A Shadow Life by Leta McCurry - Some Mystery, Same Sadness, Some Joy!

Readers I apologize if you are unable to read all of this article!
Would you believe the colors were changed--not by me--and made it impossible to read on the screen!
Add this to my list of computer problems!

Menard, Texas--June, 1938

The kerosene lamp burned low in the silence. Mattie Hawkins was the only one fully awake in the deep hours of the night. She stared at the plain pine coffin holding the remains of her husband as flickering shadows, like ghosts on the prowl, moved softly among the small group keeping wake. In that raw box lay her life and Laney's, snatched away as suddenly and surely as if they had been picked up by a tornado and blown to kingdom come.
How could God let this happen--in an instant--with no time to prepare? Could she have done anything to change it?
Only two days ago--the morning had started like any other except it was Calvin's birthday. About mid-morning, Mattie shopped working the iron pump handle and leaned against the kitchen counter to catch her breath. She took a tin dipper from its nail on the wall, filled it with the cool water she had drawn from the pump, and drank deeply. Patting the sweat from her face with the bottom of her apron, she smiled at her five-year-old daughter. Laney Belle, playing with homemade A-B-C  blocks under the kitchen table.
"Whatcha doin', dumplin'?"
"I spelled cat, Mama. See?" Laney patted the blocks lined up on the raw pine floor.
"You sure did," Mattie said. "You're so smart."
"And pretty," Laney giggled. "Daddy says I'm pretty just like my mama."
I might be pretty to look at on the outside but I'm ugly on the inside, Mattie thought. How come her neighbor women had a dozen babies one right after another and she could barely produce one?
Laney was the only living child from Mattie's five pregnancies over the last five years. The others were either lost early or stillborn. There wouldn't be any more babies either. Doc Crouch had taken Mattie's husband, Calvin, aside and made sure he understood that getting his wife with child again would likely mean her death...
...a constant prayer always hovered in Mattie's mind. Lord, don't let my girl grow up weak, and sickly like me and my mama before me.

~~~

A Shadow Life

By Leta McCurry

The stories Leta McCurry shares reveals the heartaches of women in the early 1900s. A woman could bear children one after the other and become an old woman while still young due to the hard work required to maintain her family... At the same time, if she was unable to have children due to health problems, that essentially ended the intimacy of the marriage.

Our story tells of a woman who had constantly lost children, and had been told that any further pregnancies would likely cost her life. She tried hard to keep her husband and child happy, but she greatly missed the intimacy, the touching they had shared. 

It was on her husband's birthday when it happened. Laney and her mother had to make a quick trip to town since she didn't have everything needed to make him a birthday cake. And the accident happened, there, right in front of them. Within seconds her husband was dead...

...Sorry wasn't what she needed. She needed her husband to rise up whole again out of that ugly pine box. She needed her life back. She needed the words for her little girl when she came home in the morning. Words to tell Laney there wouldn't be any more Daddy for piggyback rides, waking in the creek, reading fairy tales and singing Laney's favorite song, "Ragtime Cowboy Joe," at the top of their lungs...

Who was going to give her words for that?

I was acquainted with the loss that Laney and her mother felt when husband and father was accidentally killed. My mother was carrying me when my father was killed, too, in an accident in the mines. Mom was left with four children... But there were some benefits at that time and family nearby and we made it... 

Laney and her mother had nothing and were soon required to leave their home. The man had been at a tent revival and they'd attended. He was a stranger but she couldn't help knowing he was watching her. She felt something wrong about him, but after attending several nights, he finagled an introduction. It was a bad foolish decision for Laney to accept the proposal of a wandering man. But when there were no other choices, she took the only one available... 

While a new like began for Laney, another young girl, Ruby Jo Cassity, in Freeburg, Texas, enters the story...

Ruby Jo couldn't figure out
what there was about homemade
flour-sack panties that was
worth good money to Boyce...
But it didn't hurt her none
and it was an easy nickel...

Ruby Jo had the typical feelings for many children, they see children at school with nice clothes and getting presents, while their poor family can barely keep the family fed and clothed. There was one little girl in particular who made a point of looking down on Ruby Jo and she and her friends often made fun of her clothes...

But as she grew a little older, she had the opportunity to earn a nickel from a neighbor boy. All he wanted was for Ruby Jo to let him see her underpants... 

But soon, her teacher found out what was happening...and offered her a dime...

Ruby Jo's life continued along these lines for most of her life...

Ruby Jo sang softly about grabbing her coat and hat and directing her feet to the sunny side of the street as she took her books out of the satchel and put them on the bed. Mama would have a hissy fit if she heard. "Don't be singing them trashy songs, Ruby Jo," she would say. "Good gospel hymns keep the mind where it ought to be." Ruby Jo Snorted...

She didn't understand all of it, but she was beginning to get the idea that as long as there were men or boys around, there could be nickels for Ruby Jo. There couldn't be a whole lot wrong with that...

