White Oleander sort-of-review

I could really get into books on CD if only the copies I borrow from the library weren't, almost uniformly, horribly scratched and skippy. I could stop being a cheapass and pay a little to get ones from Talking Book World, but, nah.

I'm currently listening to "White Oleander" by Janet Fitch, read by Alyssa Bresnahan. Fitch's prose is beautiful, as it should be, since one of the main characters is a poet fixated on amoral beauty. And Bresnahan's reading of Fitch's words is wonderful. I've never been particularly interested in visiting California, the home of hype and Hollywood, though I've traveled over much of the Lower 48 states. But the way Bresnahan wraps her voice around "jacarandas" and "chaparral" and the Spanish names of the cities almost makes me want to change my mind.

I haven't seen the movie they made of the book, but I imagine the choice of Michelle Pfeiffer to play the murderous poet mother is spot on.

poetry in your soul

I think you have very little poetry in your soul.

But it's OK.
There are other things I like in there:
A rare generosity of spirit
A fierce sense of justice
A tenderness that is usually beaten or laughed out of
Boys by the time they turn 13.