de facto redhead

The excitement surrounding Sex and the City 2 is mounting as every day goes by – and it’s not just my friends and I who think so. Kristin Davis is on the May cover of Fitness, and Sarah Jessica Parker is on the cover of May’s Vogue and June’s Marie Claire, with a special cover-insert spread in MC that has Davis, Cynthia Nixon, Kim Cattrall and Parker all dressed up with a million places to go. I also read recently that bars are prepping themselves for the onslaught of women tottering up to the bar to order their requisite cosmos, and there was an article in the newspaper the other day about a drink that was made  in honour of Mr. Big. It’s Sex mania! And here’s me, lovin’ every minute of it, as evidenced by my recent purchase of Candace Bushnell’s teen novel, The Carrie Diaries.

This book gives SATC fans a much-wondered-about look into Carrie’s life before she was spending upwards of $500 on a single pair of shoes. The Carrie Diaries even takes place before, to quote Stanford, “she rode the subway and wore Candies.” Instead, this is high school in the ’80s, and Carrie is a fledgling, closet writer, a girl whose unique fashion sense is touched on but not made a focal point, a young woman whose hair we don’t even find out is curly! But, Carrie is also someone with a lot of musings about love, life, and the tricky social strata of high school. Not an outcast, but not the most popular girl, either, Carrie’s adolescent life as a senior in high school revolves around her best friends Lali, The Mouse (a.k.a. Roberta), and Maggie – that is, until Sebastian Kydd moves to town and throws everything out of whack in every way possible.

However, between the boredom of life in Carrie’s small-town Connecticut and the ups and downs of her relationship with Sebastian, and then the ultimate disappointment of not only his betrayal but one of her friends’ as well, she comes out on the other side of graduation with the spirit of Carrie intact – and thanks to the book, we get to see how she did it.

OK, sure, that’s all fine and dandy, but at the base level, forget the plot and the story that we’re supposed to talk about, and just think about what you really want to know: Is Carrie in the book Carrie in the show? Huh? Is she? Is she? Well, she is and she isn’t. First let me say that I enjoyed Diaries immensely (isn’t that obvious by now?), and that’s partly because it’s not like Bushnell’s adult novels at all. I read 4 Blondes, and about a quarter of Trading Up, and in both I found the tone too pretentious. Yes, I get that the worlds Bushnell writes about are pretentious ones, but she often portrays those worlds in a way that’s unrelatable to the reader, with what seems like insider quips and upper-classisms that not everyone is going to understand, or even necessarily care about.

But, The Carrie Diaries! I read this book in a day, so all the details of it were fresh and sharp in my mind after each page flip, as were the details of the show that I know so well, because, um, I have large portions of its six seasons memorized – the result of viewing after repeated viewing. Book Carrie versus Show Carrie is a large point of contention, though – just take a quick look at some of the reviews of the book on amazon.com.  Most people (read: women) seem to waver between loving the book and forgiving that not every detail is “true” to the Carrie they know from TV (I am of this persuasion), and being supremely annoyed that the details were not followed. This exact gripe was one of the first things I complained to Darcy about, and he responded that Bushnell had no obligation to follow what the show did or said because she’s the one who created the character in the first place. I suppose that’s true, but I think at this point women are more connected to the Carrie from the show than the Carrie from the Sex and the City book, and there’s no going back from that.

So what are the differences causing so much ire? There were three discrepancies I noticed:

1. In the book, Carrie’s father is her and her two sisters’  (yes, Carrie has sisters!) sole provider because their mother died when they were young; in the show, Carrie’s father left her family when she was child.

2. In the book, Carrie is in her last year in high school, and is a virgin; in the show, we know she lost her virginity in high school, on a pool table (smack of gum, and a wink to Charlotte).

3. In the book, Carrie COOKS from a Julia Child cookbook; in the show, she jokes that she uses her oven for storage. (Can you think of an instance when Carrie ever sat down and ate a meal at home, besides when Alex cooks for her there, once?)

Perhaps because of these differences, I felt disassociated with the Carrie I “know,” but this fact didn’t end up bothering me, as I mentioned, because the story was too funny and interesting to dismiss, and because it was set in high school, it was relatable in so many ways. The Carrie Diaries was a fun read made all the better by the end of the book, when Carrie goes to New York City for the first time to take part in a summer writing program before she goes to college at Brown in the fall. The closing dialogue exchange, specifically the last two words, literally made me slam the book shut, squeal with delight, and yell, “I can’t wait until the next one!!!” Darcy then proceeded to make motions and sound effects like my head was exploding. Buy and read The Carrie Diaries so yours can do the same!

