The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks, by Rebecca Skloot

In 1951, Henrietta Lacks was a young African-American mother of five who felt a "knot" on her womb. When she went to Johns Hopkins--one of the few hospitals in Baltimore that served sick black people--she had only months to live. But, cells from the tumor on her cervix were destined for a longer life--taken without her knowledge, the cells proved to be the first ever to live and reproduce in lab cultures. In fact, the so-called HeLa cells reproduced at a tremendous rate and the scientist who initially began working with them, George Gey, made them readily available to virtually anyone who asked. Over time, the cells were used in an incredible number and range of research studies.

Rebecca Skloot weaves together Henrietta's story with an examination of the many ways in which the HeLa cells were used and the controversies that arose around them. She also introduces readers to Henrietta's children, who knew nothing about the use of their mother's cells until 20 years after her death; the effort it took to gain their trust and assistance; and the challenges of researching the personal aspects of the story. Henrietta's daughter Deborah is a particularly engaging Through these diverse narratives, she explores issues of poverty, race and medicine, and the ethics of conducting scientific/medical research using tissue taken from human beings.

The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks is an engaging read that also poses important sociocultural and ethical questions that Skloots challenges the reader to consider. Her book should be required reading for students considering a career in medical research, as well as for anyone who has benefitted from research using the HeLa cells (i.e., nearly everyone--when the book was published in 2009, 60,000 scientific articles had been published based on research using HeLa, and 300 additional articles were being published each month).

Favorite passages:

Thank you, Ma, we will see you again someday. We read what we can and try to understand. My mind often wonder how things might would be if God had you stay here with me...I keep with me all I know about you deep in my soul, because I am part of you, and you are me. We love you Mama. (Spoken by Henrietta's daughter Deborah)

"This child will someday know that her great-grandmother Henrietta helped the world!" Fullum [Deborah's husband] yelled. Then he pointed around the room at Devon and JaBrea's other cousins, saying, "So will that child . . . and that child . . . and that child. This is their story now. They need to take hold of it and let it teach them they can change the world too."

He raised his arms above his head and yelled hallelujah. Baby JaBrea waved her hands and let out a loud happy screech, and the congregation yelled amen.

Private Life, by Jane Smiley

In Private Life, Jane Smiley explores the interior world of Margaret Mayfield Early. Margaret is a Missouri girl in the late 19th century, the Mayfield family's third child and oldest girl. When her mother is giving birth to one of her younger sisters, her brother takes her to witness a hanging. For years, Margaret claims she cannot remember this experience. Her failure to remember it becomes something for which she is known--and a window into how fully she can suppress her feelings.

Her older brothers and her father die tragically, and the all-female survivors head to the family farm to live with their grandfather, about whom Margaret says, "The world had swirled around him, but he had done as he pleased and remained as evidently himself as a tree might, or a stone might." Great energy goes into finding husbands for the young women, but Margaret somehow reaches the age of 27 without marrying. Then, Captain Andrew Jackson Jefferson Early--a man with a reputation for being both brilliant and difficult--asks for her hand. She accepts his offer, and the couple (marriage still unconsummated) head to California, where Andrew has gotten a low-prestige job at a small naval observatory.

With few expectations for happiness in marriage, Margaret finds little joy with her husband but manages to entertain herself in other ways--an ongoing friendship with Dora (her sister's sister-in-law), who becomes a globetrotting reporter, charity work, and an array of relationships with people ranging from a handsome ex-pat Ukrainian and a Japanese-American family. Her two pregnancies end in grief--one a miscarriage, the other producing a very ill baby who will live only a few weeks.

Meanwhile, Andrew is busy developing a theory that explains the universe much more satisfactorily than Einstein has done. When his book is not well-received (Margaret, who types his work, has herself concluded that her husband is something of a crackpot), Andrew becomes even stranger, creating increasing stress in the marriage. By the time World War II arrives, Andrew's eccentricities drive Margaret to the brink. Does she fall over the precipice or take action to save herself? No spoiler here, but the ending is rewarding.

I have not been a big Jane Smiley fan, but I really enjoyed this book. The characters are particularly well-drawn; while Andrew is hardly sympathetic, the depiction of a failed scientist who does not realize how far off his theories are is fascinating. While some reviewers have found Margaret to be unsympathetic, I found her endearing and strong, if not courageous. Smiley beautifully limns the dynamics in what might be called a marriage of convenience--a type of union that must have been common in an era when women had few options for living outside marriage. I highly recommend Private Life.

