It was hard to read this novel after having seen Woody Allen's movie, "Midnight in Paris." I kept hearing his actors' voices in my head while reading. In spite of that, like some of the other reviewers, I found the novel challenging to get into at first. And while I appreciate how Ms. Fowler created Zelda's character, I found myself more inspired to read Nancy Mitford's biography of Zelda called "Zelda." Still, it's a novel worth reading if you enjoy a dip into the era of the Lost Generation.

The description on the back of the book hales it as "a darkly hilarious chronicle of a misfit '90s childhood." This description doesn't do this memoir justice. In beautifully fluid and poetic prose, Domenica Ruta presents her life's story much like she describes her experience of sobriety, where "memories return slowly and in the wrong order." And it's impossible not to feel the raw pain sandwiched between her wry or lyric observations. Not since Dorothy Allison's autobiographical novel "Bastard Out of Carolina" or Jeannette Wall's "The Glass Castle" have I read a memoir this powerful. Depicting complicated, dysfunctional family relationships plagued with abuse and addiction, Ruta also presents the rare, glimmering moments of kindness that, as those of us who have survived similar families know, keep the darkness from swallowing us whole.

The concept of "loose diamonds" is poetic, the idea of those loose moments in life that are either lost or found. The way that Ephron plays with the metaphor in the introduction works for the most part throughout this collection, but not all of her loose vignettes shine like diamonds. The first couple essays are poignant, but with others it seems that one must be an insider in Ephron's world to get some of her private allusions and inside jokes, just like there are things Ephron will mention cryptically and pointedly, then tell her reader, "I don't want to talk about that." I started feeling like I just didn't want to read anymore about that. But as a psychic, perhaps Ephron already knew this.

This novel is at times poetic, profound, ironic, while also placing a bit of a strain on the suspension of disbelief. Like other readers, I found the entire narrative thread difficult to follow...more of a loose weave than a thread, and yet I do enjoy the blending of the contemporary world with the creation myth, with references to evolutionary ancestors (Lucy), and with allusions to other religions and ancient texts. These kinds of juxtapositions offer myriad opportunities for rich discussions.

I think this book may deserve more than one reading.

"The Journal Keeper" is a walk through several years of Theroux's life during her later years that she recorded in a series of journal entries. At first the obvious life lessons in her entries felt too pat or contrived (or maybe I just complain a lot more in my own journal), but then I felt myself getting into the rhythm of the author's life. I could feel a balance emerging between her daily struggle with maintaining her spiritual life, her creative life, and paying the bills. I realized I share a lot of her inner conflicts, her self-consciousness, her self-critical tendencies, but I also share the recognition of those crystalline moments of poetry within the mundane world. (I was also shocked to realize we share a friend in common!) She deals with loss on so many levels, as we all do, particularly all the little losses of aging. Yet her journal entries also allow hope and humor to rise to the surface as life does go on.

I feel Theroux's journal entries are best savored a little at a time. Their effect is like having had a conversation with a good friend whose insights will stick with you throughout your day.

I’ve read two of Kate Walbert’s previous works, "Where She Went" and "Our Kind," and loved both. Walbert is a master at weaving together separate strands of history and multiple characters’ story lines, often featuring the stories of women, into one poignant narrative written with lyrical prose. "A Short History of Women" is no exception. Here, Walbert weaves together a multi-generational history of the Townsend women from the British suffragette at the turn of the last century to her great, great granddaughter in 2007 New Haven, Connecticut. At first, Walbert’s style of bouncing back and forth between various time periods felt confusing, particularly since several of the characters share similar names (there are three Dorothys). The family tree she includes at the beginning of the book is very helpful. In spite of that, I found myself getting caught up in each character’s story and enjoying the way their histories all overlapped and circled back on each other. And while the novel features a specific history of the Townsend women, I feel that Walbert has written a history of all women who have struggled with powerlessness and the need for a meaningful life, revealing what I believe is an intentional irony in the title that suggests that such a history could ever be considered “short.”
   
As a side bar, Walbert’s inclusion of historical references to real women’s history, including the suffragette movement, Florence Nightingale, and Dora Maar, has made me interested in investigating these stories in greater detail.
   
I recommend this book highly as a personal read and as a selection for book groups. I will be recommending it to my own book group.