When I was young, I loved my Barbies. Dressing them up, dressing them down, bending their legs, playing with their hair (once even cutting it), experimenting with different footwear (like heels, flats, skates, rollerskates, and more), and making up scenarios in the car, at the salon, at the beach, and at rock concerts (I had a Barbie corvette, a Barbie salon, a California Barbie surf-store set, and a Barbie and The Rockers stage setup, complete with instruments). I also had an open-faced homemade Barbie house that my dad built for me and my ladies, and in this house many tasteless meals were cooked, many invisible stairs were climbed, and many restless nights were spent by Barbie, as she slept with her eyes wide open, every night.

All of these memories and more came flooding back once I started to read Barbie: All Dolled Up, Celebrating 50 Years of Barbie by Jennie D’Amato. I suppose you could classify this a coffee-table book, because of its size and shape and large number of pictures and illustrations, but there is also a lot to read and reminisce over. The book begins with the debut of Barbie in 1959, and a Barbie quote at the top of the first page of the chapter reads, “I don’t know what size I am. All my clothes are made to order.” Oh, if I could!

I found it really fascinating in my continued page-turning to read about Charlotte Johnson and Carol Spender, two of the first designers to dress Barbie. Imagine landing a job as a fashion designer for Barbie! The outfits they designed are absolutely gorgeous, and the original sketches in the book, along with pictures of the clothes and Barbie in them, display many, many pieces I want hanging in my own wardrobe. The now-retro style catalogue of Barbie’s sixties-style hand-tailored (!) clothes is chock-full of the looks we all covet on Mad Men (favourite styles, Joan’s and Betty’s. You?). And besides, who wouldn’t need such a fabulous wardrobe when you’re an astronaut, stewardess, nurse, ballerina, and much more? Barbie must have so many social engagements through work and her personal life, I believe it’s just that she never shows up in the same outfit twice (well, she did in my house, but there has to be some limit to the toys!, right mom?).

I read Barbie: All Dolled Up over Christmas (it was a present) and looking through it again now to write this review, I keep getting stalled because I’m intensely studying and reading the pages all over again! Ken, Skipper, Barbie products galore, Malibu Barbie, Barbie’s friends Stacey, Casey, and Christie and cousin Francie (all of whom I didn’t even know existed!), details about how subtle changes over the years have shaped Barbie’s face into what we see today, media stories about Barbie … it’s all detailed in this fun, colourful book of all things Barbie.

What also makes this book unique are the inserts smattered throughout that reveal little tidbits about how Barbie has been shaped into the woman and icon she is today. These exact replicas feature, for instance, the letter and memerbship card that the Barbie Official Fan Club sent out to its first-time members, the patent drawings for the new, innovative, bend-and-twist-at-the-waist Barbie, etc.

The last Barbie I bought for myself was Totally Hair Barbie (pictured below) in the early nineties. I was 10 years old, and I purchased it at Eaton’s. I remember telling my mom I wanted it, and she asked me if I thought I might be too old to be buying Barbies anymore. I stuck to my guns and spent my allowance money on Totally Hair Barbie, probably exiting the store walking proud with Barbie in hand. Now, 17 years later, I can say with confidence that I was not too old for that Barbie – look at me, I ‘m still raving about her and her many incarnations!

Barbie gets a bad rap a lot of the time – i.e. she  pushes stereotypes and represents a female ideal that isn’t realistically achievable. And, everyone knows Aqua’s satirical song Barbie World that typifies the oft-used derogatory phrase, “She’s such a Barbie doll.” Well, I say to hell with all the naysayers! Barbie: All Dolled Up is an amazing book that showcases how magical and inspirational Barbie’s world can be to young girls, and how Barbie’s beauty, fashion sense, and flawless figure are often secondary to her drive, success, kindness, and general sunny nature. Barbie is no flake, and even though her head won’t literally stay on her shoulders (don’t pull too hard!), I still think it’s safe to say it’s on there solidly in spirit.

Now, if she will just let me go up to her Dream House attic and borrow some of her sixties-era clothes, my life-long friendship with her will be truly cemented …

Right: My Totally Hair Barbie being introduced to her book-page debut. Left: My Barbie collection – Ken tries to contain himself in the face of such beauty.

