Book Recommendations: Novels of the Romantic Poets and the Bronte Sisters

The last two books I read were really enjoyable, both historical fiction accounts of famous authors.

I first suspected Jude Morgan's Passion: A Novel of the Romatic Poets would be silly, poorly written or melodramatic - probably all three. The cover does not inspire confidence. I was pleasantly surprised to find such a strong, well researched novel, with vivid characters and amazing storytelling. If you have any interest in Percy Bysshe Shelly, John Keats or Lord Byron, here is a novel about the women who loved them.

Following close on Passion's historical heels is Emily's Ghost: A Novel of the Bronte Sisters, by Denise Giardina. While I had a hard time liking the characters, I appreciated that the author was not trying to make me like them. I also enjoyed the introduction by Giardina of subplots I did not anticipate, such as mill worker rebellion. I can't really say how much of a behind-the-Bronte-novels peek this is. I would have to read biographies of the Brontes in order to know what is real and imagined. I half don't want to know because Emily's love story ends tragically, as it must.

What I found most remarkable about both novels is how they moved me. Knowing beforehand that these creative, poetic lives were snuffed out too soon did not save me from being devastated when it took place in the novels. I could not help wishing it would turn out some other way.

Between these two books, I lost count of the characters who died of consumption. I read most of Emily's Ghost in the middle of the night while sitting up with Luca. His four-week-old cold has moved down to his chest, making him cough and wheeze like a consumptive. It was disconcerting to hear his rattling lungs while reading of Emily's and Ann's deaths from consumption and no surprise I could not find sleep even after finishing the book and turning off the nightlight.

Greater or Less than Hungry Crocodiles

Sam ran upstairs where I was folding laundry to ask me the trick for remembering the greater-than and less-than arrows. When the arrow looks like an L that means less than, I told him. He only knows the crocodile trick, whatever that is, so he asked me to help Paolo with his homework. I joined Paolo at the table and casually glanced at the directions at the top of the worksheet. They used the crocodile trick, too, so I began my explanation: The crocodile's open mouth always faces the smaller number. It's a great, big, mean crocodile, and he's going to chomp the puny little number. Got it? We worked down half the page before I noticed something was awry. The L-arrows weren't indicating what they should. What the...?

Now, you math geniuses were probably groaning several sentences ago, but I am not one of you. I am of the species Liberalus Articus, and my kind do not understand your strange symbols. My people study dead things and words. So. I re-read the directions and, sure enough, the crocodile chomps the bigger number. Fine, have it your stupid way. Completely mortified, I had to reverse my prior explanation to my trusting child and have him redo the worksheet. Never mind what I just said, I told Paolo, the crocodile isn't mean, really, just hungry, so it's going to chomp the bigger number. If you were really hungry, would you eat two cookies or twelve cookies?

Once homework was done, I lashed out at Sam for putting me in charge of math, when he knew I didn't know the crocodile thing, and he did, and now Paolo is probably totally confused and won't get into college, because these are the types of building blocks an entire education is built on, and I've blown it. He was not surprised at all by my fervor and retaliated by reminding me that he came to get me because he knew his grasp on the subject matter was shaky, and I seemed very sure of myself, and this is what happens to children with two Liberal Arts-educated parents, so we should have known the day was coming when we couldn't help with math and science studies.

Yes, but I didn't expect the day to come while our child is in first grade.

Mad Love

Love is...

Not being offended when the 2010 World Cup commercial comes on, and I shush you, turn to the TV and raise my arms in victory at the clips of the Italian team celebrating after the 2006 final.

Mad Love is...

Knowing I will have the same reaction every day until June, but never changing the channel or rolling your eyes.

Revenge is a dish best served asleep.

Creeping around the house in the dark of the early morning, moving silently, until - BANG - catching a doorknob with my hipbone. Let's start over. Limping around the house in the dark of the early morning, cursing softly, trying not to disturb my slumbering family.

I'm so tired. At 4:00 this morning Luca kicked me awake before waking himself, sobbing for his daddy, just like he did when he was falling asleep seven hours ago. I attribute this to a little incident earlier in the evening, wherein Luca grabbed two fistfuls of Sam's beard and yanked. Sam's bloodcurdling howl of pain scared Luca half to death and probably made him think his daddy would never love him again.

Sam took Luca into another room, and I was just settling down to sleep, when Paolo decided to have a serious conversation with me - despite being unconscious. His babbling gave way to snoring just as Luca returned and climbed back into bed. After adjusting once more to the knees, skulls and elbows pressing into me on both sides, sleep was creeping in like fog when my alarm went off.

As I tiptoed around it occurred to me, slowly, like the throbbing in my hip, WHY THE HELL AM I TRYING SO HARD NOT TO WAKE THESE PEOPLE UP?

The Eve of Christmas Eve

It can be a little lonely spending Christmas without extended family, but we decided to stay home for the holidays this year and do it up right. It has been a month-long celebration of craft projects, holiday music, parades, Christmas lights, and at least a gallon of egg nog. Paolo picked out a beautiful tree, and Luca has left most of the ornaments alone. This is a big improvement over last year, when we just accepted that the bottom three feet of the tree would be bare. There have been a couple of decor casualties, like when Luca was mouthing an ornament and hooked himself like a fish, or when he shattered a glass ball on the tree by riding a car into it.

There have also been some amazing moments of family harmony. Every morning Paolo opens a new door on the Christmas Countdown Calendar to get the small square of chocolate inside, and every morning he breaks it in half and gives a piece to Luca. Paolo also makes sure, when rummaging through the giant container of cookies sent by Grandma, to select cookies with a chocolate kiss in the center for himself and his brother, and a plain cookie for me. If I weren't absolutely swimming in chocolates and cookies (and peppermint bark, and sugar-coated nuts, and coffee cakes) at work, I might feel slighted. There's something deeply warming about seeing two people you love so much love each other.

I don't have to work tomorrow, and my Christmas Eve to-do list makes me giddy: Play with the boys, pick up a freshly baked pannetone, make hot chocolate, wrap presents, and bake cookies for Santa. Mopping and laundry can just damn well wait until the 26th. If the weather reports are correct, we may even wake up to a white Christmas. If that's not enough to put stars in your eyes, I don't know what is.

Happy holidays.