Review: Vox by Christina Dalcher

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Vox by Christina Dalcher was an airport purchase and an easy read.

Description:
On the day the government decrees that women are no longer allowed to speak more than 100 words daily, Dr. Jean McClellan is in denial—this can’t happen here. Not in America. Not to her. This is just the beginning. Soon women can no longer hold jobs. Girls are no longer taught to read or write. Females no longer have a voice. Before, the average person spoke sixteen thousand words a day, but now women only have one hundred to make themselves heard. But this is not the end. For herself, her daughter, and every woman silenced, Jean will reclaim her voice.

My thoughts (as always, spoilers may abound):
This book is Atwood-lite. The most interesting aspect of the story for me was around Stephen (the main character’s teenage son) and his education and re-education. When he gets on board with the new regime, his arguments for being “Pure” – though to the reader wrong and wholly without compassion – sound rational while letting him feel important and superior. Of course this would be appealing to a teenage boy. It’s uncomfortable and frustrating to read him mimicking the doctrine he’s been fed, but it’s also very believable. His journey to broaden his mind and consider that he had been wrong also feels honest, if rushed.

Otherwise, I found the potential message of “treat everyone with kindness and respect” was mostly lost beneath a message of “don’t forget to vote” and “beware the people who use religion to make policy” and “pay attention to the eroding of your rights” and, uncomfortably, “most men are either hateful or weak.” I’ll give the author the benefit of the doubt on that last one and say it was not the author’s but the protagonist’s opinion. Jean’s position is understandable in her restricted life, but narrow and simplified like Stephen’s views. And though we do get examples of varying types of “good” men by book’s end, I’m not sure Jean grows to notice the variety.

Anyway, pretty good novel, rushed ending, distinct characters, emotionally charged, worth a read.

Review of Wild: From Lost to Found on the Pacific Coast Trail

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I finished the underwhelming Wild: From lost to found on the Pacific Coast Trail a few months back, and it was a battle to get through it all. Read my thoughts below, if you don’t fear spoilers.

The good: I enjoyed the descriptions of the trail, and almost anything related to the actual hike, and I thought the writing was quite good. I also appreciated how honest the writer was.

The bad: This is a memoir, so it’s key for the reader to care about the subject, but I didn’t find Cheryl Strayed likeable or sympathetic. I wasn’t invested in or inspired by her triumphs, and I found the other hikers she meets along the way to be more colorfully drawn.

Hiking the PCT is mega impressive and badass and an appealing level of crazy, and the author did/does have an interesting life. However, no amount of contemplative staring out over lakes could convince me that this was some intense, transformative journey. It seems lucky – not inspiring – that by running away to the PCT, she was able to learn to grow up. Also, for a story of the time she was practically alone for months in the forest, there’s an exceptional amount about men, and nearly everything about men is about sex. I wanted her revelations to be more focused on how she relates to the world, or learning to like herself, but instead so much of the book seemed to hone in on how she relates to men. She might be hardy and resilient, but certainly not empowering.

Anyway, I understand why a lot of people like this book, but I didn’t learn or feel anything beyond an appreciation of the toughness of long distance hikers.

Thinking about next

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It would be simple to choose to focus only on running. To try for more speed or push to an Ultra distance. To continue to go along with my daily routine and let accomplishment come from one more mile or 10 less seconds. But it wouldn’t be the same.

My choice to finally run a marathon – clearing my schedule from other obligations and honing in on one big goal that was significant for me – was meant to be a reset of my priorities. A water stick to what I really wanted. A truffle pig to my hidden passions. A homing beacon to my… well, you get the idea. Running a marathon was the only goal that I knew I needed to strive for, not because it was impressive and not because it’s something I should be doing, but because I could feel it, sitting in my core, waiting. It made me excited.

Yes, it was about pushing my fitness and feeling powerful and learning to eat Clif bars mid-stride, but it was more than that. I had actually recognized something I really wanted, something that felt like part of me, something that belonged in a space in my chest reserved for passions.