Top, clockwise: A snapshot of Barbie’s messy closet at my house; Barbie’s skateboard from her California-girl days; Barbie’s shoes for a dainty look; Personalized hangers – you know you’ve made it.

What are some of your Barbie memories?

As I mentioned in my post from Monday, two of the used books I bought while I was home were young adult novels by R.L. Stine and Christopher Pike. I read these authors voraciously when I was younger, tearing through multiple books in a day. Road trips with my family were particularly fruitful when it came to this. My mom always said I never saw the sights because my nose was always in a book. Well, all I can say to that is at least my nose was, indeed, in a book!

I wish I had the time to read like I did when I was a young adult and teenager, whiling away huge chunks of my spare time with a book … or two. The books I read now are, of course, longer, and I probably couldn’t get through two entire books in a day, but it’s the principle that counts! Stine’s books run at about 145 pages and are printed with a large font size, and Pike’s novels are approximately 215 pages with the same-size font. The same can’t be said for many “adult” books.

No matter. I was excited to sit down once again with The Fire Game by Stine and Scavenger Hunt by Pike and devour them the way I used to. I was finished The Fire Game in about two and a half hours, give or take, and much hilarity ensued. Take, for instance, this paragraph:

Jill glanced up, half expecting to see the fire chief. The door had just swung open, and a tall, muscular boy stood framed in it against the setting sun. He was dressed in faded 501 jeans and a gray rugby shirt. His thick, sandy hair curled above a broad, handsome face.

Swoon!

The premise of Fire Game is centred around a group of teenagers who accidentally cause a fire in the high school library and then continue to challenge each other to start bigger and more serious fires around their town, Shadyside. The cast of characters is made up of three girls and three guys, and it’s easy to recognize who is acting as a foil for who. We have the new bad boy in town, Gabe – is he the crazy pyro? The guy who spouts inspiring lines such as:

“I was just in the gym doing some extra crunches and chins. You know, the phys. ed program here is pathetic. They must be trying to turn out couch potatoes”?

And then there’s the rebellious girl, Andrea, who thinks the fires are funny, dangerous, and exciting – is she the firebug setting things aflame all over town? Or is it the main character, Jill, whose innocent demeanour is a ruse? The other members of the group who are under suspicion are Diane, who mysteriously won’t wear a bikini or change in front of the other girls in gym class, Nick, who is always trying to out-alpha-male Gabe, and Max, the easygoing guy who is basically just a floater character.

The conflict between the sextet starts when someone goes too far and sets fire to an abandoned home where a homeless man was hiding out. He later dies and everything goes loco. Accusations fly and quickly escalating scenes of high emotion like this one play out:

“What do you want?” Andrea snapped. “A full confession? Well, you won’t get one, because I didn’t write any notes and I didn’t do anything else wrong!”

“All we want to do is stop the fires,” Diane went on, her voice trembling. “And we want you to know that we’re your friends and we’ll stand by you no matter what.”

“Some friends!” said Andrea. “Just go away and leave me alone!”

“Andrea, please-” said Jill.

“Get out!” Andrea screamed. “Didn’t you hear me? This is my house and I don’t want you in here! Not now – and not ever again!”

Andrea’s face was so distorted with anger that Jill felt she hardly knew her.

Scary!

There are also some other amusing lines that deal with the technology of 1991:

“I almost forgot. I’ve got to show you what Dad got me for an early birthday present,” said Andrea. “You’re not going to believe this.” She went to the modular desk unit in the corner and opened the door, revealing a new laptop computer and printer.

“Wow!” said Jill.  ”Look how little it is!”

“It’s got lots of power,” said Andrea. “It can do calculations and play games, and it’s got a word processor. Dad thinks it will help me with my grades.”

“Turn it on,” said Diane. “Let’s see you print something out.”

Andrea switched on the computer, then put a disk in. After a few seconds the disk booted, and the cursor blinked, ready for input.

Wacky!

As much as I mock, my 12-year-old eyes read these exact words and I guarantee I was lovin’ every minute of it. It’s possible I might have even been a little bit in love with Gabe and his extra crunches that gave a big eff-you to the couch potatoes of Shadyside High. Stine’s words and writing are elementary, as I realize they are meant to be, and as I read more and more of this book the motivation to finish was for the nostalgia factor rather than my actual interest in what was happening. My waning interest was all the more clear once I finished Fire Game and started Pike’s Scavenger Hunt.

