It's a well-established fact that I need another book like I need a hole in the head. Still, walking into a bookstore makes me feel all tingly inside. That new-book smell, those glossy covers, and the stories - oh, the stories just waiting to be read. I know I don't have to explain. You're bookworms. You understand. At any rate, when I walked into the BYU Bookstore last week, I saw that Kathryn Stockett's debut novel, The Help, was on sale for 25% off. I've been coveting this book for awhile now, but a brand new hardback isn't exactly cheap, so I've been resisting the urge to buy it. Even with the discount, it was insanely expensive, but I broke down and bought it anyway. I just couldn't help myself. (Funny enough, when my MIL saw my purchase, she just laughed. She'd nearly finished her copy from the library, and had been planning to pass it on! Ah well.) While I regretted parting with that much money, I have to say, the more I read, the happier I became with my exorbiant purchase - The Help is one of those luscious books that makes you want to savor every delicious word. Having my own copy meant I didn't have to rush.
The Help takes place in 1962 in Jackson, Mississippi. For the city's wealthy white women, life flows along in a whirl of bridge games, League meetings, and tennis matches at the club. Black housekeepers tend to their sprawling homes and neglected children, leaving ample time for social outings. On the other side of town, those same housekeepers come home to another round of cooking, cleaning, and child care - this time for their own families. Just as the society women complain about the ineptitude of their "Help," so do the maids complain about their lazy, always critical bosses. A great, invisible line separates the women - a barrier of race, class and culture - that prevents them from realizing just how similar they really are.
Despite being part of the society crowd, Skeeter Phelan has always been different. With her beanpole figure and woefully frizzy hair, she's neither beautiful nor elegant. Her fingers are more comfortable poised over a typewriter than clasped around a teacup. A degree from Ole Miss hasn't gotten her far - she's living on her family's cotton plantation writing a silly housekeeping column for the local newspaper. Sick of the banality of it all, Skeeter longs to do something with her life. She aches to write about something more meaningful than ring-around-the-collar. When she starts investigating the mysterious disappearance of her beloved maid, Skeeter begins asking herself questions she's never pondered before - What is it like to be a black maid working for a white family? Finally, she's found a worthy subject. Her curiosity leads her to a project that will challenge everything she's ever known. In a city already boiling with racial tension, Skeeter's clandestine meetings with local maids are risky, indeed - discovery could mean anything from imprisonment to death. Yet, she forges on, knowing that her purpose is "For women to realize, We are just two people. Not that much separates us. Not nearly as much as I'd thought." However noble her aims, Skeeter's project will be disastrous. And illuminating. In fact, it will change her life - forever.
Told in the voices of Aibileen, a long-suffering maid with a soft spot for children; Minny, her mouthy best friend; and Skeeter, the white woman who gives them the biggest, riskiest opportunity of their lives; The Help is a pitch-perfect Southern masterpiece. It's this funny:
For four days straight, I sit at my typewriter in my bedroom ... On day three, Mother calls up the stairs to ask what in the world I'm doing up there all day and I holler down, Just typing up some notes from the Bible study. Just writing down all the things I love about Jesus. I hear her tell Daddy, in the kitchen after supper, "She's up to something." I carry my little white baptism Bible around the house, to make it more believable. (155)
And this poignant:
"I give her a good hug. I reckon she don't get too many good hugs like this after I go home. Ever so often, I come to work and find her bawling in her crib. Miss Leefolt busy on the sewing machine rolling her eyes like it's a stray cat stuck in the screen door. See, Miss Leefolt, she dress up nice ever day. Always got her makeup on, got a carport, double-door Frigidaire with the built-in icebox. You see her in the Jitney 14 grocery, you never think she go and leave her baby crying in her crib like that. But the help always know" (4).
And this beautiful:
"All my life I'd been told what to believe about politics, coloreds, being a girl. But with Constantine's thumb pressed in my hand, I realized I actually had a choice in what I could believe" (63).
If you can't tell, I love this book. I could scour my thesaurus looking for adjectives convincing enough to make you read it, but I think you get the picture. It's a lovely, satisfying novel. Read it. Share it. Recommend it to your book club. I promise you'll never forget it.
Grade: A
If this were a movie, it would be rated: PG-13, for some language, sexual innuendo, some violence and adult situations.
(Book image from Barnes & Noble)

... but only two of you snag prizes this time around. Thanks to all who entered and to Hachette and Disney for providing books for this giveaway. Without further ado, here are the winners:

So, I'm back from Utah, where we had a fabulous time celebrating the 4th with family and friends. The weather was cool and drizzly - it made coming back to Arizona very, very difficult. It's so hot here that the pool water feels like bathwater. Ugh. I did come home to a large box of books from Disney, as well as a stack of other review books. So, guess how I'll be spending the rest of my summer? Mmm hmm.