I’m lucky enough to keep Jesse there, filling in a compartment of love and support and partnership. My passion for him is wide and full and permanent. It was easy to know that he was right, and that he was worth the effort it took to create our wonderful life.

Now, I want to learn to recognize other passions hidden within myself.

What’s next?

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By this time last year, I was almost done culling all the committees from my calendar.

I had thought contributing to those groups would make me happy, or at least make me feel like a good person, but it didn’t. Instead, I felt drained and uninspired. I felt removed from the charities I was supporting and smothered by the childish infighting among people who were supposedly present to give back to the community. I learned – not quickly, but eventually – that volunteers aren’t always compassionate, board members aren’t always competent, and adults aren’t always as mature as the average 7th grader. I learned to dread my committee meetings with a stomach-turning, lung-strangling anxiety. I learned that doing something “good” can feel shockingly bad.

So I stopped. I gracefully left everything (after completing significant milestones and transitioning my role to replacements; I’m not a monster). When I was free, it took a little while to enjoy the space to breathe, the space to think about the difference between having a full life and having a fulfilling life.

With Jenn’s help, I tried to figure out what I want(ed) and what I am(was) passionate about. My success was limited. The only target I could settle on with certainty was running. I wanted to run a marathon. Had wanted to for years. Had put it off knowing if I was making excuses for why I shouldn’t do it, then I shouldn’t do it. But I wasn’t making excuses any longer. In fact, I had cleared my schedule, and I needed something to feel good about.

I could write pages and pages on my marathon training – already have, in fact – but for the purposes of this post, all you need to know is from November 2016 when I decided to run, to February 2017 when I started my for realz training, to May when I (re-)injured my knee and had to change my marathon plans, to June when I started over, to September 23 when I completed my first full marathon ever in effing Grand Forks, North Dakota of all places… I did feel good. I felt purposeful and strong and accomplished. Even during the abject shittiness of my injury, I was driven to meet my goal.

And then, about three days after it was over, I felt lost. Aimless.

And stupid.

Obviously, while I spent my year running in temperatures that ranged from -25 to +30 degrees (that’s -13 to +86 degrees for you nonsensical Americans. Seriously. Fahrenheit is bonkers), while I spent hours curating my running playlist and vetting audio books, while I got lost on lonely, marshy trails at the cabin and took too many left turns in the maze of identical houses in the new development down Henderson Highway, I should have also been asking myself the question, “what’s next?”

But I didn’t do that.

I didn’t ask myself “what’s next?” until about three days after the marathon was over, when I was already in “next.” And I didn’t have an answer.

Exploring audio books on foot: part three

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Robert, erm, J.K. was great, but her audio books could only last so long in a marathon training schedule that went on for 31 weeks. Plus, I listened to a huge chunk of the third novel while painting the new garage. Whoops!

But I had an advantage, because this time when questing for the right audio book for running, I knew what I was looking for. I wanted a book like the Cormoran Strike novels. A week or so of research, recommendations, and message boards later, I found Tana French and the Dublin Murder Squad series.

What to say about these excellent novels? Tana French is a good writer, the narrators are strong, and the mysteries are intriguing. The first novel in the series, In the Woods,  was eerie and interesting. The second, The Likeness, even more so. Haunting but fast paced. Dark without being dreary. Layered characters who you actually like. A mystery that leaves a little mystery behind after the conclusion.

Even better, I found that the series was well established. The sixth book had recently been published. Perfect! Hours of running entertainment! And then I went to download the third novel in the series, and found that the audio books for 3-5 in the series aren’t available in Canada. Damn.

I would not be burned again. I limited my search to Canadian mystery writers, and very soon came across the Chief Inspector Armand Gamache novels by Louise Penny. Not only are these great for running, the narrator for the first six novels – Adam Sims – is extraordinary. I was right pissed off when the middling Ralph Cosham took over the narration for book seven. Anyway, it’s nice to read something unabashedly Canadian, or Canadien rather. Plus, the Quebecois accents have really helped with my poor French pronunciation. I’m on book eight now, and I am admittedly getting a bit worn out, but the series did build nicely to book six.

So that’s it, that’s all. Go listen to something.