Oh boy! I started two different book yesterday and decided not to finish them.
The first is a book I picked up at a local dollar store. I figured that I didn’t have much to lose besides my dollar and the tax. Well, it was a dollar wasted. The book looked like a good one. I know, I know, it was the dollar store, but stranger things have happened. The dust jacket was beautifully illustrated and the blurb inside sounded intriguing.
Across the Endless River by Thad Carhart is the fictional story of Jean-Baptiste Charbonneau, the son of Sacagawea. It begins with his birth on the Lewis and Clark expedition and charts his early years and young adult years. Sounds great, right?
Well, it was pretty interesting. I will admit that. I was enjoying it right up until the time he walks in on his parents doing you know what. That gave me a pause. I decided to keep going since the historical detail was incredible. Then Jean-Baptiste, in his late teens, uses his money on prostitutes. I stopped there and decided to read a random page later in the book. It just so happened to be Jean-Baptiste enjoying an assignation with an older women.
That was enough. I didn’t finish it. I am not sure just how much of the book is about his male prowess, but I don’t want to know.
Then I tried one I’d just checked out from the library. It too sounded interesting. The Color of Lightning by Paulette Jiles is the story of a former slave who tries to make a new life for his family in Texas during the Civil War. One day the menfolk ride away to buy supplies. Not long after they leave a force of 700 Kiowa and Comanche sweep across the plains, killing and pillaging.
I have a degree in history. I have read many accounts from both natives and whites. Even with this background I was not prepared for the details included in this description. I stopped reading when I started getting sick to my stomach. I am not certain some of the details were historically true, but I really hope they weren’t because it was appalling.
One more pitch before I strike out. The pressure’s on. I spit on my hands, grab the bat, and kick the dirt with the toe of my right cleat. I crouch down and swing the bat in high tight circles, while wiggling my bottom in approved fashion as I get comfortable for the pitch.
Uh, wait a minute. I’m writing about books, not baseball.
The third book I picked up (today) was Harry Revised by Mark Sarvas. Apparently Harry just divorced and is fantasizing about Molly, a waitress he’s seen in a restaurant. A few pages in, I’ve run across the F word twice and all he has done is order lunch. Oh well.
Strike Three! You’re OUT!
For obvious reasons I won’t be recommending these books to anyone. Now I’m in the mood for sunflower seeds and a baseball game.