Tag Archives: book review

Ignored Characters

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As I mentioned, to my surprise, I loved rereading Little Women. I think I liked it more now than when I first read it as a teenager, simply because the goody-goody characters were refreshing to me after the novels and the nonfiction books I’ve been reading. I related to the girls.

Author Geraldine Brooks read Little Women the first time when she was ten. When her mother recommended it, she said to take it with a grain of salt: “Nobody in real life is such a goody-goody as that Marmee” (Afterword, page 354). With that concept was born Brooks’ Pulitzer Prize-winning novel, March.

While March focuses a little bit on Marmee, the majority of this book is about Mr. March (called March), the father of the girls, who, in part one of Alcott’s novel, is away fighting in the Civil War. In this novel, we read his letters to Marmee, and then we read the truth of what is happening to him in the South. March writes ” promised her that I would write something every day: I never promised I would write the truth” (page 4).

In a fascinating contrast to the girls’ failures in Little Women, March’s failings are huge to him; he cannot solve them in a chapter or even by the end of the book. As Little Women delves into the little problems of teenage girls, March delves into the larger problems of an adult before and during the civil war: slavery, death, violence and war, betrayal, marital and extramarital relationships, and confusion about one’s role in the world and in a family. (Disappointingly, there is a far amount of sexuality in this book, so keep that in mind.) To me, it is an intriguing contrast to the goody-goody world of Little Women.

Geraldine Brooks has thoroughly researched both the civil war and the life of Louisa May Alcott’s father, Bronson Alcott, for many of the philosophies and characteristics of Mr. March. Since Alcott herself based Little Women on her own experience, basing Mr. March on Alcott’s father seemed very appropriate. I love a well-researched novel, especially historical fiction, and this certainly was well-researched.

I also loved the concept of fleshing out a character that otherwise wasn’t noticed. I know I never gave a thought to Mr. March when I first read Little Women. Only on rereading Little Women now, knowing that I’d read March next, did I realize how little attention is given to him.

What behind-the-scenes fictional character would you like to know more about?

Note: I’d recommend reading Little Women (at least part one) before approaching March. They complement each other nicely.

Favorite Authors: Alexander McCall-Smith

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When I was a child, I would go to the library on my bike with a backpack full of already-consumed books, return them, and get another full backpack full of to-be-read books. Sometimes I’d go through a series, reading every single one as they were available at the library. Other times I went through “author phases.” Then I would check out every book by a particular author and read those.

For past two years or so, I’ve been on an author kick again: I was looking for quick, easy-to-read, “empty” fiction that was enjoyable. I realize this isn’t really a good thing. I should always use my precious reading time for books that actually add something to my life. But they do: they add sanity.

I enjoyed reading Alexander McCall-Smith’s The Number One Ladies’ Detective Agency a few years ago; it’s a good book club book and every book club I’ve been in has read it. It is about a “lady detective” in Botswana. How McCall-Smith, a man in a kilt, is able to capture this delightful woman and the intriguing country in this series is just amazing to me. (I know he wears kilts because I met him in Chicago a few years ago: he was wearing a kilt. That was before I knew most of his books take place in Scotland.) When I went to find the subsequent books in that series to read them (I think I’d only read through number five), I found that he had a number of other series.

Note: Some libraries classify him as Smith (SMI) and some classify him as McCall-Smith (MCC) or both (Naperville Public Libraries). My current library has him under MACC.

Here’s the rundown.

The Number One Ladies’ Detective Agency series

These are clean, moral books, with clever characters and an intriguing setting. They should be read in order, as the plots build off of each other. As with many series, I believe the first books are the best; the formulaic style gets old further on. I love reading about Botswana. I never knew anything about it, but reading novels that take place there give me a sense of place. Now I want to go to Botswana to see the terrain!

