Book Report: The Best of Me by Nicholas Sparks

The Best of Me, by Nicholas Sparks, reaches in and rips your heart out.  Which is to say that it's like every other Nicholas Sparks novel.  This particular story was one part The Notebook and one part Dear John, with a heavy dose of The Guardian's darkness tossed in.  Actually, the last three or four Sparks books I read seemed uncharacteristically vengeful and violent.  What's more, there seems to be a thread of spying at large in a growing number of titles.  Not, of course, in a creepy way, but in a do-gooder-just-watching-over-you kind of way.  Which, come to think of it, is a little bit creepy.  In Dear John, John skulks around Savannah's house for years even after they part.  Then there's The Lucky One, in which the entire plot hinges upon ex-soldier Logan pursuing a woman he knows from only a photograph. 

Easy-target jokes aside, no bestselling author spins a tale of unrequited love more poignantly than Sparks.  He drops characters into situations that force them to come to terms with their purpose in life.  That's the theme at the core of each of his stories, with the romance serving as the conduit through which these revelations are made possible.

So, The Best of Me.  Dawson and Amanda are two small-town North Carolina high school kids who fall in love.  He's poor, and she's rich, and her parents tear them apart by packing her off to a prestigious college.  This, of course, is The Notebook-y part.  But unlike in The Notebook, they don't meet again just seven or eight years later.  Instead, fate wedges twenty-five years between them, reacquainting them at, of all places, a funeral.  It's after this part that things get especially dark and dicey.  Then there's a bit of medical drama that seems heavily borrowed from Dear John.  At times it was all a bit too much, and I can see why a lot of readers may write it off as unbelievable, or even worse, cheesy.  But here's the thing.  It's this crazy course of events that clarifies exactly what it is that Dawson and Amanda are meant to be doing.  Because try as they might, they're too indecisive and influenced by worldly concerns to figure it out on their own.  Whether they end happily or tragically, Sparks's novels always give readers (or at least this reader) the sense that things are as they should be and that everything has gone according to plan.

If that sounded vague in terms of plot, then I've done my job.  The Best of Me is one of those books that would be spoiled by discussing too many details.  That having been said, I'll leave you with a quote that struck me:

"Too many people glorified small-town America, making it seem like a Norman Rockwell painting, but the reality was something else entirely.  With the exception of doctors and lawyers or people who owned their own businesses, there were no high-paying jobs in Oriental, or in any other small town for that matter.  And while it was in many ways an ideal place to raise young children, there was little for young adults to aspire to." (82)

There's a lot of truth in what Sparks says here.  I found this interesting, especially given that most of Sparks's books take place in small towns.  It made me wonder if, on some level, the deaths of his romances are symbolic of the death of small-town America.  Or, at the very least, that the romances are plagued by the same limitations.            

Movie Moment and Book Report: (Some Last Words on) The Last Song by Nicholas Sparks

Last Christmas, the bf bought me a copy of Nicholas Sparks's latest, The Last Song. Having read and enjoyed all of Nicholas Sparks's other novels, I devoured it immediately. And it was pretty good. Not as good as Dear John or Nights in Rodanthe, but nonetheless entertaining. I missed seeing the movie version when it came out in March, so I rented it last weekend (once again Hot Tub Time Machine was shafted. But its day will come.) Although the movie version of The Last Song was very close to the book, it was strangely disappointing. I find myself having this reaction to lots of movies based on books. (Ironically, I felt the opposite way about The Notebook. I loved the movie but was lukewarm about the book. Maybe that's because I saw the movie first.) I think it's because movies don't allow enough time to build upon all the details that make characters and relationships seem real. For example, in the book The Last Song, readers observe the main character, Ronnie, fall in love with Will as well as reconnect with her father in stages. But in the movie it all happens so fast that you're kind of left not quite believing it (at least I was). Also, Ronnie was a lot edgier in the book, with purple hair and an attitude to match. Although still a surly borderline tough girl, movie Ronnie (Miley Cyrus) is softer, with normal hair and only a discrete nose stud to advertise her rebelliousness. Finally, the theme of fire is more prominent (and therefore scarier) in the book. The villain, Marcus, is always juggling fireballs in view of Ronnie's house (he wields both a creepy romantic interest in her and a secret about Will), and Marcus's girlfriend, the aptly-named Blaze, is badly burned by one of Marcus's fireballs and ends up in the hospital. Also, Marcus causes the proverbial "trouble" at Will's sister's wedding, destroying an entire tent. When I read this scene in the book, it struck me as a made-for-the-movies-moment. But in the movie it's very pared down; although Marcus and Will fight, I don't recall a collapsed tent. All this was topped off by an ending that seemed to occur rather abruptly.