~~~

McCurry moves from one shadow life to another as Laney and Ruby Jo continue along the lives that has been made for them. One is timid and doesn't know how to change what is happening to her; the other has found a source of money that keeps coming in... She saves it all to allow her to leave home...

Readers can't help but become involved in the lives of both of these girls. But let's face it, if sexual abuse of the young is still going on in this world, did either of these girls really have a chance?

Ahhhh, but Leta McCurry could not leave either of these girls where they were. The amazing thing is how she has molded two stories, separately, while ultimately merging the two stories...and keeping readers somewhat in suspense while it is all happening!

There is no way I was able to foresee where the book was headed. It is compelling, provocative, and holds readers in thrall as the magical twists and turns evolve into a wonderful closing. I loved it! In fact, I loved both of McCurry's books, but this one had an edge because of the suspenseful telling of her story...I was simply amazed how she weaved this tale and can only highly recommend it!

GABixlerReviews

Biography

Tale-spinner. Revealer of secrets. A dog’s best friend. Cornbread and fried okra country girl.
Lives in Southern Oregon and enjoys writing, reading, the open road on a Stallion motorcycle (trike–as a passenger), good food, travel, genealogy, and a large, fun-loving family. Favorite destinations: Ireland and Singapore. Author of “High Cotton Country” and “A Shadow Life” and presently writing her third novel, “Dancing to the Silence.”

Leta says she loves the fascination of new characters and the fun of getting acquainted with them and seeing what they will do as the story develops.

And a final message from Leta

You can be an important part of my writing.

​

As a writer, I love feedback and conversations with readers. You are the reason I write, so when you have read High Cotton Country, A Shadow Life or any of the books to come, please tell me what you liked, what you loved, and even what you hated.

Who were your favorite characters? Why did you like them? Who didn't you like? Why? Please write me with your thoughts.

Here's another way you can really help me. Reviews. They are difficult to come by these days. People have good intentions but get busy with life and forget, but you, the reader, have the power to make or break a book. So, if you would be so kind, please post a review on Amazon. It doesn't have to be long or fancy.  Even a sentence or two means a lot and carries weight with a person looking for a new book to read. It would mean so much to me.

They say word of mouth is more powerful than the most expensive and expert advertising. I believe that is true, so please pass the word along if you've enjoyed my books. I really appreciate it.  Who knows? You could help one of my books become a best seller. Wouldn't that be amazing?

Finally, there's the Pre-Launch Team. It's kind of like the undercover "James Bond" part of the Advanced Readers Club. It's easy but it isn't for everyone because it comes with some responsibility. It doesn't take much time and it only costs 99 cents but it is very important. It is your opportunity to be involved in launching a new book and  it would be such a big help to me. (Oh, there is also a limit to the number of Pre-Launch Team Members for each book.)

​

Thank you! I appreciate each and every one of you.

​

Leta

​

​Leta, we certainly have enjoyed your visit at Book Readers Heaven. You are an inspiration to all of us and your books reveal the type of person you are... No wonder we enjoyed your stay! And...we're looking forward to your next book! Keep Writing... Glenda

Erica Jong - From Fear of Flying to Fear of Dying... Provocative, Real, Memorable...