Favorite passages:

Pedaling straight forward was a new experience for her . . . Covering distance in this solitary manner was marvelously intoxicating. The brown fields and the blue sky were all around; they seemed to dissipate crisply and evenly into all the distances--forward, backward, upward. The fields were darkly defined by the denuded brown trunks of hickories, black walnuts, and oaks. In Mr. Jones's pasture, across the fence from John Gentry's hay field, five or six white hogs were grunting and rooting for acorns; the noises they made had the clarity of gongs ringing in the air.

She looked at his face. She saw that he had but one thing left, which was that he could look back at her. She stroked the top of his head, moving the thin hairs this way and that, feeling the smoothness of his golden skin. She held him closer, as gently as she could. And then, in the way that you can feel with your baby but not see or sense with anyone else larger or more distantly related, she felt the life force go out of him entirely.

She could describe this feeling she had, that her marriage had become an intolerable torture, that the sight of his head ducking slightly as he went through doorways of the new house was repellent to her, that she felt warm, humid air press against her when he entered the room, that his voice made her want to scream, that she thought he was a fool and even a madman, and that she was going mad herself, that, from the outside, every marriage looked as bad to her, because she knew every house she passed was a claustrophobic cell where at least one of the partners never learned anything, bud did the same things over and over, like an infernal machine, and the other partner had no recourse of any kind, no way out, no one to talk to about it, not even any way to look at it all that gave relief. The doorways of the new house were very high. It was mere habit to duck his head for them.

Blindman's Bluff, by Faye Kellerman

I'm on a mystery kick at the moment, and I probably wouldn't even include all of them on the blog, but I have a mini-rant to go on about Blindman's Bluff. First, let me say it's not a bad mystery--in fact, I enjoyed it. There is one ridiculous coincidence--Rina Lazarus, wife of police lieutenant Peter Decker, while on jury duty just happens to have contact with two people involved in the multiple murder that Peter is investigating. But overall, it's well-plotted; although the mystery's solution is not a big surprise, Kellerman does provide good insight into the detective work required to get to that solution and reminds us that, even at the end of an investigation, the police may still have unanswered questions.

Now for the rant: Faye Kellerman has written more than 20 mysteries--and she's the wife of another mystery writer and mother of a third. So how could she make the mistake of referring to a plaintiff in a criminal trial? Perhaps in days past, victims or accusers in criminal trials were referred to as plaintiffs. Currently, however, that term refers to the person who brings a civil action. Someone should have corrected this! (I realize I'm picking nits, but that's what a rant is for, right?)

Persuasion, by Jane Austen

Many people think Persuasion is the best of Jane Austen's works, but after a second reading (and viewing of two film adaptations), I still don't think Persuasion can hold a candle to Pride and Prejudice...or even Emma.

What do people who love Persuasion say about it? They like that it features an older heroine, and it's true--Anne Elliot is in her late twenties. She has lost her looks and her spunk, following the breakup of her romance with Captain Frederick Wentworth some eight years earlier. She broke off the relationship when her father and godmother convinced her that the navy man was unworthy of her. She's sweet and caring, a good person--which is nothing short of a miracle given that every other member of her family is self-centered and disgustingly status-conscious. But she's a wimp! Elizabeth Bennett would not have been so easily persuaded and if she had lost a man, she would never have lost her spirit!

Persuasion fans also find the theme of constancy appealing. But are Anne and the Captain truly constant? True, they have not married anyone else and they still have feelings for each other, but neither have they taken any action in eight years. Eight years!! Nothing happens until circumstance brings the two lovers back together. It seems to me to be a constancy that has little meaning.

A third argument I've heard for Persuasion's superiority is that Jane Austen's satire of British society is more pointed than ever in this novel. Certainly, the critique is very sharp here, with a collection of despicable characters from the aristocracy and the novel's underlying event--an act of prejudice that scarred two fine young people. But one of the beauties of Pride and Prejudice for me is that Mr. Darcy is so flawed--but is still lovable and capable of change.

One might think from my remarks that I hated Persuasion--that's not true. I enjoyed it well enough, but it will not supplant P&P as my favorite Austen work.