  • The No.1 Ladies’ Detective Agency
  • Tears of the Giraffe
  • Morality for Beautiful Girls
  • The Kalahari Typing School for Men
  • The Full Cupboard of Life
  • In the Company of Cheerful Ladies
  • Blue Shoes and Happiness
  • The Good Husband of Zebra Drive
  • The Miracle at Speedy Motors (I haven’t read this one yet: it’s either not published yet or not in Australia yet.)

Professor Dr. von Igelfeld Entertainments Series

These are collections of short stories, each book being fairly short. The eponymous professor is incredibly conceited, which conceit places him in rather humorous situations.

  • Portuguese Irregular Verbs
  • The Finer Points of Sausage Dogs
  • At the Villa of Reduced Circumstances

The Sunday Philosophy Club Series or Isabel Dalhousie Mysteries

How do I say this? While the No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency series is full of Botswana morals and Dr. von Igelfeld is a pompous, conservative, middle-aged German professor, these books are modern. They are set in McCall-Smith’s Edinburgh, and feature an almost 40-year-old single woman’s life and decisions, including her love life. While I enjoyed the mystery in the first novel, the “mysteries” in the subsequent novels have only disappointed me and Isabel’s immoral decisions disappoint me. I’m not sure I’ll read any subsequent novels. Maybe I don’t get in to the series because I just don’t relate to her. They aren’t spectacularly written, and the setting and character don’t interest me. It’s just Scotland (sorry if that offends anyone). It seems to rain a lot.

  • The Sunday Philosophy Club
  • Friends, Lovers, Chocolate
  • The Right Attitude to Rain
  • The Careful Use of Compliments

44 Scotland Street Series

In the tradition of Dickens, McCall-Smith writes a serial novel as a regular column in the newspaper, in this case The Scotsman. The novels track the daily life of persons living at said address in Edinburgh (although some of the characters move to a new address) through two-four page chapters. There are some other interesting characters that keep me interested, such as the six-year-old Italian-speaking, saxophone-playing Bertie, who has an overbearing mother. I enjoy these very much.

  • 44 Scotland Street
  • Espresso Tales
  • Love over Scotland
  • The World According to Bertie
  • The Unbearable Lightness of Scones (I haven’t read this yet; it either hasn’t yet been published yet or it hasn’t come to Australia yet)

McCall-Smith has also written a few collections of short stories, children’s stories, and academic text books (he was a Medical Law professor), none of which I have read.

What author(s) do you like and keep returning to, year after year?

Castles in the Air and Growing Up (A Little)

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It’s been a long time since I’ve read a young adult novel (other than Harry Potter, which doesn’t count), so when I picked up Louisa May Alcott’s Little Women this week, I was at first taken aback by the rosy, generic moral lessons within it. As I began, I didn’t think I’d have much to ponder, since it’s a reread for me. But I was wrong.

At first the moral lessons were a bit silly to me. For example, when the girls want a holiday week, without any chores, their mother agrees and lets them, knowing they will learn their lesson. Sure enough, by the end of the week, they are ready for chores again! If only lessons are really learned that way.

By the middle, though, I was finding myself relating to the teen angst as the girls began courting and dealing with each other and their life dreams. They plan their “castles in the air” for what they want to be doing in ten years, when they are — get this — between twenty-two and twenty-seven.

What’s your castle in the air for ten years from now? My castle in the air is a four-bedroom house with a fenced-in back yard, a few mature trees, and a few children swinging on a swing set and otherwise playing together. But I’ll go where ever Heavenly Father wants me to be and I’ll accept whatever little blessings he wants to send me (or not send me). I never envisioned Australia, and my life now is essentially my castle in the air. I don’t want my life changed too much. I am very happy.

As I was reading Little Women, I really found myself enjoying the story, as childish and “rosy” as it is. Then, during a scene when a character marries, I had a moment of bizarre realization: I’m not one of them. I’m already married. I have a baby. How am I relating to these girls?

It felt so weird to realize that I’m beyond that stage of life. My life has moved on.

Do you ever have moments when you look at your kid(s) or your job or your degree and wonder how you got there? I know I’ve lived each day to get here, but that moment just seemed out of chronological order. How did I get here already?