“The zipless fuck is absolutely pure. It is free of ulterior motives. There is no power game . The man is not "taking" and the woman is not "giving." No one is attempting to cuckold a husband or humiliate a wife. No one is trying to prove anything or get anything out of anyone. The zipless fuck is the purest thing there is. And it is rarer than the unicorn. And I have never had one.” 
― Erica Jong, Fear of Flying

I don't remember how I first acquired Erica Jong's Fear of Flying way back in my youth. But I do know that it was my first "big of naughtiness," a fantasy that used that forbidden "F" word (at least in the correct context rather than a daily curse word as it is today). I must admit that one scene on a plane has always stayed with me... It was racy, stunning, and memorable, but what I do know is that it was a fantasy that made me start to think about...being a woman within the world of that time... Yes, I am about the same age of the author and have "grown" from that first book she wrote...

And now, I've reached another stage of life with Jong, as she presents her latest novel, Fear of Dying... 

Fear of Dying

By Erica Jong

Days pass and the years vanish, and we walk sightless among miracles. Lord, fill our eyes with seeing and our minds with knowing; Let there be moments when Your Presence, like lightning, illumines the darkness in which we walk. Help us to see, wherever we gaze, that the bush burns unconsumed. And we, clay touched by God, will reach out for holiness, and exclaim in wonder, “How filled with awe is this place and we did not know it!” 

—Attributed to Mishkan Tefilah: A Reform Siddur

With memories of her first book, Fear of Flying, in my mind, I was expecting...sex...but the laughter didn't often come for me. It was too real...it was escapism from fear. The fear of dying. In my mind, Jong included it almost as a "wake-up call" that some might look to, and use sex, to counteract, to prevent facing that fear we both had reached...the fear of dying... So, of course, she had to find out whether it would work!

Specifically her first chapter asks, "Is There Sex After Death?" Well, I couldn't give her an answer, but I suspect there isn't, what do you think? Still, she quickly shares why these thoughts have crossed her mind...

My parents were dying and I was growing unimaginably older but was that a reason to pursue what my old friend Isadora Wing had called “the zipless fuck”? You betcha. It was either that or spiritual bliss. Apparently the creators of Zipless.com had ripped off Isadora without paying a penny. The company that bought her movie rights was sold to a company that owned publishing rights, which was sold to a company that exploited digital rights that was sold to a company that exploited well-known tags. Such is the writing life— as savage as the acting life. Isadora and I had been friends forever. We met over a movie that was never made. We even got sober together. And I could call her for moral support whenever I needed her. I thought of her as my BFF, my alter ego. I really needed her now.
~~~

I thought I was searching 

for love— 

but it was reincarnation I really 

sought. I wanted to reverse time

 and become young again— 

knowing everything I know now.

~~~

The book is written in first-person and reads somewhat like a diary. It may be fiction, but I felt that there was much about Jong's own life in the words. In fact, I didn't even think to identify the name of the main character... I thus allowed the author's words to be as if she was directly speaking to me...

The main thrust is that her parents are both dying. She is caught in despair, knowing that there is nothing to do but wait. But she hates seeing the vitality of two people who she loves greatly slowing ebbing away.

And then her husband is discovered to have an aneurysm, plus her beloved dog/friend dies...

I felt she was in panic mode. Death surrounded her and she was afraid. Afraid of her own mortality at the same time fearing the loss of those she most loved.

Sex and love had once been separated, but now she was totally in love with her husband, and feared his loss. Fearfully and in a flippant attitude, she seeks love through sex...and she delights readers as she posts an ad and receives responses from many who have some strange perversions...At least it was making her laugh a little but confirming what she already knew...sex and being in love can be two widely diverse things...

The thing I admire most about Jong's story is that she is willing to share internal thoughts and worries, that many of us have, but keep hidden inside. I used to sit while watching television, once in awhile glancing over to check my mother's breast, to ensure it was moving as she breathed. She was only in her seventies when she died. I knew that having parents living so long and having to see such deterioration of their bodies would be heartbreaking and very hard to deal with. As she said, she would move from hoping they died to dreading their loss. I empathized greatly with her. Her father was the first to die...

“La vida es un sueño,” he said. “Life is a dream. I look forward to that deep sleep.” And then he went under and never quite came back. Three days after the surgery he was babbling gibberish and clawing the air. Six days after the surgery he was in the ICU with a tube down his throat.

