2012: The Year of the Spinster Adventuress

If it's not my favorite character entrance of all time, it's dang close:

"My bunkmate, Lorraine Root. A 37-year old home economics teacher from Muncie, Indiana. Almost 6 feet tall, with horn-rimmed glasses. Chain-smokes Lucky Strikes. Lorraine introduces herself this way: 'I'm a spinster adventuress.'"

This comes from the utterly enjoyable The Scrapbook of Frankie Pratt: A Novel in Pictures by Caroline Preston, with full-color vintage memorabilia on every page (see below). Frankie is a plucky young Vassar grad / aspiring writer, coming of age in the 1920s and dressing the part. Her travels take her across the pond to Paris; en route she meets Ms. Lorraine Root, the aforementioned spinster adventuress.

This book was a lot of fun, and it got me thinking about my Year 2012 Resolution. My Year 2011 Resolution -- trying new things -- was a great success. Line dancing, Atlantic City, waterproofing my basement walls, swimming two miles, and Muir Woods were just a few of the highlights. How to follow up such an eventful year? Why, by becoming a spinster adventuress!

The Watch That Ends the Night = The Book That Stole My Heart

From the spine-chilling cover art to the unforgettable voice of the Iceberg (and with every curl of saltwater in between), Allan Wolf's The Watch That Ends the Night: Voices from the Titanic simply stole my heart. This novel re-imagines Titanic's voyage from the shipyard to the ocean floor, a voyage that 2,000-some-odd souls took along with her. It's a story that's been told and re-told, but the beauty of Wolf's writing breathes new life into the soon-to-be-100 year old tragedy. The still-almost-incomprehensible event unfolds through the voices of about twenty passengers and crew members (and one ship rat) aboard the luxury liner, as well as the Iceberg itself. There are many unforgettable passages that beg to be re-read; here's my favorite:

"I am the ice; I am of water made.
That's why it's now of water that I speak:
Watch how the water licks Titanic's hull.
Hear how the water makes her rivets creak.
See how, before her trip even begins,
the water is obsessed with getting in."

And one more favorite passage, for good measure (also in the voice of the Iceberg):

"The sun moves low to the west of my mass.
A shadow, cast by my prodigious bulk,
becomes a phantom finger stretching out
to mark the route Titanic's bow needs trace
across the sea's gray-rippled endless face."

Hubris, humanity, and the progeny of "Greenland's glacial womb" literally collide in this amazing piece of art.