Anyway, I wanted to mention a couple of things:

- Tomorrow, I'm going to be drawing the names of the winners of the two book giveaways I have going on right now. There aren't tons of entries, so you still have a good chance of winning. If you haven't entered the giveaways, do it now! Check out my right sidebar for more info.

- On my left sidebar, under the heading "A Note to Authors/Publishers," you may have noticed that I have a link to a list of the review books I currently have in my possession. Apparently, I never checked to make sure the link actually worked. Author Diana Orgain let me know she couldn't access the spreadsheet (Thanks, Diana - you get a good review for sure :) ). I have now fixed it, so you can check out my ridiculously long list of books to review. The crazy thing is, I have a good 20-25 more to add. I've tried to stop myself from accepting new books, but I just can't help it. I'm an addict.

- Okay, time to get back to real life. The worst part about vacation is transitioning back to normality - laundry, housework, bills, a messy desk, etc. *Sigh* So much to do, so little time ...

Have you ever gotten halfway through a book and thought to yourself, "Why am I still reading this?" That was my experience with Jennifer McMahon's Dismantled, except that I repeated the question 1/3 of the way, 1/2 of the way, 3/4 of the way, etc. My reluctance had nothing to do with a slow plot, shoddy writing or dull characters - it had everything to do with McMahon's constant use of profanity, some fairly graphic sex scenes, and the depressing tone of the novel. As much as I wanted to cast the book aside, though, the plot kept me riveted. I had to find out what happened. So, I finished Dismantled, but I can't quite decide what to say about it.

The story revolves around Henry and Tess DeForge, a couple who are drifting further and further apart every day. Emma, their 9-year-old daughter, will do anything to keep them together. When she begins snooping through her father's things, she discovers that her parents were part of a college group called the Compassionate Dismantlers. Reuniting them with their old friends seems like a good way to help them rekindle the passion they must have felt back then. Tossing a handful of postcards into the mailbox seems innocent enough, but Emma's desperate act will have dire repercussions for her and everyone she loves.

As Henry's past comes crawling into the present, he heads straight for the bottle. But Jack Daniels is no match for the memories that have haunted Henry since the Dismantlers dismantled. He remembers the group's beginning - under the seductive leadership of Suz Pierce, five art students assembled to commit meaningful acts of eco-terrorism. Soon, however, what started as a social statement became Suz's tool for exacting revenge on everyone who wronged her. It didn't take long for things to go awry. While living together in a lakeside cabin, the friends committed an unspeakable act. In abject terror, the group dissolved, swearing never to speak of the incident. Now it seems someone wants to reunite the Dismantlers. But why?

Emma has no idea what kind of monster she's unleashed. She's only following directions from Danner, her mischevious invisible friend. All she wants is for her parents to stay together, but with messages mysteriously painted on trees, a P.I. poking around, and the appearance of a strange woman, Henry and Tess are more freaked out than ever. As events spiral out of her control, Emma finds herself caught up in the mess created by her parents' past. The question is: Can any of them escape unscathed?

The whole past-coming-back-to-haunt-the-present thing has fueled plenty of novels, but I still love the device. It makes stories deliciously suspenseful. With a little bit of the supernatural thrown in, McMahon gives her version a nice, spine-tingling twist. Still, it's got the traditional tension build-up, followed by a heart-pounding, truth-revealing finale. McMahon rounds out her story with intriguing, very human characters. They are a tortured, depressing bunch, but they're interesting. If it hadn't been for the swearing, the sex scenes, and the bizarre ending, I probably would have really liked Dismantled. Unfortunately, all the "ick" kept me from truly enjoying the read. I did learn something, though: If I have to ask myself (repeatedly), "Why am I still reading this book?" then I really shouldn't be wasting my time.

Grade: C

If this was a movie, it would be rated: R for excessive profanity, sexual content, drug use, and violence.