When he was diagnosed with pneumonia, I stood at his side in the ICU and sang “I gave my love a cherry” while his eyelids fluttered. We never thought that he would emerge from that hospitalization. But he did. And now he and my mother spend their days sleeping side by side in their apartment but never touching or speaking. Round-the-clock shifts of aides and daughters attend them. Every day they sleep more and wake less.

~~~

And later her mother...

“We all love you so much,” I say. “Thank you for the books, the plays, the music, the poetry, the movies. Thank you for Gershwin and Mozart and Cole Porter and Beethoven. Thank you for Duke Ellington, Gilbert and Sullivan, Mitropoulos, and Bernstein. Thank you for Yeats and Dickinson and Millay. Thank you for Leonardo and Michelangelo and Hogarth and Vigée Le Brun. Thank you for stuffing our heads full of your amazing knowledge of everything.” And I kiss the air as I have kissed her before. And we all stand stupefied by the power of death.

Of Primary importance to me in her book was the dichotomy related to God...She announces herself as an atheist, not being able to accept the Holocaust and other events that have been hard for many of us, too, to understand. But as death rears its ugly head, she "wishes" she could believe, she "wishes" she could pray for those she loves... 

Again, her willingness to open her thoughts to others in this important area, allows us to also acknowledge that we, too, have things we don't understand. We, too, also wonder, worry, at times, is there Someone there listening to our prayers... I think the difference with the author is that she's always been open with her contradictory statements--she's willing to share ideas and thoughts purely for her writing, even if others might interpret them incorrectly. This was shown with her first book and undoubtedly will occur with her latest.



But, for me, having a writer express our own fears through her characters allows us to ponder, to consider changes in our own lives, and find and make our own decisions if and when confronted with the different situations she covers in her books. 

I got what I anticipated in Jong's book... She's provided us a look into our own fears, at the same time she openly shares what the fear of dying has meant in her own life...

Her book is provocative, real, and memorable in so many different ways. I highly recommend it, especially if you...have a fear...of dying...

Words of Inspiration 
All the good things that have happened to me in the last several years have come, without exception, from a willingness to change, to risk the unknown, to do the very things I feared most. Every poem, every page of fiction I have written has been written with anxiety, occasionally panic, and always with uncertainty about its reception.… I have accepted fear as a part of life, specifically the fear of change, the fear of the unknown. I have gone ahead despite the pounding in the heart that says: Turn back, turn back; you’ll die if you venture too far. I have learned, in short, to trust myself. —ERICA JONG

Jong challenges us. She's thrown in a little sex to titillate but it's of little significance in what she has really provided. God and I thank you Erica Jong, for writing this book... And He understands your confusion just as He understands and accepts it from me and readers who needed to learn about others who have similar thoughts and fears... 

GABixlerReviews

ERICA JONG
(Bio used www.ericajong.com)
Erica Jong--novelist, poet, and essayist--has consistently used her craft to help provide women with a powerful and rational voice in forging a feminist consciousness. She has published 23 books, including nine novels, seven volumes of poetry, six books of non-fiction and numerous articles in magazines and newspapers such as The New York Times, The Sunday Times of London, Elle, Vogue, The New York Times Book Review and The Wall Street Journal. 

In her groundbreaking first novel, Fear of Flying (20 million in print around the world in more than forty languages), she introduced Isadora Wing, who also plays a central part in three subsequent novels--How to Save Your Own Life, Parachutes and Kisses, and Any Woman's Blues. In her three historical novels--Fanny, Shylock's Daughter, and Sappho's Leap--she demonstrates her mastery of eighteenth-century British literature, the verses of Shakespeare, and ancient Greek lyric, respectively. Erica's memoir of her life as a writer, Seducing the Demon: Writing for My Life, came out in March 2006. It was a national bestseller in the US and many other countries. Erica's much anticipated novel, Fear of Dying, is due for publication by St. Martin's Press in September 2015.

