Skip to main content

THE TAZAS BOOK CLUB

 
We started calling it The Tazas Book Club simply because we meet at a local coffee shop with that name.

We average four to six members, inducting new ones only when our group gets too small to make the discussion interesting. We choose a new book by acclamation, and then give ourselves 4-6 weeks to read it.

We started off without much guidance; other than we were all writers and wanted to discuss the craft of writing through the works of published authors.

If we’ve learned anything – it is that we are no different than any other book clubber, writer or not. We each respond viscerally to the assigned book.  We don’t always agree on our tastes, and we don’t all glean the same knowledge from the book. We are living examples of Louise Rosenblatt’s Reader-Response Theory: each getting a different meaning from what we read because we each bring different experiences and beliefs to the text. 

In the past, I’ve barely escaped being lynched for daring to like The Friday Night Knitting Club (and its jumbled use of words and sentences), or for not liking Bel Canto (because it romanticizes the Stockholm Syndrome). I couldn’t finish The Eyre Affair orThe Heroines because they were too incredible for my taste, and I was nearly expelled from the group. (If it wasn’t that we basically like each other and we were down in membership at the time, I would have been a goner for sure.)

          For this reason, I offer you The Tazas Book Club List for 2011 (in alpha order by title) without assigning them a rating. 

·       Bel Canto by Ann Patchett

·       The Book Thief by Markus Zusak

·       The Eyre Affair by Jasper Fforde

·       The Forgotten Garden by Kate Morton

·       The Friday Night Knitting Club by Kate Jacobs

·       The Help by Kathryn Stockett

·       The Heroines by Eileen Favorite

·       The Homecoming of Samuel Lake by Jenny Wingfield

·       Room by Emma Donoghue

Comments

  1. Raquel--You know we would never let you go!!! And, I promise...I'm still slugging through The Forgotten Garden. It's the only book I didn't finish.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Happy Breastday to Me!

I gave myself a very special birthday present this year – I had surgery. Before you think it was to increase, decrease, or “lift” something, let me tell you it was not cosmetic (though I could probably use a few nips and tucks at my age; the infinite number of creams I buy OTC are not working their promised magic). About four or five months ago, I discovered a hard lump about the size of a large marble in my left armpit.  I had been feeling small pangs of pain in my left chest for several months, but I figured it was just my turn to dance with heart disease.  Everyone in my immediate family is diabetic and suffers from strokes or heart attacks, so I thought – here we go; my turn. I was going to tell my internist about the pangs during my next visit, so imagine my surprise when I discovered the lump. The Drama Queen in me immediately manifested herself – cancer, I thought.  I have cancer. I searched some more and found that the texture on the left side of my left breast felt diffe

Dating Challenged

I stink at dating – always have.   I sputter.   I hyperventilate.   I fail miserably every time. I blame a pathetically underdeveloped gene that got little use before I married in my early twenties, then atrophied, gathering dust and rust, until I became single again in my fifties.   I decided to use this defect to my advantage when I needed to do some investigative reporting a few years back.   While on a newspaper writing assignment on Boomer-aged dating, I sacrificed my dignity and my vanity for the sake of the story (and I got several). Thank goodness, HoneyBunch saved me from all this when we married.  (He comes up with the best dates.) I’ve decided I will “show you mine if you show me yours.”   I will swap dating horror stories with you, but you have to promise to play along. The trick here is to tell about your worst date in 25 words or less.   You must keep it clean and you cannot name names. Our little contest will run only this week and before my next blogger posting.   Me

The Girl Who Eats Canned Spinach

I went to a Catholic elementary school run by strict Belgian nuns, and we could not leave the cafeteria until we ate everything served on our food tray. Once a week, they served warmed, canned spinach with our meal. The spinach tasted nothing like the way my grandmother made it, but I ate it. I gulped it down in three or four bites and it amazed my table mates. I told them we ate it at home so I was used to the taste. Now, my real problem began the day I ate the spinach off my friends’ trays so we could go play outside. As soon as the nun monitoring the cafeteria turned her back, my friends ate something off my tray I didn’t want, and I ate their serving of spinach. I only did it for two of my table mates, but the word spread.   On the next Spinach Day, kids followed me to my table.   I was suddenly very popular, and as soon as the nun marched off to the other end of the cafeteria, my friends and an army of others who only knew me as The Girl Who Eats Spinach, begged me to take