By the way, Nancy was the randomly selected winner for Buy Your Friend a Book week.

What I Learned from the CIA

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As I mentioned when I read Michael Ruhlman’s The Elements of Cooking, I’ve also been reading one of his other books about food, The Making of a Chef. This book is Ruhlman’s behind-the-scenes look at what a “culinary education” entails, particularly what it takes to earn a certificate or degree at the CIA (the Culinary Institute of America).

I have become very interested in cooking and what makes a “good” cook. What does it take to be a “chef?” About one-third of the way through this book, I began to realize that I never want to be a chef: it does not sound like fun.

However, as I read about what a chef must learn, how a chef must prepare each day before the restaurant doors open, and how to approach each day in the kitchen, I began to think differently about food and cooking. Here are some concepts that I appreciate better now (I listened to the audio book, so I can’t give page numbers):

Mise en place

Ruhlman defines this in The Elements of Cooking as “literally, put in place;  the kitchen term for your setup, the gathering and preparation of all the tools and food you need to complete the task at hand.” In The Making of a Chef, Ruhlman discusses his time in the Skills kitchen at the CIA, learning to cut and prepare food. He discusses the time he spent working in the restaurants of the CIA, where he spent hours preparing his mise en place before the restaurant opened its doors and he actually began cooking. While I certainly don’t care how I cut my carrots, I was impressed with the time that was always given to make sure everything was ready to go before starting the grill or turning on the stove. As Ruhlman pointed out, if you have everything together before you begin, and you are familiar with the cooking plan (or recipe), then everything will fall into place when you begin cooking. If you aren’t prepared, then things could fall apart and you’ll find yourself “in the weeds.” If you are prepared, ye shall not fear. (Even nonfiction cooking memoirs are inspirational!)

Cooking is a series of problems solved.

I loved this concept, and it really is true:

  • My chicken burned on the grill; what do I do differently next time? (I always burn chicken on the grill)
  • My ____ tastes boring; what do I add?
  • This sauce isnt thick enough; how do I thicken it?
  • I’m out of ____; what do I substitute?
  • My _______ is [insert problem]; what did I forget?

I find myself wanting to solve the problems before they are unsolvable. (One chef in the book suggested that any food is fixable unless it is burned. Then you’re out of luck. You can’t un-burn it.)

What does it take to be a good cook? Basic understanding, passion, and balance.

I loved how balance was an essential part of being a cook in one chef’s equation. The chef told Ruhlman that those chefs that worked too much and didn’t do anything else really were not the best cooks. In my case, I think being a “good cook” is realizing that “good” is not the same as “perfection” and “cook” is not the same as “chef.” My family doesn’t need perfection, and they don’t need a chef. They need a mom and a wife who happens to prepare dinner every night.

President Metz (president-chef of the Institute) never eats anything he cooks without a critical eye.

I like the concept of being critical of my own food; if cooking is a series of problems solved (as discussed above) then I need to recognize the problems in order to improve on them. However, I don’t think it’s necessary to always eat critically. I’m not a chef; I expect to take some days off!

When we put food on the table, we make a value statement. Your own values and your own standards: that is all.

I think this is the crux of my goal in cooking. I want to be able to put food on the table that I feel good about. I will cook to my standards, accepting the fact that I will take days off from caring and critiquing what I put in my belly.

My Conclusion

This memoir is very different from the last Ruhlman book I read. In some respects, I recommend this book over The Elements of Cooking. Elements is a reference book for the more-confident cook. It is above me in some ways. This memoir, on the other hand, is a delightful look into the world of professional cooking and what makes the difference between a good cook and a professional cook. It helps me think about cooking in a completely new way. I think any home cook, any waiter, and any semi-professional cook could benefit from this inside look at cooking for the food industry. I needed that, probably before I read Elements. Now that Ive read The Making of a Chef, I feel I should go back and reread the essays in the beginning of Elements.

