Stories That Haunt Us (Suzanne Forster)

I read two books recently that have stayed with me, the characters, themes and storylines resonating in my mind like a haunting musical refrain. The first one, The Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold, raised many intriguing questions and left some of them unanswered, at least for me. But that’s given me the pleasure of pondering all the possibilities and mulling the reasons people make certain choices, something I’ve always enjoyed—and quite possibly why the story has stayed with me.

I’m still searching to understand why a woman would leave her husband and surviving children under the tragic circumstances in The Lovely Bones. I don’t want to give too much away, but the woman’s daughter, who is also the story’s narrator, seeks to answer that conundrum with a beautiful description of her mother’s expression as she’s sitting alone and staring into the distance, a “stare that stretched to infinity.” At that moment, her daughter realizes that her mother is someone else, someone who’s not a mother, someone separate from her husband and children, a person who has never been acknowledged. I had a moment of clarity when I read those passages. Briefly, it all made sense, but still the mother’s storyline haunts me, and I realize there’s probably something more there for me to discover, not necessarily about the character or the author’s intention for her, but about myself.

My next read, The Kite Runner, is an intimate look at life in Afghanistan that was totally fascinating—and heartbreaking. The story takes place before and after the Russian invasion of Afghanistan, and includes the protagonist’s escape to America and the difficulty with assimilation. But despite the grand scope and the political backdrop, it is very much a story of fathers and sons, friendship, love and betrayal, all universal themes.

For me, the lessons of The Kite Runner are very accessible. One wrong choice can resonate through generations. In this case the protagonist betrayed his friend and devoted servant. He chose cowardice over courage, and his legacy was self-hatred, which he denied and projected onto the friend, causing a cascading series of events that were not to be resolved until he finally came to grips with his own demons. When the story was over, I found myself wondering if the author might not be saying that self-hatred was the source of all hatred.

Both The Kite Runner and The Lovely Bones make clear how lasting and haunting one tragic event can be, and how it can change individuals and families for a life time. Well, actually forever, unless there's the attempt to face and deal with the damage. But also, that the event does not exist in isolation. It's part of the fabric of these people's lives, and if the relationships are weak and strained, the fabric tears and it may never be repaired. It made me wonder how many people go to their graves with unresolved issues. Many, I think.

I hope I haven’t made the books sound sad or depressing. Both are richly absorbing and ultimately hopeful. Very readable, too—and well worth the time.

Now, on to other memorable tales. As a young girl I read every Regency and gothic novel I could get my hands on. Sadly I don’t remember the title of the Regency that stood out from all the others and continues to haunt me with its dark and daring passions, except that it had the word Lord in it. But, don’t they all? There was also a book by Johanna Lindsey about Vikings and one by Victoria Holt where the hero held the heroine hostage in the tower of a castle. I don’t remember many details now, just images, but oh, those images! For me, The Thorn Birds by Colleen McCullough still resonates. One of the early scenes, where Meggie and her brothers are disciplined by Sister Agatha, left a lasting impression. Thanks to McCullough’s vibrant writing, my fingers still sting at the thought of a cane whistling down on them.

Those are a few of the stories that come readily to mind, but there are more, too many to list, including the haunting works of my fellow bloggers here on Storybroads. This blog would go on forever if I started listing all the titles that are coming back to me, one after another, even as I write this. I’m fending them off because time and space are limited, and I’ve taken enough of both. I would rather have you share a few of your favorites.

What kind of stories haunt you? Are there some that have stayed with you through all the years, possibly even from childhood? It doesn’t matter at all what kind of books they were. Fortunately, our imaginations don’t limit us. They just take flight and off we go with them on a magic carpet ride … or through a looking glass into another land … or down a rabbit hole.

Where have your favorite books taken you? Please share a few titles and take us along!

Suz

GOOD TIMES (Anne Stuart)

So life has suddenly become splendid. I became fat, fair and sixty at Disney World (one of my favorite places in the world) along with my kids and my husband. We stayed at the Port Orleans Riverside, which was gorgeous, I scooted around on a little scooter (the knee's still bad from the surgery) and struck terror in the heart of bus drivers with my parking skills, I rode lovely rides (favorites being Pirates, Haunted Mansion, and Peter Pan), avoided terrifying rides (anything with Mountain in the name) and decided after my third time on Soarin' that I'm just too chicken. I practically broke my husband's hand I was clutching it so tightly.
We ate glorious food, sometimes with appalling service (the Chefs du France) and sometimes wonderful (everyplace else) and of course for my actual 60 year dinner we went to the Japanese restaurant (would you expect anything else from me?).
Those are my darling children -- Kate is dressed for the Pirates and Princess Party we went to later that night (the boys stayed at Epcot and went on thrill rides). We came home the next day, but it was one of those perfect moments in time -- being with grown children who are no longer full of teenage angst.

