I like to at least leave an honest star marking on the books I read. Mostly because I like to be a good reading citizen. Authors and other readers depend on those ratings. I also like to be able to reference my list when discussing books with friends. (“I read this great/terrible book. Wait, let me look it up. It was the best/worst because _________.” I also like to provide reasons. Sometimes the very thing that drove me up a wall is exactly what the other person is looking for.)

Occasionally, I will write a short review on Goodreads. (The books I post on my blog are exceptional.) Those reviews are generally for extreme books. One review that I posted for a Walking Dead book still gets a lot of amused attention. It was terrible. Singularly terrible.

So this is what I look for when I review a book.

1. Does the action make sense?
   According to Chekov, the gun on the mantle in the first act must be fired in the third. By the same token, if a gun is fired in the third act, it must be on the mantle in the first. If there’s suddenly a gun or a person or a magical item or the main character displays a brand new skill set they have never had before that solves the problem, I’m going to be ticked and I’m probably going to be leaving a scathing review. On the other hand, if something is introduced so subtly in the first act that I register it but don’t really think about it and that becomes the solution in act 3, I’ll be leaving a stellar review.
2. Do the characters behave in any way that is illogical, irrational, or annoying?
   In that Walking Dead book I hated so much, the characters had put up a large tent to serve as a community center in a zombie apocalypse. Something large that will block sightlines while offering no protection from the ravening hordes. Brilliant. Later this same group decided not to camp in a Walmart because it was too dangerous. A large building, filled with supplies, with two easily guarded entrances. Ugh. I also recently ditched a book because the narrating character was so arrogant that I couldn’t bear to listen to him. I didn’t leave a review for that one. Didn’t seem fair to down rate something because the narrator annoyed me on a purely personal level.
3. What is the writing like?
   If the writing is sublimely wonderful, I feel obligated to share that knowledge with the world. Connie Willis, Ursula K. LeGuin, Louise Penny, absolutely amazing wordsmiths. A writer capable of taking a trope and turning it inside out or even making it greater than the sum of it’s parts? Sharing. C. J. Cherryh, Connie Willis (hey, I really like Connie Willis). Sharing. On the other hand, if the writing is terrible, I’m sharing that too. Life is too short for truly terrible writing. I know the writer is likely reading these reviews, so I do try to be kind (unless, as in the case of the Walking Dead book, it’s so awful I feel the public should be warned.)

So, you have been warned.

I strongly recommend against eating or drinking anything while watching this.

I read this series many years ago, but, and don’t ask me how, I managed to read the books backward. Yup, I picked up book four. Then book three. Then, despite seriously studying the final (or first) two books, I read book two before reading book one. Because of this, I was easily able to solve the mystery because I remember which characters weren’t in the last (or next) book. But that was years ago and I’ve forgotten so I can read them again and be surprised!

The next day I was released. My surgeon told me I should eat a yogurt every hour to help my system recover from the antibiotic carpet bombing the ER had given me in case my appendix exploded before the insurance company gave permission for the surgery. I laughed at him. At that point it was taking me half an hour to eat one cup of yogurt. If I ate one every hour, I wouldn’t be doing much else. My friend did run to the store and get me some yogurt though.

I was told to stay home for 2 weeks. The first week I didn’t leave my apartment. I sent a long letter to my family explaining why I’d vanished from Facebook and watched a lot of television. Once in my boredom, I attempted to vacuum the floor. Something in my incision caught fire and I stopped. Washing my hair was nearly impossible. I considered adopting the Muslim headscarf for the duration.

The weekend after my first week home, my friend asked if I would like to go to the mall. Boy, would I. We went to the local mall and my friend might have regretted offering when she discovered my top speed was still shuffle. We went to the food court where she watched me try to eat Hardy’s chicken fingers for an hour and then we, or I, shuffled out because I was too exhausted to do more than go home and crash on the couch.

My first day back to school we had a catered lunch. Not for me. Just like the Dubai Mall trip, we did this every year too, but they did delay until the day I came back. The meal was wasted on me because my stomach still had about a one-cup capacity, but it was nice to see everyone after being cooped up in my apartment for 2 weeks. In the middle of the lunch, the mother of one of my students rushed in and grabbed me in a hug.

“I have been so worried. Why didn’t you tell me you were in the hospital? I would have come to visit you.” All this before she even acknowledged anyone else in the room. Including the school principal and the cousin of the UAE President.

I apologized for not telling her I was in the hospital but explained that it had been very sudden and I hadn’t even told my mother until after I was released. She accepted that and chatted with me for a few more minutes before going to talk to others. I’m still a little surprised that she was so concerned.

The next week I returned to the US to visit and recover surrounded by family. At least that’s something that will never happen again.

I love drunk history, not just for the hysterical storytelling by drunks, but for the inside story. I knew about Ub I Werks, but I didn’t realize he actually designed Mickey originally.

This is one of my all time favorite HQN novels. It’s so light, fun, and fast. I happened to get into an online class taught by Leigh years ago and she said that she wrote this entire book in the space of 17 days. It shows, but in a good way.