There is a lot to being a cook! Understanding the elements behind it is just part of it.

Real Politics

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I have a confession.

Despite my claim that modern television is worthless and despite the fact that we do not have television, there is a television show I watch. Regularly.

This show is called “The West Wing,” and it aired on NBC from 1999 to 2006. We’re currently watching season 5 of 7.

This television show follows the eight White House years of Democratic President Jed Bartlet and his staff. Of course, being a television drama, President Bartlet has an incredibly interesting presidency (the details of which I won’t divulge in case you are intrigued and care to watch the show).

The most intriguing part of this show is watching and learning about political processes. I don’t know how accurate the portrayals are of the West Wing, White House, and Congressional debates, working situations, and characters. But with each episode, I wonder what the real political situation is for the subject.

For example, in season five, after President Bartlet named his second and third justices to the Supreme Court, I found myself researching the current justices (how long they’ve been there, which president named them to the court) and wondering how likely it would be for one president to name three of them (one-third of the entire court). (FYI, in the past 50 years, Truman, Nixon, and Reagan all named three to the court and Eisenhower named four. I was surprised.)

Because I have been so absorbed by this fictional political situation, I decided to read about the real thing. I really enjoyed reading Walter Isaacson’s biography of Einstein a few months ago, and I was eager to read another of Issacson’s biographies: this time a biography of Henry A. Kissinger, national security adviser to Nixon and later Secretary of State to Nixon and Ford.

I’ll begin my review by saying that I don’t recommend this book, although I am glad I read it.

It’s not that Isaacson did a poor job. In fact, I think his analysis and portrayal of Kissinger is incredibly well researched and thorough. He does a great job of avoiding his own commentary and opinion. The problem is that Henry A. Kissinger was a man without morals. He was not a likeable man for me.

While Einstein was a delightful, playful genius-celebrity, Henry Kissinger was a two-faced, tricky genius-celebrity. Yes, I believe Kissinger was a genius: he was a genius of negotiation, a genius of tricking people, and an expert in being two-faced. (For example, he would mock the Israelis to the Syrian leaders and mock the Syrian leaders to the Israelis.)

Israeli leader Yitzhak Rabin said: “He didn’t lie. He would have lost credibility. He didn’t tell the whole truth” (p. 554). He was tricky, and that was the essential element behind his success. For example, Isaacson summarizes:

In the Vietnam negotiations, [Kissinger] devised murky wording regarding the DMZ and South Vietnamese sovereignty so that both sides could claim what they wanted; in the SALT talks, he left vague the limits on silo size changes and later dropped the word ballistic from limits on air missiles so that the Americans and Soviets ended up interpreting the meaning differently. Likewise, on the Middle East, Kissinger tried to fudge many of the theological disputes that stood in the way of practical disengagement accords. (p. 556)

Kissinger, a Jewish refuge to the U.S. from Nazi Germany at age 15, embraced the European notion of realpolitik, which is defined as “politics based on practical and material factors rather than on theoretical or ethical objectives” (m-w.com). In other words, he did whatever he felt was necessary, even if morals had to be abandoned. That is why I found myself disliking him: “Kissinger never had an instinctive feel for American values and mores” (p. 764).

In reading this book, I got what I wanted: a realistic look into the West Wing and the political environment around the White House. And I don’t like it. President Nixon was a sneaky, lying man. And Henry Kissinger believed in doing whatever was necessary to get the end result he wanted.

I renewed this book twice, which means it was checked out for three check-out periods. At four weeks for each check out, I had this book on my “What I am Reading” shelf for three months. I’m not surprised: it was more than 750 pages and I could only handle so much of it every day.

As I became more appalled with each new political situation, I kept wondering why I was still reading it. I think the reason I kept reading was because I was learning so much about the political environment from 1968 to the late 1970s, particularly in terms of international relations. The analysis of power was fascinating to me, as appalling as it was.

“Kissinger was such a liar,” I told my husband, more than once.

