bookstores with my brother Matt because he loves books too and a dialogue ensues about new books or old books or book reviews, etc. It's great. And he ain't no book snob. His purchase was a used copy of There is Treasure Everywhere, a Calvin and Hobbes masterpiece.

*He also left me a copy of the New Yorker he carried on the plane. It's their science fiction issue (awesome). He made me read this short fiction piece by Junot Diaz called "Monstro". See the New Yorker interview of Diaz here. The story was great and spooky and the perfect amount of science fiction. More on that some other time.

Back to the Harvard Bookstore, I picked up My Antonia and the Gulag Archipelago...just a little light summer reading. It got me thinking about my summer reading book list, and it is woefully long. In all likelihood, I'll probably make it through 2 of these tomes, but that's the great thing about summer reading, right? Who cares? I'm not trying for a personal pan pizza here.

Here is my list:

My Antonia by Willa Cather, 1918

 The Gulag Archipelago by Aleksandr Solzhenistyn, 1973 (published in the West)

The Windup Girl by Paolo Bacigalupi, 2009

1Q84 by Haruki Murakami, 2009

Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy, 1873-1877











The majority of this lineup is fiction. I am craving it.

The big highlight of Sunday afternoon was Matt and I dined with Kate Winslet!

And by dined "with" I mean we were eating in the same room. After strolling around Walden pond, we stopped at this little sandwich shoppe (spelled how people in Concord, MA would spell shop). As we sat down at a table by the window, Matt started getting that nervous Matt look about him. And then he just blurted out, "That's Kate Winslet!" Thus ensued lots of nervous laughter and staring and a collective sigh of relief when she finally left. But really, she was about 5 feet away, and she looked as great as you think she would.

And then Matt got her number. Go, Matt!

P.S. Have I mentioned Brother Matt has a blog?

*Thanks for the book covers, BarnesandNoble.com!