But despite all these shortcomings, the movie was still fun to watch. Although I enjoy writing these movie and book reviews, I sometimes fear that I sound a bit uppity. I mean, what do I know? I'm just a nobody consumer with too much time on her hands. Suppose I were ever to publish my book and people wrote less-than-stellar reactions to it? Knowing my soft-hearted ways, I suspect I'd be sorely hurt. That's how poor Lily felt in Marian Keyes's The Other Side of the Story when reviewers savaged her debut novel. But then again, I enjoy most books and movies to one degree or another. Even the ones I seem hard on. After all, even material I don't 100% love opens up a sort of commentary off of which I can bounce thoughts and ideas.

I think I'm getting a bit punchy. It's time to pack it in.

Movie Moment: Dear John

Last night the bf and I went to see Dear John. As you may recall, I'd reread the book recently to refresh my memory and decided that I was finally at peace with Savannah ending up with Tim. There were several little details in the book that suggested things may turn out that way, and however sad it was that she wasn't with John, I made up my mind that it was for the best (see my other post tagged Dear John for more on this). So when I went to the movie, I was dying to see what they'd change (because you know that they always change something.)

Minor things here and there were different. In some cases, the order of events had been altered. But most notably, all those little telltale details foretelling John and Savannah's undoing were missing. So, it shouldn't have been a surprise to me when the ending was different. (Warning: if you haven't seen this movie yet and want to, you should probably stop reading here. Although quite frankly, the damage has probably already been done.) Tim dies. John still leaves him all of the coin money, but he dies anyway. Savannah tells John all of this in one last letter. The last scene shows Savannah in a restaurant window. John walks by, their eyes meet, and they hug, the implication clear that they'll be together.

So, how did I feel about this? Was I outraged, after I'd so carefully and maturely worked out all the reasons Savannah was meant for Tim in the book? Well, no. I was happy. Because the movie gave me (and I'm guessing lots of other readers) what I'd always secretly wanted from the book, and that was a happy ending for John and Savannah that made sense. In the movie, John doesn't visit Savannah at college, so there's no scene where she blows him off for her friends. In the movie, John doesn't just re-enlist in the army after 9/11 and then tell Savannah about it in a letter; he comes home to discuss it with her. Also, in the movie Tim is much older than Savannah (Alan is his son, not his brother), and he isn't the overly nice and nerdy guy he is in the book. In fact, he's more creepy older neighbor than lifelong best friend.

In this way, I guess the movie was simpler than the book. Savannah's never really in love with two men, and her husband dies, making it easy. Some may say the movie had a classic (read, cookie-cutter) Hollywood ending, and maybe that's true. But I think buying that completely is a cop-out. The book and the movie are just two different versions of the same story, showing that it's the seemingly insignificant events that make all the difference in how things do and should turn out. Although I loved the book, the movie's magic wasn't lost on me. Far from it, to be honest. I cried buckets.

Book Report: Confessions of a Shopaholic by Sophie Kinsella

Recently rereading Nicholas Sparks's Dear John got me thinking about all those other novels I've read that really, well, stuck. I read lots of books, and although most of them are at the very least entertaining, so many turn into mere background noise once the last page is turned. That having been said, I wanted to reread something memorable -- but also light after the all-too-sad Dear John -- and ended up turning to Sophie Kinsella's Confessions of a Shopaholic. This book is one of those conversationally written, candy-coated yet weirdly sympathetic stories that begs you to devour it in one gulp. That's how I read it the first time, one summer day when I was in college. What's the appeal? Well, although this tale is a cautionary one, it has the curious power to make me want to shop even more! Scary, I know. But I guess that's a testament to Kinsella's story telling prowess. As wrong as heroine Becky Bloomwood often is, you can't help but root for her. I guess that's because she represents fun and whimsy and possibility in a world that doesn't readily offer those things. Here are some passages that struck me in my rereading so far:

Becky Bloomwood on how she, the consummate shopaholic, ended up becoming a financial journalist: "Of course, being a financial journalist is not the career I always wanted. No one who writes about personal finance ever meant to do it. People tell you they "fell into" personal finance. They're lying. What they mean is they couldn't get a job writing about anything more interesting. They mean they applied for jobs at The Times and The Express and Marie-Claire and Vogue and GQ, and all they got back was "Piss off" ' (Kinsella 10).

Becky Bloomwood on the power of shopping: "That moment. That instant when your fingers curl round the handles of a shiny, uncreased bag - and all the gorgeous new things inside it become yours. What's it like? It's like going hungry for days, then cramming your mouth full of warm buttered toast. It's like waking up and realizing it's the weekend. . . . Everything else is blocked out of your mind. It's pure, selfish pleasure" (Kinsella 27).

Candy-coated maybe, but kind of realistic, no?

Book Report: (Rereading) Dear John by Nicholas Sparks

When I saw the movie poster for Dear John a couple of months ago, I was excited. I'd read the book when it came out a couple of years ago and had found it haunting. So, I decided to reread it as sort of a refresher before seeing the movie.

I expected it to be less vivid, the way books sometimes are if you read them a second time. But it wasn't. It was sadder than the first time, maybe because I knew what was coming. The more I read, the more I realized the book was about two people not destined to be together. (Spoiler alert: you should stop reading if you don't want the plot revealed.) John and Savannah's dreams hinge on a mere two weeks together. During their next meeting, a year later, they're already starting to fall apart. One could argue that their time apart is to blame, but I think just the opposite. Distance kept the fantasy spinning, but once they're back in each other's lives it's evident that they aren't right for each other. Their differences cause them to fight about the kind of stuff that breaks people up, especially young people, all the time.

Maybe I sound cynical. But I'm not. Because it's John and Savannah's very unsuitedness that renders their story as extraordinary. Although he doesn't say so, I think John reups with the army because his last visit with Savannah showed just how much she's moved on in his absence. He's hanging around, wanting to spend every spare minute with her before he goes back, and she's going to class and making plans with friends. Not that she's wrong. When pressed, she admits that she keeps busy to help her be stronger when he leaves. So, they're distancing themselves from each other to avoid getting hurt: she by keeping busy and he by reupping. Yet the emotional distance only exacerbates the growing problem of their physical distance.

It didn't surprise me (during the first reading) when I found out that Savannah married Tim. The entire novel is set up for her to marry him. He's her best friend, they were brought up the same way, and their personalities are very similar. In a way, John is the interloper, sweeping in for two weeks, turning her head, and then leaving while Tim is left to pick up the pieces. The first time I read this, I sort of wanted to hate Tim. For being so perfect. For getting in the way. But I must have grown up a lot in between readings, because now it's clear to me that he's the one she was meant to be with. John knows that too, and his love for Savannah is so great that when he finds out Tim is dying, he gives her the money from his father's coin collection to save Tim's life. Even though both she and Tim seem resigned to Tim's impending death. Even though part of him still wants to be with her. Everything happens for a reason; John met Savannah so that he could understand his autistic father better just as Savannah met John so that he could save Tim's life. They're supposed to learn from each other, but they're not supposed to be together. That, I think, is what made the book so much sadder upon the second reading. Understanding that it was John who was the third wheel.

This story is about sacrifice. But it's also about what day-to-day love really means. There's that age old argument about who's better, relationship-wise: the person you find exciting and passionate, or the one you can depend on. When I was younger, I was so sure the first answer was the right one. Now I know that excitement fades without anything to back it up, and that it's the person who does the dishes with you and hauls your craft show stuff all over the state that's the one. You can see that woven throughout Dear John, early on when Savannah tells John about Tim picking her up from a date gone wrong, and at the end when she tells him about she and Tim restoring their house as two people starting out together in the world.

I think realizing all of this makes me even more of a romantic.

After I see the movie, I'll be sure to post about my impressions. I'm interested to see what they change (it's always something).