“Rebecca,” he said once, with a tone that suggested I should have known that. “Of course he was. He was a politician.” (Although my husband denies saying these words, this is the impression I got from him.)

“Well, I want to read about a politician that has morals. I want a Jed Bartlet.”

Yes, I know Jed Bartlet doesn’t really exist. He gets emotional in every episode in which an American soldier dies. Can a President let himself get that involved? I don’t know, but I don’t like how Ford and Kissinger didn’t have any concerns when “only” 18 soldiers went down in a successful mission (p. 654).

I intend to read about other political situations and time periods in order to find the reality of U.S. political and international relations, as depressing as it may be.

I think I’ve been watching fictional politics for too long.

The Chef’s Craft in Every Kitchen?

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I have mixed feelings about Michael Ruhlman’s The Elements of Cooking: Translating the Chef’s Craft for Every Kitchen.

The Elements of Cooking is one-part opinionated essays about cooking (pages 1-50) and one-part alphabetic encyclopedia of opinionated “essential” elements to cooking. There are things I liked about both parts and other things that bordered on ridiculous. (For example, Sharpie is included in the list of essential elements to cooking. Its definition: “This brand of permanent marker is excellent for dating and labeling food; keep one in your tool drawer along with painter’s tape.” p. 215)

I didn’t realize why I was annoyed by this book until I started reading Ruhlman’s previous best-seller, The Making of a Chef. I haven’t finished that book yet. It is the story of how one is trained at the Culinary Institute of America to become a chef. Only as I read this second book do I realize what the problem is with the first book: I don’t want to be a chef. Therefore, it’s not necessary to translate the chef’s craft for my kitchen.

According to The Elements of Cooking, a chef is a leader, as in the head of a restaurant kitchen, and is firstly a good cook. A cook is what I do aspire to be. I don’t want to be a chef: I don’t want a restaurant kitchen. I want good home cooking for my home kitchen.

Because I don’t want to be a chef, some items on the alphabetic list of essential elements seem a bit ridiculous. I don’t need to learn about aspic (gelled stock), offal (innards of animals), and foie gras (duck liver). I won’t be cooking them in my kitchen. I don’t need to learn the French terms for my macaroni’s cheese sauce. I don’t need to know decorative knife cuts for cutting vegetables. I don’t need to know kitchen terms (for example, commis is a prep cook in a professional kitchen).

However, on the other hand, as a cook, some of the terms, even the French terms, may come in handy if I happen upon a recipe that uses them.

Also, as a cook I found the opinionated essays about cooking incredibly interesting. Those essays are the reason I would recommend this book to the average cook. They make me think about cooking in a different way. I plan on rereading them regularly. Ruhlman included essays on stock, sauces, salt, the egg, heat, and tools of the kitchen. I think I’ll revisit them in subsequent posts — they are very informative and, I think, discussion worthy.

One book he recommended reading is On Food and Cooking: The Science and Lore of the Kitchen, by Harold McGee. This is a scientific explanation of food, from eggs to meat and fish to plants and on. The author has degrees in science and literature so provides scientific descriptions the layman can understand. When I read it, I’ll let you know if that is true.

Ruhlman’s last essay is about finesse. This is where I feel I’ve departed from his main point of his book: I’m not a chef and so I’m not hoping for “refinement” in my cooking. As a cook, I hope to provide fundamental home cooking for my family. However, I suspect Ruhlman is correct to some extent, even for my home kitchen: “The concept [of finesse] rest[s] on a conviction that paying attention to a few small details in any given preparation has an enormous impact on the finished dish and is the final gratification for the cook in his or her pursuit of excellence” (p. 46).

While I’m not looking for approval of my food as a restaurant chef or even as an amateur chef in any sense of the term “chef” and I’m not vainly pursuing excellence (perfectionist though I am), I think a reward to my efforts at cooking will be a gratifying and edible supper every night with my family, recognizing that there is always room for improvement.

