A couple of years ago bunch of book-worms at my place of employment got a book club together, and while some may tease us about being a wine and gourmet food club, we do read the book and discuss it for at least five minutes. Them’s the rules. Book Club was epic last night, stuffed myself with great food and a delightful Riesling. The highlights were beet and onion salad , cheddar and beer soup , and “Better Than Sex” cake. The pork sampler with fruited sauerkraut was delicious with grainy mustard and brought back memories of dining out in Munich. The book was Skeletons at the Feast, by Chris Bohjalian, which was good to read if light in character development, heavy in subject matter.  Set in Eastern Germany at the ending of WWII, it follows a German family in their trek to get away from the invading Russians, and a group of female Jewish concentration camp prisoners being moved to another camp. The two groups finally intersect at the end to a quasi-Hollywood ending. Of the two war novels we read, I preferred Atonement, better characters and no false redemption or Hollywood ending. I’m an appreciator of well-written tragedy and pathos. That said, I’m ready for something light and perky, to go with my new-found spring is in the air/happiness and light/rainbows and unicorns attitude. Any reccies?

As opposed to the stories I like to read, the stories I write are light humor; bawdy and fun are how most of them could be described. I’m not sure it’s that I’m afraid to turn my hand to drama or that I truly can’t write it. I keep throwing out hints to one of my friends, who has a way with the deep stuff, of a story I would like to read. The dratted woman just ignores my hints. I’m going to have to figure out if tragedy truly is beyond my capabilities or if it’s just fear, and try writing it myself. I read something recently that summed up how I feel: ” Human language is like a cracked kettle on which we beat out tunes for bears to dance to, when all the time we are longing to move the stars to pity.” – Gustav Flaubert – Madame Bovary (Gerard Hopkins’s translation)

I long to move the stars to pity.