A graduate of Barnard College and Columbia University's Graduate Faculties where she received her M.A. in 18th Century English Literature, Erica Jong also attended Columbia's graduate writing program where she studied poetry with Stanley Kunitz and Mark Strand. In 2008, continuing her long-standing relationship with the university, a large collection of Erica's archival material was acquired by Columbia University's Rare Book & Manuscript Library, where it will be available to graduate and undergraduate students. Ms. Jong plans to teach master classes at Columbia and also advise the Rare Book Library on the acquisition of other women writers' archives. 

Calling herself "a defrocked academic," Ms. Jong has partly

returned to her roots as a scholar. She has taught at Ben Gurion University in Israel, Bennington College in the U.S., Breadloaf Writers' Conference in Vermont and many other distinguished writing programs and universities. She loves to teach and lecture, though her skill in these areas has sometimes crowded her writing projects. "As long as I am communicating the gift of literature, I'm happy," Jong says. A poet at heart, Ms. Jong believes that words can save the world. 

Known for her commitment to women's rights, authors' rights and free expression, Ms. Jong is a frequent lecturer in the U.S. and abroad. She served as president of The Authors' Guild from 1991 to 1993 and still serves on the Board. She established a program for young writers at her alma mater, Barnard College. The Erica Mann Jong Writing Center at Barnard teaches students the art of peer tutoring and editing.
Erica Jong was honored with the United Nations Award for Excellence in Literature. She has also received Poetry magazine's Bess Hokin Prize, also won by W.S. Merwin and Sylvia Plath. In France, she received the Deauville Award for Literary Excellence and in Italy, she received the Sigmund Freud Award for Literature. The City University of New York awarded Ms. Jong an honorary PhD at the College of Staten Island. In June 2009, Erica won the first Fernanda Pivano Prize for Literature in Italy.

Erica Jong lives in New York City and Weston, CT with her

husband, attorney Ken Burrows, and standard poodle, Belinda Barkowitz. Her daughter, Molly Jong-Fast, is also a writer.

Fling! by Lily Iona Mackenzie

I apologize for the incorrect sizing of paragraphs so small that it is hard to read...I tried and tried to get them saved but the BLOGGER Program continued to change my instructions!!!

A Goddess* may take many forms based upon various cultures. But nobody expected Bubbles, a 90-year-old Canadian woman traveling with her daughter, to be mistaken for one...Especially when the small town people crowded around her, seeking her blessing for rain!

Feather and Heather each take one of Bubbles' hands, and the three women wade through the chest-high water into the tunnel. It gradually becomes darker, opening up into a cave-like, circular enclosure, supported in the center by a post. Hot springs gush out of a crevice in the stone wall, and ribbons of light pass through a few narrow openings in the ceiling, creating a strobe light effect.
The water is even warmer in the cave and supports Bubbles. She feels lightheaded and free, a girl again, buoyant, the weight of her years dropping away. She hops around without much effort, the skirt on her white bathing suit floating on the pool's surface, resembling a lily. She's always liked water, and she does the dead man's float, her bones turning to jelly, making her think of cherry Jell-O. She could use a nice dish of it right now, whipped cream on top.
Later, Feather leads the way to the changing rooms...Bubbles leaves there wearing her mother's mantilla and Feather's caftan. Feather stares at Bubbles, started. Except for the glasses, she resembles images she's seen in some of her goddess books...
Heather drifts over to the stand and orders a round of cervezas in Spanish. The vendor delivers them, falling to his knees in front of Bubbles, whose mantilla flutters behind her. He removed his hat, bowing over and over. She giggles, inching her skirt up a little higher.
"Give me your blessings,
Eineeuq, Queen of Heaven. I am your slave," he says in Spanish. The vendor falls prostrate in front of Bubbles, shaking in awe...
Feather can't believe it...He thinks Bubbles is a goddess. Feather looks at her as if for the first time. She does look queenly...