I recommend Ruhlman’s book to the family cook only half-heartedly. It’s great to get you thinking about food, but only with a few tablespoons of salt.

The Millionaire Next Door

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At my mother’s suggestion, I listened to the abridged version (144 minutes) of this book rather than the 18-hour version. In some ways, it still was too long. You get the main idea from the beginning.

Since, like most people, I wouldn’t mind being a millionaire, I found it interesting that those with million-dollar salaries (sports figures, etc.) are rarely millionaires: although they live a “high life,” they have very little “wealth.” In other words, millionaires don’t live the lifestyles we might think we’d want to live if we earned a high income.

The premise of this book is that lifestyle that makes a difference to whether or not one becomes a millionaire (one with lots of wealth), and anyone making $60,000 a year can become a millionaire by adjusting lifestyle.

Here are the common factors that millionaires (those who “successfully build wealth”) share (I’ve merged those that I think relate):

1 and 3: They live well below their means and they believe financial independence is more important than displaying social status.

Obviously, living well below one’s means is easier to do with a high income. But even with a high income, most millionaires function on a well-thought-out budget. Most millionaires also live in a house in an average neighborhood, drive a four-year-old used car, shop at Sears and Penney’s (not Saks Fifth Avenue and Nordstrom) and live unassuming lives. Most millionaires only wear suits they purchased at a discount and eat low-cost food (rather than expensive wine).

2: They allocate their time, energy, and money efficiently, in ways conducive to building wealth.

For example, they do not waste time “playing the stock market” but carefully figure out what they know about and invest in that. Here’s another example that they didn’t give but that I assume: they don’t waste their time and money with the lottery or gambling.

4: Their parents did not provide economic outpatient care (i.e., parents did not provide substantial cash gifts to their children).

Hmmm. No help from parents? Darn.

5: Their adult children are economically self-sufficient.

In other words, they know what they do to live frugally and were able to teach frugality; they’re kids don’t expect to live a high lifestyle, funded by their parents.

6 and 7: They are proficient in targeting market opportunities and they choose the right occupation.

I didn’t actually pay much attention to these sections — it was the end of two hours of listening. But obviously, some occupations have more promise than others (although I think it’s also important that one chooses an occupation that he or she enjoys).

In all, I enjoyed this reminder that a high income and winning the lottery are not guarantees to wealth: slow and steady wins the race. Maybe there is hope for the rest of us!

East of Eden: Good versus Evil

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John Steinbeck’s East of Eden has been banned before. I’m not surprised. It deals with attempted fratricide, prostitution, and murder. One character, Cathy, is described as a monster. But as I read it and recognized the obvious references and echoes of Genesis, I was overcome and enlightened. Combining the plot with the incredibly well written descriptions of the characters, the Salinas valley (California), and five decades, this is a novel I want to reread.

I am reminded of Mosiah 3:19.

For the natural man is an enemy to God, and has been from the fall of Adam, and will be, forever and ever, unless he yields to the enticings of the Holy Spirit, and putteth off the natural man and becometh a saint through the atonement of Christ the Lord, and becometh as a child, submissive, meek, humble, patient, full of love, willing to submit to all things which the Lord seeth fit to inflict upon him, even as a child doth submit to his father.

When Adam and Eve left Eden, they, for the first time, had wickedness within them. They were able to give in to temptation. But they had the choice to choose the good. In Genesis, Cain chose evil and was sent “East of Eden” (see 4:1-16). Nevertheless, Cain had the choice to choose whether he would follow good or evil throughout his life: he was not condemned straight away.

In this novel, what makes Cathy and others evil is that they don’t “choose” the good. They don’t put off the “natural man.” And that makes all of the difference. On the other hand, other characters in the novel seem to completely miss the “natural man” and are thus overwhelmingly “good.” Ultimately, though, Steinbeck’s point is that we all must choose what we will do: the crux of agency is that we are free to choose. Everyone is!