When I first thought about Stine and Pike, I was sure that I had read these authors at the same time in my life, but after reading only the third page and seeing the word “genuflected” I wasn’t so sure about my recollections. Stine and the word “genuflected”? I don’t think so! And while the Shadyside crew was looking at each other with what equated to puppy-dog eyes, the characters of Scavenger Hunt had a distinctly sexier vibe, as on page 24, I came across this:

When she reached the side (of the pool), she held up her arm for a helping hand. The top of her right breast lifted above the water line, and a very fine top of the breast it was. Cessy was built.

Yowza! I’m a woman now!

Before I go any further, yes, there is a plot to Scavenger Hunt. It revolves around a decidedly more mature group of high-schoolers who are divided into teams to participate in an end-of-the-school-year – what else – scavenger hunt that could win them a trip to Hawaii. Say, what?! The book quickly focuses in on two particular groups, one whose main character is Carl. He lost his best friend, Joe, while on a hiking trip in the desert, and since the death hasn’t been the same. Also on his team is Tom, who was injured in a football accident and is now a bit on the odd side,  and Cessy and Davey, siblings who are of the perfect-people persuasion and one of whom is the person who possesses the aforementioned very fine right breast.

In the other group is Tracie, who is in love with Carl (but he doesn’t know it!), Paula, whose boyfriend was Joe and has since turned into a cigarette-smoking rebel whose favourite word is “goddamn,” and Paula’s brother Rick, a high-school genius whose greatness is restricted by his pesky wheelchair.

Now, who in this cast of characters is the bad guy? The scavenger hunt quickly narrows down its focus to these two teams, and the story moves along from clue to clue as Carl feels uneasier and uneasier about the whole situation. Tracie’s team picks up the slack behind first-place Team Carl, but they, too, begin to sense the ominous cloud  in the air. And then something happened to me that didn’t with Fire Game, and that’s that I was interested and invested in what what was happening with Carl, Tracie & Co. Pike does a great job of heightening the tension, and with paragraphs like this one, how could I not be wild to know what was going to happen next?

She dropped the flashlight. It went off.

The face vanished.

Too late.

Her heart stopped pounding. It stopped beating – period – and the blood backed up inside her brain and her thoughts exploded in a million directions from an insane core. She would have dashed from the house if she’d had the wits. Pure terror consumed her.

Anything that’s bursting from an insane core has to be at least a little intriguing. I definitely thought so, and ended up turning the pages quickly and with purpose, and concentrating intently on what was coming next. Who was leading these kids on a scavenger hunt that brought them deep into a hidden mine/ancient temple in the middle of the desert? Well, I’ll give you a clue. Carl and Tracie aren’t responsible. Neither are Paula and Rick. Or Tom. But if you want to know the explanation behind why Cessy and Davey are from a reptilian race and need a human sacrifice to stay on Earth, then you will just have to go to your local used bookstore and pay $1.95 to find out.

All in all, Pike’s writing beats Stine’s by a mile, and I was infinitely more interested in reading his story than that of what was going down on Fear Street in Shadyside. Pike’s book was more mature (he even used the word “bitch” once!), which is probably why I thought it was better than Fire Game. Thinking back, I must have had some overlap into Christopher Pike’s books while leaving R.L. Stine’s behind with my Sweet Valley Highs. Pike was more in the league that led me to the world of Sweet Valley University and all it had to offer. And from there, the world of books and reading grew and grew into more books on my shelf than I could handle. Yet I keep buying more … and then going back and buying books that I’ve read before …!

I know Stine’s books – and probably Pike’s – might seem oddly puerile and short to the young adults of today who are reading Twilight and the many other books and series out there for YA readers that I haven’t heard of and might never find out about, but to me, both authors will always hold a special place in my book-lover’s heart.

Sundays with Vlad: From Pennsylvania to Transylvania, One Man’s Quest to Live in the World of the Undead by Paul Bibeau

I was doing some research into a possible project at work that would involve me delving deep into the world of vampire lore, legacy, and lasciviousness, and I came across this book just as I was about to leave the library. I wasn’t expecting much – why, I don’t know – but as I sat down last weekend to read through the introduction and first chapter, I was immediately and completely enamoured with Bibeau’s hilarious writing style. His humour was right up my alley, and after only a few pages, I was reading out choice sentences to DN. He gave the half-hearted laugh of someone who was just being polite, but I felt confident in the hilarity of the book, and knew that if read these same parts out loud to friends EM and SM, we would all be cackling like fools in no time. I was going to insert an excerpt here as an example of what left me giggling so uncontrollably, but then I thought better of it. What if you didn’t find it funny, pulled out of context and plunked down here for your weak reception and smile? No, it was just too risky, because you need to read the book yourself to understand where the humour comes from. It’s funny, I swear!