~~~

Fling!

By Lily Iona Macknezie

Perhaps because I've traveled quite a bit in my life and am quite happy to stay at home these days, I couldn't image thinking about traveling to Mexico at the age of 90!

Of course, I also couldn't imagine that my own mother's ashes had been lost for many years--in the dead-letter bin--and the government of Mexico was demanding to know when I would be picking her up... Well, let's just say that I'd quickly figure out I was in a fantasy, LOL! Actually, the umbrella of Women's fiction was insufficient for me. I had a hard time getting into the story, not knowing where it might go. The front cover includes the statement "A madcap journey of an aging mother and her adult daughter from cold Protestant Canada into the hallucinogenic heart of Mexico's magic..." Well, magic and hallucinogenic gave me some clues but even while I was reading, I wasn't sure whether there had been a huge festival, where everybody was drugged and the story evolved from that event...

In fact, I went all the way to the ending before the book's story pieces fell into place... In fact, there is almost too much being said that readers may miss by getting caught by the frivolity of the various scenes. Can we hide serious issues behind humor? Can we learn to forgive what once was totally unforgivable?

Bubbles was born to a mother who had left her when she was young, running off with a man... Bubbles then did the same to Feather. 

Feather had wound up in a hippie camp where she, among other things, learned to smoke pot and to begin developing her artistic skills as a sculpture. Feather had maintained contact with Bubbles by phone, but rarely saw her. In fact, she was already scheduled to travel to several places in Mexico to study more in support of her future creations.

When Bubbles called her about having to pick up her mother's ashes in Mexico City, Feather had adapted her trip to accommodate her mother's traveling with her.  

Coatlicue. Primordial earth goddess,
mother of the gods, the sun,
the moon and the
stars displayed in Mexico City.~~~

Though Feather hadn't included the capital city in her travel plans because of the dangers lurking there, she realizes it could be the centerpiece for her summer research. An eight-ton statue of the moon goddess that the Aztecs worshipped stands in the Great Temple in Mexico City. Carlos Castenada's books have further convinced her there's something mysterious going on south of the border. That's why she hoped to find a shaman--male or female--who could guide her. That had been her plan until Bubbles talked her into this made expedition to pick up her grandmother's ashes. Feather hadn't anticipated Bubbles being the shaman she sought but who knows. In Mexico, anything could happen. Still, she feels her wings have been clipped again. Weighed down by Bubbles' demand to travel with her, Feather also feels guilty for resenting it, knowing this could be their last trip together. Even so, she had anticipated a summer free of responsibility, with time to explore and expand and try out new modes of art. Pushing the envelope. Throwing off the restraints of teaching and being in control.

Bubbles' abundant energy suddenly makes her feel old, though it dawns on her that she'll be orphaned one of these days. Though Bubbles seems immortal at times, she can't go on forever. That thought makes Feather think of the upcoming Mexico trip differently. It could be an opportunity for them to make a deeper connection before...She doesn't want to finish the sentence.

~~~

What she hadn't planned on was her mother pouring a cup of water into her grandmother's urn of ash...and having a woman, about her own age, soon appear as a passenger on the back seat... which is my only clue of what is coming!

Bubbles, on the other hand, is thinking about the "possibilities" in Mexico... 

Bubbles hums, "I'm gonna wash that man right out of my hair." relieved that it's Ernie who is now underground and not herself. They buried him a few weeks earlier. The two had tied the knot when she was seventy, in her prime. They met at a singles' dance, and it was love at first sight. Nine years her juuior, he was quite a dresser in his white tux with a red bow tie and red cummerbund. All the women wanted to get their hands on him, but he chose her.
If she had known then what she knows now, she never would have married the bastard. He couldn't get it up the whole time they were together, and he ran her ragged. It's a wonder she isn't in the grave instead of him.
"Mother, get me my dinner. Mother, I need some razor blades," Mother this, Mother that. It drove her crazy. He also put a good dent in her savings.
When she viewed him for the last time at the funeral home, she had asked for a few minutes alone with the body, wanting to leave something for him to remember her by. The others tiptoed out of the viewing room, and she stared for a few minutes at that face she'd grown to hate. The crooked Popeye nose with the black hair growing out of the nostrils. The mouth permanently twisted in a cruel smirk. Well, she'd get the last laugh on him. A waste of twenty good years. She could have met someone else and had a nice life...
Bubbles had leaned over the coffin and picked up his left hand, the fingers stiff and resisting. She wrangled with the wedding band she had bought him until it flew off, landing on the  floor. She bent over, snatched it up, and dropped it into her coat pocket. He wasn't going to the grave with her ring on his finger...