I don’t know how many reading this review will want to read the novel. Some of the situations and characters are downright evil. But I think a key to reading literature is finding how it relates to your own life; part of what I gain by reading East of Eden is a better appreciation of what it means to have agency.

How Do You Read?

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In John Steinbeck’s East of Eden, Steinbeck contrasts two of his characters, and I love this imagery:

And the books that came into the house, some of them secretly–well, Samuel rode lightly on top of a book and he balanced happily among ideas the way a man rides white rapids in a canoe. But Tom got into a book, crawled and groveled between the covers, tunneled like a mole among the thoughts, and came up with the book all over his face and hands.

Part 3, Chapter 23

I think I’ve always been like Samuel: riding along a book (especially novels) without really thinking about them. A few months ago, my husband called me a “page-turner”: as long as I’m turning pages I don’t care what I’m reading, and as a result, I can read two pages and not remember what I just read. The bottom line is, I read too fast.

When my husband pointed this out to me, I decided it was time to read more carefully. I’ve been trying to “crawl between covers” lately — that’s one reason I’ve been giving book reports on this blog.

How do you read a book: do you ride the rapids or tunnel like a mole? If neither, is there another image that you can apply to yourself?

Painting a Novel: East of Eden by John Steinbeck

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My writing teachers have always instructed to “show not tell.” I didn’t understand it, really, until I began to read John Steinbeck’s East of Eden last month.

I thought “showing” meant describing the character in a context: hair color, quirks, and personality traits, mentioned as the story unfolds. Here’s a silly example I just thought of: “She tossed her mousy brown hair over her shoulder, crossed her arms in front of her, and narrowed her dark brown eyes as the wicked man sauntered toward her.” With that type of description, I can picture what is happening: the movie is playing and I don’t need to guess what people look like or how they react to a situation.

Steinbeck does not do that. He steps aside from the plot development to show us who these characters are. This could be boring, but it is not when Steinbeck does it. Here are a few paragraphs describing Liza Hamilton.

Liza Hamilton was a very different kettle of Irish. Her head was small and round and it held small round convictions. She had a button nose and a hard little set-back chin, a gripping jaw set on its course even though the angels of God argued against it.

Liza was a good plain cook, and her house — it was always her house — was brushed and pummeled and washed.

She wore her hair always pulled tight back and bunned behind in a hard knot. And since I can’t remember how she dressed, it must have been that she wore clothes that matched herself exactly. She had no spark of humor and only occasionally a blade of cutting wit. She frightened her grandchildren because she had no weakness. She suffered bravely and uncomplainingly through life, convinced that that was the way her God wanted everyone to live. She felt that rewards came later.

(Part 1, Chapter 2)

Steinbeck’s approach gives us a description of this woman as if he were describing a photograph (her head, her nose, her chin, her hair) and we can picture Liza in our minds because the description gives us the information a photograph would. But Steinbeck is also able to give her a personality: Liza Hamilton becomes real to me. As a result, as the novel progresses, I am able to anticipate how she would react simply because her character is so full of life. That is hard to do.

And guess what? She was real: Steinbeck based Samuel and Liza Hamilton in the novel on his own maternal grandparents of the same name. That underscores what I’ve always known: write what you know about and it will come alive. By extension, if a writer doesn’t know a character (or a setting or time period) — her personality, physical description , and personal history, for example — he can’t truly describe her so the reader feels he knows her too.

Have you ever looked at an oil painting up close? Some strokes of color are thicker than others; each stroke of paint leaves a texture. The painting may not look like a photograph: the colors will be different and the artist’s interpretation of the person, place, or thing will be different from the “real thing.” But often there is a texture that makes an oil painting much more interesting than a photograph would be.

Steinbeck writes an oil painting. He paints the characters, the setting, and the decades. I recognize the textures as I read the novel. It feels rich and full of life, and I love to read it. Truly, this texture helps make it a classic.

I have much more to say about East of Eden. But, for now, tell me: can you recommend any other novels that you feel “paint” the characters, the setting, and the time period? I want to read more.