The Excel List

So, I have this really complicated Excel list that I keep about the books I read.

There's the main spreadsheet, which includes all of the following (in order) on any book I read: Title, Author Last Name, Author First Name, Stars?, Last Read, Genre, Sex, Violence, Language, Religion, Fiction/Nonfiction?, Other Authors, Own?, Series?, Personal Notes.

Most are pretty self explanatory, but personal notes is where I put an abbreviated version of this.

I'm going to have to add a new column, though. Blogged. Because I'm going to start re-reading things that I've blogged (I already have for a few, in fact), and I don't want to double blog, or have to go check the stupid records.

Oh, the other spreadsheets in the file are Read in 2005, 2006, 2007, and 2008, Books I Own (though I now have a new list in a separate file), and Thieves.

How did you think I kept up with how much I read every year and every month? It's on the list...

Books Can Change Your Life

I know this is a book review blog, but sometimes I need to deviate from just reviews. Sometimes, I need to say something else about books. I don't know if y'all come to read the reviews or the deviations, or both, but this is a deviation.

I'm a major nerd. In case you hadn't yet realized this, I really am. That said, books can change your life.

Any book. Not just the classics. As brilliant as Shakespeare, Wordsworth, Shelly (either Shelly), Dickinson, Bronte, Austen, Socrates, Ovid, and all the rest of those geniuses in the canon are, other authors can change your life too. Stephen King, Nora Roberts, James Patterson, Danielle Steele, James Frey, Judy Bloom, Dan Brown... they can change your life too.

King Lear changed my life. Made me realize that Shakespeare was meant to be acted, not read. Great Expectations was the novel that made me realize that I'm not all that into classics. I was in 7th or 8th grade when I read it. The Crucible was one of the first "classic" novels that I liked. I didn't read it until 11th grade (a rather good year for me, literature-wise). Come 12th, we were reading "modern classics from around the world," things like 1984, Things Fall Apart, The Little Prince, all of which I liked.

Stephen King's On Writing was the first book that made me realize that it was okay that I wasn't into deep literature. Any myriad of Nora Roberts books made me realize that I'm not always happy with the happy ending. Joshilyn Jackson's books taught me about love and sadness and how they can sometimes be so intermingled that it's hard to see the former for the latter. Judy Bloom's Summer Sisters taught me that not everything stays innocent. Dean Koontz taught me about love with Odd Thomas, and Orson Scott Card's Ender's Game taught me about the dangers of government.

To Kill A Mockingbird taught me about injustice and separation. Charles Martin teaches about acceptance. Laurie Anderson taught me about the importance of speech, while Ellen Hopkins taught me the dangers of seduction.

I'm not saying I learn something, either about the world as a whole or myself in specific, every time I read something. Not even the second or third time I read something. Sometimes, I just learn that I really do like serial killer novels.

But once in a while, a book comes along that rocks my world. Makes me sit and think and stare into the distance until I figure out just what it is that sits with me.

Any books that did that for you? Feel free to leave a long list... I'm always looking for new things to read.

It could be anything. I like (some) classics, along with (some) modern stuff.

Oh, and I'm finally coming to terms with the fact that just because I don't love classic literature doesn't mean I was a bad English major. Some of us just aren't suited to long passages about slicing bread.

Whirlpool

Okay, I have to come out of the closet about something. Ever since I randomly picked up and read Midnight in Ruby Bayou, I have loved Elizabeth Lowell. She writes these amazing murder/mystery/suspense/romance novels.

That said, I just finished Whirlpool, a rewrite of The Ruby (a title that almost makes more sense).

It's one of those books where I was going to go to bed at midnight, but then I got involved, and when I looked up, it was almost 1. And I only had another 30 or so pages (probably less...), so I figured I might as well finish it.

She's an innocent jewelry maker. He's a field worker for a private security company. When Laurel's father gives her a priceless egg, then snatches it away again, Cruz (which is a terrible first name) is the only one who cares enough to keep her safe in the big, bad world of international jewel thievery.

And, yeah, if it sounds a lot like other Elizabeth Lowell plot lines, it's because it is. But they work so well!

Anyway, this novel takes them from LA to the desert (not unexpected), creating a world of mystery and mayhem that includes double-crossings, triple-crossings, and really, really untrustworthy women.

Except, of course, our innocent female protagonist who's just trying to keep her head above water, and her male counterpart who knows the dirty secrets of the world and is a little tired of looking at them. She bring revitalization to his life, the he thinks she can't love him because of the choices he made.

Madness, chaos, and near-certain death occurs, only to have the calvary charge in last minute and save them all. Damsel in distress proves she's a lot tougher than he thinks, white knight proves he actually has a heart, then love and flowers ensue.

Yeah, they're all really like that. But they're all so different that they work, and work well.

A side note on this one, though--Elizabeth Lowell writes more graphic love scenes on a regular basis, but these have a bit of S&M, and gets a little...intense. Not suitable for people under the age of 17. Well, maybe. Teens these days, let me tell you.

Something I Love

Okay, I have to admit 2 things here.

1) I like stories with a romantic angle. Without a least a hint, the story feels a little...blank. Like, yeah, a bunch of murders (or whatever) happened, but who really cares? This is me, not connecting.

2) My favorite kind are those in which someone comes back to their home town (or where ever), only to find that they still love the same person that they loved before they left.

Totally my favorite.