The Might Queens of Freeville — Review by Chris

Everyone is writing memoirs these days. That's fine, but it begs the question: what does anyone have to write about regarding her or his life? (Whether they're making up information in their memoirs is a different question altogether.)

Amy Dickinson is an advice columnist who raised her daughter as a single mother in a strong matriarchal clan in a small town in New York. It had potential. I didn't exactly like her column, but every once in a while she hit the mark with great accuracy. I figured I'd give it a shot.

I had my first laugh on page 83, and I stopped reading.

Why? Why stop with my first chuckle? Well, it was too hard-earned. The story was almost completely second-person narrative for the first 60 pages or so, with an occasional quote (usually her side of the dialogue). It was self-deprecating, depressing, self-effacing and rather boring.

She told, rather than showed, her story — at least until Chapter 4, "Nothing's Too Much Trouble." By then, however, she had lost me.

Not to mention that in the first half of the book was I introduced to the aforementioned queens in the book title, except in passing.

To be fair, the book could have improved after page 83. However, I didn't want to invest any more time to find out.

An Innocent, A Broad — Review by Chris

I am a huge fan of Denis Leary, whose No Cure for Cancer is one of the most amazing stand-up performances I have seen. In that show, he talks about his young son born prematurely in London. I am touched by that part of the show — Denis shows an amazing range of delivery, and who can resist a man's love for his infant son?

Imagine my surprise when I discovered his wife Ann wrote a memoir about that experience. Her first book was mentioned in an announcement for her new novel. So, I had to read it — I wanted to learn about the experience from the other perspective.

One of the most important elements of a memoir is the honesty. I don't mean A Million Little Pieces Dishonesty, where characters and situations are created for the "storyline." I mean honesty about herself and the situations around her. This was a very touching and tense story, and author Ann Leary could have taken the easy road with sympathy and saccharin-sweet reflections and observations. But then, with that sentimentality, could she have survived nearly three decades married to Denis?

I was prepared to like Ann Leary. I wasn't disappointed (until the cat incident, see below). She was an honest person about her own strengths and weaknesses. She did not always show her best side, and I was glad to read that; if she had presented herself as a flawless individual, I would have stopped reading pretty early on. She showed her interactions with the medical staff and she didn't always come off looking good; one can forgive her because she was trying to be active in her son's treatment. Those exchanges showed how patient and understanding the staff was with her.

She was very, very kind to her husband. When he was there, he was on — and I really enjoyed his presence in the story. He grounded her and was a fabulous husband and father. Heck, between his stand-up and her memoir, I'm a little in love with him myself. He asked the important questions. For example, when her water broke, he asked, "Are you sure you didn't pee?" Her answer made me laugh out loud, but also made me anxious for her. I'm sorry to say that he was gone most of the time, which was hard on Ann and on the story.

It also was an interesting comparison of the British and American medical systems. Ann is complimentary of the British system, which we see from the perspective of the person involved with it. As the current presidential candidates talk about this hot-button topic on the campaign trail (or not, depending on the financial crisis of the week), it's nice to see what other countries do for their sick people.

I was really in her court -- until she waxed on about killing a geriatric cat. I have a sense of humor, but not about that. Wishing ill on a 20-year-old arthritic, nearly crippled feline is not funny in the least. The incident took place near the end of the book, and it changed the way I saw her. I liked her up to that part, then I couldn't like her anymore. It was ugly and selfish and I saw her in a different, less flattering light after that.

As far as memoirs go, it was a good book. It wasn't mind-blowing, life-changing or otherwise pivotal. It was just an interesting tale told from a different perspective than I had heard to date. Just skip the parts about the cat and perhaps you'll like her at the end of the book.

Under the Tuscan Sun—Review by Carole

Frances Mayes’ Under the Tuscan Sun warmed me. I confess I observed all of the hoopla that surrounded the book and subsequent movie and intended to read and see them, respectively, but I just never picked them up. So, I’m grateful to my sister-in-law for picking the book for our club.

I prefer to read books and then see the movie, but of course I saw many, many clips of the movie when it was in theaters and on DVD. The impression I formed from those clips and the reality of the book seemed quite different to me. I hope to see the movie in its entirety soon and I’ll comment further at that time. My mother said she loved the book, but hated the movie. Chris asked me in a tentative voice, "Why did she pick that book?" So I knew that reactions to book and movie were mixed.

I was under the impression that the book was a novel—I didn’t know it really was a memoir (a favorite genre of mine, although I worry about its reputation in light of many recent scandals—I’ve blogged on this topic previously.)

Once I adjusted my expectation accordingly, I was delighted with much of the book. The recipes were quite appealing—I immediately made the cherries in wine. Proclaimed a big hit in my house! While I didn’t feel they were necessary to the narrative, they provided a welcome bit of texture—I just wonder what Mayes went through to decide which precious few recipes made the book. I ask you, how do you choose from the incredible depth of possibilities in Italian cooking? With that said, I’m looking forward to make her giant gnocchi next.

I also marvel at Mayes and her partner as they committed themselves to refurbishing an abandoned Tuscan villa into a lived in and loved home. Granted, it’s a home away from home. A long way away. To live parts of the year in San Francisco and part in Italy conjures many logistical nightmares to me. I can only conclude that Mayes has much deeper pockets than mine to make it all work.

We have a place two hours from our home, and we are forever sure that something is at one place when it is really at the other. We can usually rectify the situation the next weekend. Having to think through entire summers to be sure you have what you need exhausts me, and I’m a planner! Hats off to Mayes and company for their logistical prowess.

And I won’t even mention that Mayes’ work ethic makes me look like a slacker—I admire her ability to keep her eyes on her goal and not be dissuaded. While we struggle with putting up a simple split-rail fence, they refurbished entire walls and stone foundations.

What really came across to me was the deep love she has for the land, the history, and the people. Her accounts of finding bits of Etruscan civilization on her own land awed me—this is a civilization so old that its origins are lost in prehistory. We get excited if we find bits of Civil War era gear or bullets in our neck of the woods. I can’t imagine what it would be like to unearth something so old on my own land.

I also enjoyed Mayes slow unfolding of her journey and saga. She didn’t say that she waltzed into Tuscany, whipped the house into shape, and just joined the local community. She shares bits and pieces of her tale with us so that we understand that the slow rebirth of the house and land reflected her measured pace on assimilating into Tuscan ways.

So I’ll bask a while in the warmth of the world Mayes created and shared with me. When I need to revive that feeling, I’ll dip into the sequels, Bella Tuscany and In Tuscany.