"I" (that is, WE) Love to Listen -- Authors and Book Titles Beginning with "I"

I Can’t Keep These Audiobooks to Myself – Authors Whose Last Names Begin With “I”

Author's note: A couple of years ago, my library system added blog posts to our website. Many of the posts were short collections of book reviews, often following a theme. I tried writing a few of these, but never felt like I could keep up with the thought-provoking themes of my librarian colleagues. It was a good challenge, a growth opportunity, and I was honored to have been selected to write for our site. After a few successes, and several wadded-up-and-thrown-in-the-trashcan failures, I realized that what I needed was my old writing partner to get me going again. Enter Polo! 

All of the books reviewed here are available as downloadable audiobooks.

Thanks to our current socially distant and economically uncertain situation, Polo and I have become even more particular about the kinds of audiobooks we choose. Escapism is our current jam. We hope you enjoy these suggestions.

Bus Stop

William Inge

This is an LA Radio Works full-cast recording. These productions are well done, reminiscent of old-time radio drama but without the distraction of scratchy analog technology. (Listen also to Seven Days in May, by Charles W. Bailey II – another LARW production featuring Ed Asner.) Everything about these shows puts you right into their settings. Fun listening!

Polo’s reaction: There’s a snowstorm raging outside. I hurt my paws once by staying in snow too long. I’d be next to these people, stuck in the diner, for sure – especially with food!

 

The Quiet Game

Greg Iles

There’s sex, significant violence, racism, but good suspense. Racism, set in the Deep South (with a visit to Wyoming), story unearths old secrets with ongoing consequences. 

Polo’s thoughts: This was scary and too hot and also too cold. Many people who were not nice. I’m glad I live right here.

 

You Me Everything

Catherine Isaac

Again, there's sex, but real-life feel to the characters’ moral dilemmas. Opening scene is boyfriend not making it to his son’s birth. Grandma has HD, and this develops into bigger story arc. Well done. If you like Jojo Moyes, you’ll relate to this book.

Polo’s response: I would like to take the boy home with me. He could use the love of a good dog, but he does have some great family behind him.

 

I See You

Clare Mackintosh 

(We were running out of author names beginning with “I” so we looked at titles. I considered doing a whole post on books with this specific title, but that would just be overly confusing.)

Gripping psychological thriller read by British-accented narrator. Something we could sink our teeth into! Britain's CCTV is meant to help fight crime, but what happens if someone hacks the system to commit crime? The victims are easy targets if the villain can see them.

Polo’s take: I will not live in a big city, ever. I will not ride in a subway, ever. No wonder these people had fear!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My First Tattoo!

I am afraid to make up my mind. I'm a perfectionist.

These two statements form the foundation for my reluctance to get a tattoo. There may or may not be biblical reasons against permanent body markings, but I'm not going there. For me, it's my personal hang-ups. How could I choose something to place on my skin forever?

It would be impossible for me to choose a design, first of all. Should my tattoo be an image, or text? If an image, realistic or artistic? If text, what words and what kind of font?

Then there's the artist. Allowing someone to permanently  ink me would require my complete trust in that person's competence, artistry, and commitment.

Most serious of all is my tendency to dig at my own imperfections. One might call this obsession. When I write, I edit... and edit... and edit... until I choose to hit "send" and walk away. When I knit, I plan on making two or three dry runs at a project until I'm satisfied that it looks good enough to continue. When I draw, I compose geometric figures, because I cannot replicate the intricacies I see in my mind.

If I were to get a tattoo, I would obsess over it, learning every dot and line. Measuring, comparing, evaluating detail upon detail, until I realized the flaws. And the next logical step is to see only the flaws. I'm afraid I would hate the whole thing, just for the sake of one millimeter of ink.

On the other hand, random imperfection is the silent asset of the greatest artistry of all: God's creation. A mountain is beautiful thanks to the jaggedness of its ridges. Towering Douglas fir trees are not mirror images of one another. One bird has more red plumage than its siblings.

Yes, there's the whole body-image thing. Talk about hang-ups! But I am learning to accept myself as I am, not arguing with my Maker or trying to bargain with Him to remove this trait or those few inches. Either my physical being matters not a whit (because it's the spiritual stuff that endures), or the stuff that bugs me is allowed to help me to practice patience and graciousness.

          For Thou didst form my inward parts;
          Thou didst weave me in my mother's womb.
          I will give thanks to Thee, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
          Wonderful are Thy works,
          And my soul knows it very well. 

I have a pile of my mother's DNA, and a touch of my father's, but I have been crafted by the Master and it's all good.

Oh, and my tattoo? It's just a temp, a free henna opportunity that I get to smile over for a couple of weeks. See how it blends perfectly with my random freckles?

henna, drying

 

henna, top of wrist

Rufus Will Never Be a Nurse

It's too bad that Blackie is so old and immobile. Her performances as the family nanna are legend. Rufus, on the other paw, hides from the sound of illness. The best medicine he offers is a constant and thorough licking, which is not usually appreciated by the patient. That said, Rufus has done well as a nighttime companion, encouraging sleep and modeling it quite effectively.

I have always been afraid of the words "brain injury". The last seven months have brought one head injury and two concussions into our family experience. The first injury, a framing hammer falling on my son's head, did not result in a concussion but did require stitches in a foreign clinic. The second one, a concussion, was scary but that son healed quickly without complications. This third injury, to the third son, was much worse. Full emergency response, hours in a hospital emergency room, several days in the hospital, and now home. Thankfully, we have not seen significant personality changes or memory loss beyond what seems to be normal for a teenaged boy.

Okay, so now that we've covered each of the boys with a bonk on the head, we're ready to be done with this chapter. I realized during an outing yesterday that my sudden and absolute need to return to my son's side was either (a) mother's intuition or (b) an anxiety attack. It doesn't matter which it was, the effect was that I was compelled to cease all conversation, get in my car, and drive straight home. I didn't even bother to call first to check, I just had to be there.

Yes, I have been praying for my sons, before each event as well as after. God is ever present. Things happen. But God is good and He has ultimate control. He will not necessarily suspend the natural laws of the universe just so His children will not have to experience pain, but He is near. How can one make a logical argument for the sovereignty of God in the midst of emotional upheaval? For me, right now, that doesn't matter. I can't explain it, but I trust Him to carry us through the accidents of dropped hammers, slick floors, and uncontrollable skateboards. And more.

Even if Rufus can't wear a nurse's cap, God is there.