And, among many other bizarre encounters, Bibeau also participates in an interactive role-playing weekend with a vampire theme in Louisville, Ky., communicates on a semi-regular basis with various people who believe they are vampires, gives the once-over to the people out there who actually feed on human blood, and goes to Romania to experience for himself the path that Jonathan Harker travelled on his way to doom and gloom in Bram Stoker’s Dracula.

What’s great about Sundays with Vlad is that Bibeau never takes his subject matter too seriously, which is a trap he definitely could have fallen into with all the deadpan attitudes and responses he encountered. I did find that the humour fell off the wagon a bit in the last third of the book, but that’s not to say what was written there wasn’t interesting and capable of inducing many “what the?!” exclamations. No previous knowledge of the vampire culture is needed to appreciate this book, and it’s a read that both men and women will enjoy. And aren’t you at least a little curious about what I found so funny?

Safe Passage by Ida Cook

I’m a big fan of Second World War historical fiction – not really the super-historical stuff that I assume appeals to a more masculine crowd, but the books that can be placed in whatever category The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Society falls into. That particular example popped into my head because it’s the last book I read before Safe Passage.  And, Guernsey was so good and warm and full of winsome characters that I had hyped myself up to read more, more, more stories from the Second World War. (I am a fair-weather reader who jumps from subject matter to historical period to genre without abandon; if I read a Philippa Gregory, it’s historical fiction all the way for weeks, but if I happen to slip and read a biography about a kids’ camp nurse? More camp/nurses’ stories, please!)

Anyway, back to war stories. I had Safe Passage on my shelf for about a year and, this book-selection round, it had exactly what I was looking for after finishing Guernsey: WWII intrigue and, at the risk of sounding all rose-coloured glasses-y, wartime romance and glamour from the viewpoint of two sisters. The author Ida Cook, and her sister Louise, were two seemingly regular girls from the U.K., but who eventually, surprisingly, found themselves embroiled in the refugee work of getting Jews out of Nazi peril before the widespread German occupation in Europe made it too dangerous and too hopeless for their work to continue. It DOES sound like an exciting story, right? And, yes, it was, except for one big thing that kept me bored to tears: Ida and Louise were bona fide opera fans whose entire lives (well, a very large part of them, anyway) were devoted to following and experiencing what the biggest operatic stars of the day had to offer. So devoted were Ida and Louise that many stars eventually became life-long friends. Opera fans of the old-school variety, rejoice – this is a book for you. For someone like me, however, who knows nothing of opera besides the fact that the word “aria” is associated with it and Carrie takes off on Charlotte at the opera because Big is there with Natasha, Ida and Louise’s travails in this world were of little to no interest to me.

I’ll divide the book into three parts familiar to us all: the beginning, middle, and end. The beginning consisted of me hoping the opera talk would stop once the stories of the war got going. Luckily, they did, for the most part, as the middle kept my attention much better and I looked forward to reading more than a few pages before turning over and favouring sleep instead of Safe Passage. However, I found the individual stories of the refugees difficult to follow, and therefore remember, because of Ida’s scattered writing style. I felt like I was being pulled back and forth between various years and people, and there wasn’t a simple trajectory called time used that might have otherwise allowed me to connect with some of the people profiled in this book. This schizophrenic approach affected my opinion of the last third of the book – otherwise known as the end – because not only were the opera stars of the beginning referenced once more (who, again, I had trouble remembering, or caring about), but some of the refugees were mentioned as well and I couldn’t recall who they were in relation to which escape story I had read.

Safe Passage was originally published in 1950 as We Followed Our Stars, and was republished in 2008 under the title used here. I am left puzzled in 2009 by the seeming lack of a substantive edit to pull a more cohesive book together, especially since Ida is a well-known romance author who wrote under the pen name Mary Burchell, and, because I have nothing against romance novelists, is someone who I think should have known better!

Even though this is a rather negative review of a book that took me an uncharacteristically long time to read (a little over a month for a 304-pager with fairly wide margins!), I don’t disparage the honourable and amazing work Ida and Louise did, securing “families” and the proper and almost impossible-to-attain paperwork for the Jews they helped find safety for in England. For me, however, Safe Passage was just too much opera shoptalk, too little chronological focus, and not enough story worthy of late-night binge-reading sessions I would never regret the next morning.