And then, glory be, I got a call from my editor on Wednesday. FIRE AND ICE (with my darling Reno) is just out, with a smallish print run (though thankfully bigger than the tragic print run for ICE STORM). To my complete joy and astonishment it's number 21 on the NYT list! Just when you think nothing but disaster lies ahead, the universe rewards you with a treat.

On top of that, spring has finally arrived, I have the best friends in the world, my knee's getting better, all my cats survived our week long vacation (with my mother housesitting but she's not a cat person). This really is a splendid time for me right now.

And just to make things even better, my friends Mort and Swiggs (Maggie Shayne and Susan Wiggs) are on the lists as well, our editor loves the newest incarntion of DOGS AND GODDESSES, my mother, who was teetering at death's door last year, is up and thriving (at almost 94). Life is incredibly good right now.

I think good times need to be fully noted and celebrated. Too often life is full of sorrow and shame and worry. Let's keep the good times going. Tell me some of your good news. We all need to share the good stuff.

StoryBroads on the New York Times Bestseller List!

Cut and pasted from The List:
21 FIRE AND ICE, by Anne Stuart (Mira)
22 LOVER'S BITE, by Maggie Shayne (Mira)


In the wake of a failed love affair, brainy beauty Jilly Lovitz takes off for Tokyo. She's expecting to cry on her sister Summer's shoulder, then spend a couple months blowing off steam in Japan. Instead, she's snatched away on the back of a motorcycle, narrowly avoiding a grisly execution attempt meant for her sister and brother-in-law.

Her rescuer is Reno, the Committee's most unpredictable agent. They'd met once before and the attraction was odd— tattooed Yakuza punk meets leggy California egghead—but electric. Now Reno and Jilly are pawns in a deadly tangle of assassination attempts, kidnappings and prisoner swaps that could put their steamy partnership on ice.



Before she joined Reaper in hunting Gregor's gang of rogue bloodsuckers, privileged princess Topaz was gunning for just one vamp: Jack Heart. The gorgeous con man had charmed his way into her bed, her heart and her bank account, taking her for half a million dollars and vanishing without a word.
Now she and Jack—maddeningly attractive as ever— are supposedly on the same side. As Reaper's ragtag outfit scatters, Topaz sets out to solve a mystery that's plagued her all her lives, mortal and immortal: what really happened to her movie-star mother, who died when Topaz was just a baby? With four men claiming to be her father, why has she always been alone? And what stake does Jack have in discovering the truth about her past? Topaz is sure he's up to something—but her suspicions are at war with her desires.…

My Dog Circus. (Patricia Potter).

I'm sorry to be so late in blogging today. I'm wrestling with revisions, and I'm keeping my brother's frenetic young toy poodle. Her visit is making things interesting, especially in interacting with my three dogs.

They had never met before. The initial meeeting yesterday was chaotic, to say the least. I thought they were going to kill each other for five minutes, then the tiny new guest established herself as resident bully over the Wild Indians (Autralian Shepherds), and a kind of temporary peace was established. Still, the poodle rejoices in deviling the others. They also have to go outside separately. The wild Indians -- Allie and Katie -- go out to the fenced backyard while I give personalized attention to the much put upon and elderly Shih Tzu, Ting Ting. She won't go in the back yard. She's the princess and will only do her business after about ten minutes of being told she's a lovely dog and being taken for a long walk. Okay, all this is routine.

But now Candy, the poodle, is added to the mix. She's a superactive little dog that nips at the Wild Indians and wants to chase them. Endlessly. She's a pint-sized bully. She is also an escape artist so I can't leave her alone in the back yard or with the Wild Indians. She might find one of their holes. Thus, another walk was in order while Ting and the Wild Indians looked on with umbrage. Only dried chicken strips soothed them.

Then it was a problem of each trying to grab that belonging to the others. Katie is a fast eater. So is Allie. They gobbled theirs down and started toward poor Ting's. Candy decided she wanted it, too, and all four started barking and vying for an advantage.