Favorite passage:

When the evening was over, Anne could not but be amused at the idea of her coming to Lyme to preach patience and resignation to a young man whom she had never seen before; nor could she help fearing, on more serious reflection, that, like many other great moralists and preachers, she had been eloquent on a point in which her own conduct would ill bear examination.

The Last Lie, by Stephen White

Since starting this blog, I have been whining pretty much incessantly about series mysteries. Imagine my surprise when I began this year with a series mystery that I really enjoyed--The Last Lie, featuring Boulder psychologist Alan Gregory. I've also enjoyed this series because of the Boulder setting--Alan eats breakfast at Lucile's, where my friend Lynn's husband is the executive chef. For some reason, that adds to my enjoyment! Occasionally, I've quibbled with the plotting in White's series, and this book is definitely long on convenient coincidences, but they did not interfere with my enjoyment.

Two story strands become entwined in The Last Lie. New neighbors have moved into the house that once belonged to Alan's late friends Adrienne and Peter (parents of Alan and Lauren's adopted son Jonas). Alan and Mattin, the male half of the wealthy couple who bought the house, get off to a bad start when Mattin complains about Alan's beloved dog Emily roaming around Spanish Hills off leash. The neighbors seem destined to become important characters in the book, as their renovations promise to be difficult for Alan and Jonas, who are still grieving Adrienne's death.

In the other strand, Alan is supervising the practice of a young psychologist, whose skills are being challenged by one patient--a young widow who is struggling with her grief. The insight White provides into the process of supervision is very interesting (perhaps appealing to the same curiosity that makes In Treatment one of my favorite shows ever). When the young widow reports being raped after attending a housewarming at Alan's new neighbors (perhaps you begin to see what I mean about coincidences), Alan is walking a very fine line as he gathers information from his supervisee, his assistant DA wife, and his cop friend Sam Purdy. While he believes he is only doing what is necessary to make sure his family is protected and does not think he has a conflict of interest, the fact that he finds himself lying more than he is comfortable with signals the ambiguity of his position.

There are other coincidences (you might think Boulder was a town of 10,000 instead of 100,000) and more violence, as well as Sam Purdy's somewhat lengthy parables about how the maneuvering of lawyers subverts the justice system. But it was the psychological aspects of the story that kept me interested.

Favorite passage:

". . . dear Lord, behavior like that would have been tawdry, wouldn't it?"

I laughed. "Did you say tawdry?"

"Other than that one time I was in New Orleans, where it just seems so natural a word, I get few opportunities," Sam said.

Half Broke Horses, by Jeannette Walls

Subtitled A True-Life Novel, Half Broke Horses is the story of Jeannette Walls's grandmother, constructed from family stories and historical research and presented in the first person, memoir-style. Since Walls also wrote an actual memoir, The Glass Castle, the "true-life novel" designation creates some confusion in the reader about the extent to which this work is historical and/or a product of the author's imagination.

All of that notwithstanding, Half Broke Horses does present an interesting life story. Walls starts Lily Casey Smith's story with a flash flood that strikes when Lily and her sister and brother are in the pasture. Forced into a tree by the flood, the three children must stay awake all night, clinging to the branches; if they fall asleep, they will fall into the water below and drown. When they survive and return home, their mother claims that her prayers and a guardian angel have saved them. But Lily knows that "I was the one who'd saved us all, not Mom and not some guardian angel."

The grittiness and practicality reflected in that sentence serve Lily well as she works on her dad's Texas ranch, becomes a teacher at 15 (with less than a year of formal schooling behind her), and then moves to Chicago to make a new life. After marrying a "crumb-bum" bigamist, Lily decides to leave Chicago behind and returns to teaching in Red Lake, Arizona. Her sister, Helen, who had moved to Hollywood to become an actress but ended up pregnant and unmarried, soon joins her. When the school authorities say Helen must leave or Lily will be fired, Helen commits suicide, sending Lily into a period of deep grief. She emerges committed to having her own children. As her partner in this endeavor (and husband), she chooses her friend "Big Jim" Smith, a hard-working fallen-away Mormon some years her senior.

