Cynthia Zarin

Albert, an adventurous dachshund, set out for his dream adventure! His love for taxi's made him unable to resist getting in one. One day when his owner Mrs. Crabtree took him off his leash, he escaped in a taxi. When the driver threw him out, he was able to hop from taxi to taxi and continue his adventure. When his final ride was supposed to end up in California, he ran into Mr. Crabtree at the airport! Ending his trip, happy to see his owner and go home, Albert wonders where his adventures could take him. We encourage our students to find books that relate to them, or catch their eye. When I picked up this book, I saw Albert, a dachshund!!!! I have a pet Dachshund and their curiosity is the best thing about their breed. So I decided to pick this book to read. I was pleasantly surprised at how cute this story was. It would be a great read aloud for students. It also can show students it's not safe to run away from home, if you wanted them to gain a message from the story.… (mais)

While you were occupied with this and that, time continued spinning steadily onward until one day you peer at yourself in a glass or a mirror, so different and yet so much the same. While a few essays refer to childhood, Cynthia Zarin uses the form explore desires, dreams, fulfillment and disappointment, of adult life, the focus on marriage and children, on (some aspects) of her work, and on her engagement with the material world - objects, houses, places, clothing. The essays are all very good, but the title essay “An Enlarged Heart” and the final essay “Mary McCarthy’s Chest” are, to my mind, perfect. The first is a gut-wrenching rendering of having a child suddenly become extremely ill with a rare disease, and the second and longest is a reminiscence of Zarin’s time at The New Yorker in its final years under the aegis of William Shawn. It’s one of the best pieces I’ve read about the magazine - landing soundly between youthful awe, what it was really like (oh the sharp observations of the young!) and the whole of it tempered by thoughtful reflection. Zarin, who is a poet (barely mentioned here), writes prose like a trained New Yorker writer, with that odd mix of self-effacement and confidence (verging on arrogance), as recognizable as hitting NPR on the radio dial, occasionally irritating, but always disciplined, always damned fine writing. Highly recommended if you like essay memoirs, New York City, the New Yorker or the Outer Cape. ****1/2… (mais)