More chicken treats all around.

Okay, up to the computer to write the blog. The cleaning lady comes and is attacked by four dogs. Fortunately she and her husband house sits for me when I'm out of town. Or unfortunately. She's just had back surgery and can hardly withstand the enthusiastic welcome.

I bring all four dogs up to my office. There all three dog beds there. They all want the other's dog bed, and there are four canines for three beds. It's musical dog beds.

I start the blog and my brother calls and wants to know if his "baby" is okay. Now my brother has never called about a dog before, and I've often kept his dogs on many occasions. He's a retired doc and rather reserved, but Candy sleeps on his shoulder, and Bill's not absolutely sure I can care for his baby properly.

Another blog delay.

Now they are playing again in my office. (They have to be here while the house is being cleaned -- temporarily). Candy takes a giant leap onto my lap, then on the desk and spills my coffee all over my newly revised pages. Thank the good Lord, that it missed my keyboard.

So now I'm late blogging, and already I must go. Candy is finding all sorts of interesting stuff on the floor of my office.

So please forgive my short blog and send good wishes that I survive my canine circus.

And the Saga Continues (LynnK)

Two months and counting. Will this never end? Will I ever feel better? And will I ever stop whining?! Even more than you want to read something interesting, I want to write something worth reading.

The problem is, I have little to work with. Sleeplessness keeps my mind fuzzy, so most anything I accomplish is pitiful. I’ve gotten moderately used to the pain, which diminishes every once in a while. Then, just when I’ve started thinking I’m on the mend, it rushes back. In my imagination, it is laughing. Viruses can be soooo vicious. I’ve stopped getting my hopes up.

Most of all, I miss having a life. Happily, Maggie’s got enough life going on for several people, so I’ve hopped aboard and am living vicariously through her. Honestly, on my best days ever, I never matched her energy and optimism. What a trouper she is.

I do have the PACEM concert to look forward to. Every Wednesday night I’ve dragged myself to rehearsal, and I’ll be there tomorrow for a four-hour practice. We perform next Saturday night, and I’m hoping to get some pictures.

Meantime, I feel as if I’m in prison. A comfortable one, to be sure. But noisy, as prisons are. I know this from watching Oz. Here, beeping and banging continue unabated from the Endless Construction Project at the 1906 Lodge. At least the two-month renovation going on upstairs has ceased. I rejoiced when a new tenant moved in. But that didn’t last long!

When it comes to luck, let me put it this way. My loo runneth over. Quite literally.

Whether caused by plumbing errors by the repair people or shaky disposal habits by the snake-owning tenant, I have been beseiged by bathroom bothers.

Last week, Gumbah the Handyman (a lovely guy) was here for several days, searching for solutions. From time to time, we thought one had been found. But just when we began to relax, someone would take a shower upstairs and the problems would kick up again. Or come down the pipes.

How do I put this delicately? In my formerly innocent and harmless toilet, lack of flushability. Sucking sounds. Gurgling noises. Overflowing. The cat thought someone had moved into the bathroom. I figured a demon has taken possession of the john.

Day after day, Gumbah returned to clean up from the mess produced by the work upstairs and seek a solution for the problems that ensued. Finally, he thought he’d found one. For two blissful days, relatively speaking, we dared to relax.

And then, all pipedom broke loose. The toilet sucked down and threw up. When it had exhausted itself, unclean water began erupting from my shower drain. Two inches of raw sewage covered the tiny bathroom floor and threatened to move into carpeted areas. I ran upstairs and banged on the door. Yelled at the shower-taker to turn off the water. Ten minutes later, she did.

By then I’d managed to contact the landlord, who turned off the water for the whole building. While I was off at chorus practice. Gumbah arrived to clean up. Sorta. It looks okay, but it isn’t. I won’t go back into that bathroom until it’s been scrubbed and bleached and sanitized.

No showers for me now. And for the last couple days, I’ve tramped to another building and used the loo in a vacant apartment. Even in the middle of the night. Like just after I post this report. This morning I was told that a house-cleaner would come in and tend to business today. But she never showed, so I’m still making pilgrimages to a sanitary bathroom.

Other than that, all is well.

How about you? Don’t leave me hanging to dry like the only whiner in the country. I run a no-fault zone here. Any gripes to report? This would be the place!