Up to this point, I was admiring Lily's spunk and drive, which are still in evidence as she and her husband work to scratch out a living in the Depression. But having read The Glass Castle, I started to feel less admiration as her inflexibility and occasional bursts of violent anger directed at children, including her daughter Rosemary (the author's mother), began to show themselves. Certainly, Lily cannot be held totally responsible for the horrific parenting that Walls and her siblings received--yet the roots of some of Rosemary's problems as an adult do show themselves in Lily's story. By the end of the book, I found no-nonsense flintiness to be an overrated quality.

Favorite passage:

That spring Rex and Rosemary decided to get married. She gave me the news one evening after dinner while we were doing the dishes.

"You need someone solid," I told her. "Haven't I taught you anything?"

"You sure have," she said. "That's all you've been doing my whole life. 'Let this be a lesson.' 'Let that be a lesson.' But all these years, what you thought you were teaching me was one thing, and what I was learning was something else."

Best of 2010

The year began with rereading, Olive Kitteridge, by Elizabeth Strout and ended with Lady Susan, by Jane Austen--both books I liked a lot. (Well, actually, the year seems to have ended with Half-Broke Horses, by Jeannette Walls, which I didn't like so much...so let's pretend it was Lady Susan.) In between were books that delighted, amazed, and revolted. Here are my favorites:

Best Fiction: The Lake Shore Limited, by Sue Miller

To be honest, I reread my favorite book of 2009 this year--Little Bee, by Chris Cleave--and it was the best book I read this year, too. But I thought I should choose something new, so it's The Lake Shore Limited, which is in fact a wonderful book. At the heart of the book is a play of the same name; the play deals with the aftermath of a terrorist attack and was written by Billy, whose lover died in the 9/11 attacks. In addition to detail about the fictitious play, the novel also has other theatrical elements that are beautifully done. The story is told from the perspectives of four characters: Billy; her late lover's sister Leslie; Rafe, an actor in the play; and Sam, with whom Leslie is trying to set up Billy. Through their stories, Miller explores how relationships change, the futility of guilt, the difficulty of being the partner who lives, and the way in which art works. I was deeply moved by The Lake Shore Limited and it remains fresh in my mind, months later (something of a feat at my age).

Perhaps the most innovative book I read this year was A Visit from the Goon Squad, by Jennifer Egan, a writer who may well reinvent the novel. The chapter of the book that was written in the form of a PowerPoint journal was amazing.

Best Nonfiction: Open, by Andre Agassi

Choosing a memoir--and a sports memoir at that--as the best nonfiction book I read in 2010 goes against the grain, but Open is really a very good book, well-written and insightful. Open is an incredible window into the mind of a world-class athlete who is not afraid to lay out his fears, his neuroses, and his bad decisions--along with his triumphs and his slow progress toward a happy and meaningful life. Given Agassi's talent and the success he experienced in his two decades in tennis, I would have expected that the man had a strong sense of self. Nothing could be further from the truth--Agassi seems to have been doomed to years of angst by his childhood at the mercy of his tennis-crazed father and adolescence as a commodity at the factory-like Bollettieri Academy. His frankness makes it possible to have sympathy for gifted athletes who have been pushed in a way the rest of us cannot comprehend.

Best Poetry: Where I Live, by Maxine Kumin

I must admit that I did not read much poetry this year. In fact, this may have been the only collection I read. I did, however, enjoy Kumin's accessible poems about nature and animals, her connections to people, her grief over her husband's death, and her passion about the world and how we live in it. One sample: ". . . life was bleak and sweet and you/made marmalade." I love that.

I did subscribe this year to the Writer's Almanac, a daily email newsletter from American Public Media and Garrison Keillor. Thus, I start the day with a Garrison-selected poem (you can also opt to hear Garrison read the poem, though I usually don't). Today, for example, the poem was "Be Mine," by Paul Hostovsky, which begins with two lines that resonate: "I love mankind most/when no one's around." For more information on the Writer's Almanac, go to http://writersalmanac.publicradio.org/.

Best Mystery: I'd Know You Anywhere, by Laura Lippmann

I've been reading a lot of mysteries for about 30 years, and I'm beginning to think I should stop. Too many mysteries are lamely plotted, involve way too much "telling" at the end, and frankly aren't worth even the short amount of time it takes to read them. I'd Know You Anywhere, a stand-alone thriller from Laura Lippmann, was worth the time it took to read it. It is a psychological thriller that finds its tension in the interplay between a woman and the man who kidnapped and raped her 20 years earlier.

Sara Paretsky's Body Work was the best series mystery that I read this year.