My best-friend-who-shares-my-name (so-called to be distinguished from my other best friends, in case anyone is reading this) asked me for book recommendations today. I mention this because 1) I couldn't remember the last book I'd read. Not just the title, but ANYTHING about it. My memory is that bad these days. And 2) This is one of my favorite books that I've read recently but I wasn't sure she'd like it as much as I did, which led me to thinking about why we like the books we do.
So after I'd looked up my reading history on my library's webpage (thanks, NCRL, for keeping me in books and jogging my memory), I remembered I hadn't written about this! And I thought it was so so good! It wasn't as well written as recent reads (All the Light We Cannot See) or as trendy as others (The Orphan Train) but it had all MY things, my book must-haves. It was written by an author I know (she wrote Water for Elephants), so there's less chance of some unpleasant surprise lurking within; it was set in another time or place, specifically 1940's Scotland; it contains likable main characters and a few unexpectedly endearing supporting characters; above all else, there is a satisfying and hopeful ending, in this case with a little romance as an added bonus.
But in reflecting, I was surprised to notice there is a hint of weirdness to my taste these days. The main plot of this book is, oddly, a group of American socialites searching for the Loch Ness Monster. It doesn't look like it will go that way from the cover or the beginning, but I'm glad it does; that's the best part of the book, the fantastical mystery of a misty lake and the encounters of the locals and adventurers. It reminded me a bit of Outlander, actually, and made me realize that the last few books I've really enjoyed (here and here) have some magic in them. Interesting...
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Nonfiction by Rebecca Skloot
And here's the reason why I couldn't remember the book I finished last. I feel like I've been reading this FOREVER. It is a GOOD book, don't get me wrong, and I'll sing its praises in a minute. But I just do not get into non-fiction. At all. I think this book is the reason I've gotten almost all of my summer house projects done in the last two weeks: I don't have a book pulling me into my chair. That, and mild OCD, but that's another story.
THIS story is of Henrietta Lacks, an African American woman whose cancer cells were harvested without her knowledge and used after her death for countless medical research projects. It's the story of her family, who didn't know about the HeLa cells (named after their unwitting donor) and their struggle with poverty despite the millions of dollars earned by their matriarch's cells. It's a story of research, racism, religion, and reconciliation. It's incredibly interesting, completely comprehensible, and a bit unsettling. I'm glad I read it. I'm glad I'm done with it. I'm on to novels with pictures of faraway places on their covers. Happy summer, everyone!
