Let the Northern Lights Erase Your Name

I came to this book sort of sideways. I’ve loved Dave Eggers for years what with A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius and the 85 or so iterations of McSweeney’s that are floating out there in the world. But as far as his little literary cabal is concerned, I’ve never really gotten into their work. But when I say Vendela Vida’s (Egger’s wife) Let the Northern Lights Erase Your Name sitting forlornly in the discounted books section of my favorite local bookshop I decided that it needed a home.

The book is absolutely fascinating, a story of loss and redemption, pain and rebirth. It’s hard to not fall in love with our hapless narrator as she journeys through the frozen tundra of Lapland, a place that seems to have as much mystery as the main character. I’ve been fascinated with Lapland since I read Philip Pullman’s Dark Materials series. The names in his books correspond to those in Northern Lights and every time I saw the brief mention of some town I knew I would grow faint with the warming of my heart.

I couldn’t put this book down. I sped through at an accelerated pace, taking only one small break in the middle, to find the inevitable conclusion. Vida strings out the story in such a way that you are hanging on with each movement the characters make. You love her and you hate her. And then with a clap of a thunderbolt, the story is over. In a matter of pages it comes shuttering to a close, every loose end tied up.

I think normally I would hate that sort of ending. The story has all the natural parts that a story should have but it’s amazing how quickly after the denouement the character ends her path. I loved it. I loved that you got to hear everything after the story. The story is so broken that it needs a complete ending. It’s not a happy ending, not a sad one. It just is. A perfect way to find the end of the story when you go on a journey that changes everything you have ever thought about yourself.

For women, I think this story is a must read. Men will enjoy it too. But there’s something harsh and brittle about the story that I think only a woman could truly understand. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I’m not. All I know is that my life would be the worse for not having read this book. It will soon be resting on new bookshelf with its other brothers and sisters, happy to be loved.

 

Silliness or why I love young adult fiction

Call me crazy. No really, you can. I totally accept the fact that reading books that would normally be reserved for fifteen year old girls crazy. But I love them.

Lately I’ve been captivated (or re-captivated as I read all these books before when I was actually fifteen) by Louise Rennison’s series of books on a mad British teenager named Georgia Nicholson. What I love so much about the books is that they’re very well written (not high literature or anything) and they actually resemble a real life. If I wanted to watch oversexed teenagers romp around I could turn on Gossip Girls or pretty much anything on MTV. Frankly, eh.

The Georgia Nicholson books resemble most closely to me my love of Gilmore Girls. I loved that show. Aside from the witty dialogue, it was a show about a smart and fairly normal teenage girl trying to figure her way through a rather bizarre thing called your teenage years. It made you feel like a normal person. Hell! She didn’t even contemplate sex till college and her best friend waited to get married before she had sex. And this is all supposed to take place in current times! And it was believable! (Well, most of the time.)

Anyway, I’m hooked. I’m working my way through the series at a feverish pace (another perk of YA – it flies by) and before you know it I’ll be back to reading about women who travel to Lapland to find their long-lost fathers (who they didn’t know existed) only to find out that they’re the product of a rape. You know, adult stuff. (I’m reading Let the Northern Lights Erase Your Name which I absolutely adore, don’t get me wrong, and I will post on in a few days.) For now though I exist in the land of the fabbity fab! Which if you think about the depressing stuff that goes on most days, is kind of preferable.