My co-teacher was terrified of hospitals. She had been pregnant the previous year and refused to have a C-section because she’s afraid to have any surgery. The three women came to my room and sat on the couch asking how I was and expressing their surprise at the suddenness of my illness. They had all seen me perfectly healthy Sunday morning before the mall trip and Monday I was in the hospital awaiting surgery. My principal made sure I was being well cared for. She had some influence and, if she was really bothered, our school secretary was the cousin of Sheikh Khalifa, the president of the UAE so they didn’t had strings to pull as much as they had rope. But I already had a private room, an excellent surgeon and 6 nurses on duty for the 3 patients on my floor. While we were talking, one of the nurses came in to check my IV. My arm felt wet so I looked down and there was blood running down my arm. By that time I was so used to being poked that needles didn’t phase me. As the nurse was cleaning me up and inserting a new IV, I happened to glance at my co-teacher.

She was phased. She was phased a lot. I thought she was going to pass out. I shifted the blanket so she couldn’t see and the nurse brought me a clean blanket when she got the IV fixed.

Not long after the three of them left, the Western teachers showed up. They were also amazed at my sudden illness. Especially the teachers who hadn’t ridden the bus home with me and my vomit bags. By the time everyone left, I was shot. Something happened to the TV and in my anesthesia/lack of thyroid meds confusion I could neither fix nor manage to remember to ask someone to look at it.

On the third day my surgeon announced that I could have food. There was joy in Mudville. I hadn’t eaten since that lunch I threw up at Dubai Mall on Sunday and it was now Wednesday. Without meals to mark the time, I was further confused. Not long after the surgeon left a little woman poked her head in my door and confirmed my name with the card in her hand. She looked at me and then at the card and then at me and said, “you’re not Filipina.”

I was confused, but I wasn’t that confused. However my first name is a common Filipina name so I can see where it came from. My last name is not Filipino so I could also see why the nutritionist came to check.

“Do you mind the Filipino lunch? It’s fish and rice.”

I’d have eaten anything they put in front of me, but I didn’t tell her that. I merely said that the Filipino lunch would be fine. It was. When it arrived it was huge. A piece of pan-fried fish, about a cup of rice, some very thick soup, yogurt, water, tea. I’m sure there was some kind of desert, but I didn’t make it that far. I got through the fish okay, most of the rice, some of the soup, the tea because it was warm. That took an hour. An hour. By the time I pushed the tray away and admitted defeat everything was room temperature. I put the water and the yogurt in the fridge in my room for later. Four days without food has shrunk my stomach.

Next week, the last installment when I finally get to go home, and home.

On June 22, 1969, the Cuyahoga River, flowing through the middle of Cleveland, Ohio, caught on fire. This wasn’t an uncommon occurrence in large industrial cities like Cleveland, Detroit and Pittsburgh, but the people of Cleveland decided this fire would be the last. That choice spawned the environmentalist movement.

I was strongly encouraged to watch this series so I gave it a try. I’m not sure. Parts of it are amazing. Parts of it are what? And I hate Liv Tyler with a passion. Eventually season 3 is going to start and I’m going to have to make a decision about whether or not I’m sticking with it.

I spent four days in the hospital after surgery. Two without food (plus the day in ER and the day at the mall when I couldn’t keep anything down it was four days without food.) For some reason, despite my being very clear about the fact that I didn’t have a thyroid, they didn’t give me my medication for that, so I spent two of those days convinced that it was cold outside despite it being June in the Sahara. I also couldn’t figure out how to work the television so I spent a lot of time playing with my bed. My doctor was thrilled with my progress. On the first morning after the surgery he told me as soon as I felt able I should get up and walk around. Ten minutes after he left, I was calling for the nurse to disentangle me from the monitors. Al Ain has a lot of hospitals and the one I was in was mostly empty. I think there were three beds occupied on my floor, including mine. So I shuffled around the floor and was pretty much shot at that point. In the afternoon when my friends came to visit, I managed two circuits. When the surgeon visited that evening, he was impressed that I had been out of bed at all and authorized having all the monitors removed, which meant I could get up whenever I wanted.

It’s sad how excited I was about that.

I took shuffles, so called because that was my top speed, twice a day. The abandoned desk fascinated me. All set for work, but never worked in. My other obsession was the suite. I studied the fire diagram and walked the hall measuring out how large it was. Seven rooms including a kitchen! In Muslim culture it’s expected that people who are in the hospital will not only receive visitors, but entertain. Twice while I was there, I went to hospitals to visit new mothers and was fed a full meal.

The day after my surgery, my friends came to see me and said that the other teachers wanted to come, would tomorrow be okay? I said not tomorrow because I was still foggy from the anesthesia and kinda shattered from the 27 hours from the time I got sick until the time I had surgery. My friends passed the word along. That didn’t stop one of the teachers who I really disliked anyway from showing up with a huge flower arrangement. She told me that Muslims are instructed in the Koran to visit the sick. So essentially, God told her she had to come. My desires were inconsequential. That night the cleaning staff also came to visit. At the time I thought they were all very nice girls. Most of them didn’t speak any English and I was touched that they would come to see me. (Later we found out they were stealing from us. Kinda soured the memory.)

The next day I started to become convinced it was cold outside. This impression was aided by my watching Fargo and the fact that I had been 3 days without thyroid medication. The nurses were becoming worried because I turned off the air conditioning and asked for blankets. That afternoon, after school let out, my principal, my co-teacher and one of the other teachers came to visit me.

More next week in which my co-teacher nearly passes out because I’m having an IV bag changed.