~~~

Bubbles turns away, her feet moving to the rhythms of "La Cucaracha," a tune that she hums. She dances around the room in the arms of a handsome Mexican with a thin, black mustache. He's wearing one of those floppy sombreros. After bumping into the TV set, she falls, out of breath, only the couch, laughing and grabs and letter from Mexico's dead-letter office, fanning her face with it, feeling hot suddenly, though she shouldn't be getting hot flashes at her age. She still can't believe it. Her mother's ashes? She's heard how bad the mail service can be in Mexico from Feather, who sent her a post card once from Puerto Vallarta that reached her two years later. Everything manana. But seventy years? Holy smoke. It's just like her mother to make a surprise visit.

~~~

There is much to ponder regarding family relationships in this book--about family that has already died and those for whom death may be near. When we are disappointed or hurt by a parent, is there a way to rekindle the love that once existed--before the hurt occurred. Bubbles is 90 and thinks nothing about her possible near death, while her daughter, recognizing her age, is more aware of it, while at the same time, considering what time she has lost in finding her own way...

I identified more with Feather, a serious woman, living her life as she is able, but still cognizant of others in her life--yet knowing that the loss of her mother at a difficult time led her to grow up faster than normal and to resent what she had lost...On the other hand, it is Feather who finds her "Shaman." I loved this character! He had gone to college to learn about Agriculture to help his own community and then started to learn to become a Shaman to actually care for them. The fact that he had never learned everything he should have been taught allowed for a really funny set of things that constantly happened around him--bits of magic that just happened because he'd not learned how to control his powers. That alone, created a levity for Feather that seemed to change her, becoming more youthful as she fell deeper and deeper in love.

It is the way death was looked at, in the end, that won over my full support for the book. What occurred in the book is pure fantasy--or was it? Who knows, when we reach 90 and head for Mexico, we might also be caught up in the festival where Bubbles' presence resulted in rain sufficient to save the crops... And, of course, then prepare for the Dia de los Muertos festival...

 As night falls, they all move in procession from the square to the cemetery. Bubbles leads the way, holding on to Victor's arm. He carries a pail of water from her fountain...As they pass among the graves, the children strew them with flowers. Bubbles dips her fingers into the water and sprinkles it about, some of it landing on the ground, some on the people. No one minds...Later, rockets will flare, dancikng will resume, and the merrymaking will continue into the night. Laughter and children's voices will float above them all, Bubbles' the loudest.

~~~

Do check this one out! 

GABixlerReviews

*(Please note that I had a hard time correlating the gods/goddesses mentioned in the book with those I tried to find through research...I have no idea whether I've been successful in that endeavor.)

Writing requires exertion, the ability not to give in when we've received yet another rejection. Some people call this perseverance. But is that what it takes to keep writing in the face of adversity, rejection, and lack of recognition? The word sounds so duty bound, so driven. To me, a better word is discipline because at the root is disciple, though there are many lovely variations on this word that I actually prefer: student, follower, learner, devotee.

I'm devoted to following the intricacies of language and where it takes me. I'm ardent about words and what they evoke in our minds and imaginations, the worlds they create. And I'm constantly learning, a student of the writer's craft, eager to open myself each day to the endless possibilities this calling presents. No wonder I love to write!

About me? Born in Edmonton, I was raised in Calgary and currently live in the SF Bay Area. A high school dropout and a mother at 17, in my early years, I supported myself as a stock girl in the Hudson's Bay Company, as a long distance operator for the former Alberta Government Telephones, and as a secretary (Bechtel Corp sponsored me into the States). I also was a cocktail waitress at the Fairmont Hotel in San Francisco; briefly broke into the male-dominated world of the docks as a longshoreman (and almost got my legs broken); founded and managed a homeless shelter in Marin County; co-created THE STORY SHOPPE, a weekly radio program for children that aired on KTIM in Marin County; and eventually earned two Master's degrees (one in Creative writing and one in the Humanities). I've published reviews, interviews, short fiction, poetry, travel pieces, essays, and memoir in over 145 American and Canadian venues. Fling! was published in July 2015. Bone Songs, another novel, will be published in 2016. My poetry collection, All This, was published in 2011. Visit my blog at lilyionamackenzie.wordpress.com.