Three Weeks with My Brother

Oh brother!

*

If you have ever wondered why Americans have such a bad reputation as tourists, this book gives an amazingly detailed account of narcissistic and vulgar behaviour while traveling abroad. The picture on the back cover shows two suntanned Americans with teeth whiter than the whites of their eyes smiling as if on a photo shoot for L.L Bean (hm, I wonder who their target audience might be?) - yes, they are definitely ready to explore the world having read up on their Jules Verne, of course...

It almost felt as if I were reading a satire - surely this could not be written as a serious account? It comes across as extremely insulting and condescending, and I happen to be one of "these Norwegians" that the author claims to be "among show more the friendliest on earth"... As with most of his "observations", he bases his said conclusion on his interactions with the locals that happen to entertain them while out touring away from the hotel. Or as his insights so succintly states "Over the years, I've visited numerous countries, and I've learned that until you meet the people in a relaxed setting, doing what they normally do, you haven't actually experienced what the country is all about". Wow... I wonder what prevented them to "do what they normally do" in India or Ethiopia...

It would mostly be a laughable account suitable for a Christopher Guest mockumentary if it hadn't been for the sheer vulgarity. They shock the natives by pulling selfish pranks on sacred sites, they mock the aborigines and find "this stuff boring", they make fun of the poor guides who are there to "entertain them", they are flabbergasted when a bar in Peru can't find a channel that shows the Super Bowl in English, they make fun of anyone who actually finds interest in architectural details beyond the brochure blurbs and resent their "lecturing", they are bored with ruins if they don't look like a good movie set, they get "museumed out", they call on their cell phones to their spouses back home on top of temples to tell them how incredible it all is...

The irony, of course, is that they see themselves as adventure and culture seekers and acute descriptions such as "awesome", "amazing", "unbelievable" and "breathtaking" are littered throughout the text. For a feel of the complexity of the narrattion, sample these nuggets of travelogue speak:

"I never believed I could get so excited about seeing a pile of dirt".

"There were trillions of flies".

"Entire books have been written on the subject of the carvings alone, and it's far beyond the scope of this volume to even attempt to comment on them".

"As they say, you must see it to believe it".

"Architectually, it's amazing, and I can see why it took decades to build it".

"All we could do was stare out the window (of the bus), wondering how on earth people survived like this".

"This looks...boring. How long are we supposed to be here?"

"Saying that you went dogsledding in Norway with a team that once competed in the Iditarod is more fun than the sledding itself"

In between the travel diary, we get a presentation of the family history. There are musings about their childhood, the trauma of their parent's deaths (which happened after they were grown up), the sad story about their little sister battling a brain tumor, and some rather bland religious ponderings. Some of their childhood memories are quite touching, like all childhood memories are. However, the story about how the brothers took pride in destroying all their cousins' toys (and still seemingly think this is funny) is ironic since it is completely believable.
Also, the author has an almost pathological need to impress his readers with, well, himself...His only seeming fault seems to be that he tries to accomplish too much. After a tirade on how a devoted dad and husband he is, he offers this humble passage: "Somehow, despite all that, I squeezed in time to earn a black belt in Tae Kwon Do, lift weights, and jog daily. I continued to read a hundred books a year. I slept less that five hours a night". Wow - poor superman...By the way, if you go to his website (which is complete with a glossy photo shoot, and where you can read that he has been voted "the sexiest author"), the first thing you get to read is whether you knew if he had a black belt in Tae Kwon Do? I almost feel sorry for the guy...

Finally, the passage that lingers in my mind is the author's claim that when he grew up "they were desperately poor" because they were fed powdered milk, oatmeal and potatoes and only received toys for birthdays and Christmas...
How anyone can actually write that after visiting some of the places they did (albeit in the comfort of guided tours, air-conditioned buses, and endless cocktail parties) is a sad commentary in itself. show less

To any of my reading buddies, it's no secret that I pretty much loathe the novels of Nicholas Sparks. I have tried them, and nope, not for me. There's a history and a story there, which I've recorded elsewhere, but the main part of that story is that I do have personal respect for the man, after a chance encounter with him at a Books-A-Million years ago.

A huge crowd of women were fluttering around an author. He was a clean cut, preppie-ish kind of guy (I remember that his blue shirt had an unfortunate white collar.) Normally, I like to meet authors, but when I found out it was Nicholas Sparks, doing a book-signing, I tried to skirt around the crowd. His handler stopped me.

"Don't you want to meet the author?"

"No thanks," I replied.

"But show more he's rather good. Have you read his books?"

"Umm. Yes, but I'd rather not meet him."

"You've read his books and don't want to meet him? Why not???"

"I'd rather not say," I said, trying to break the iron grip she had on my arm.

"He'll sign one for you."

"No thank you."

At this point, my struggling to get free caught the author's attention. He rose from his signing table, the red sea of women clustering around him parted and he came over to me. He was quite polite, and attentive, and inquired why I was so adamant about not participating in the book signing. Again, I demurred. He insisted. Did I like his book? Well-- no, not exactly. He pushed for details. I'd had enough and let loose with what I thought.

To give him credit, he didn't blanch though his handler did, and I actually heard a hiss from one of the ladies in the crowd. He thanked me for my opinion, and said he would rather have someone who vehemently disliked his book that someone who said it was so-so. At least he'd stirred a strong emotion in me. For a long time, that was the only thing I liked about Nicholas Sparks. Now, there's this book.

Three Weeks With My Brother tells more than the story of two brothers on what would, by any counts, be a fabulous trip. Mr Sparks takes the reader back to the beginning, invites us into his home, warts and all. The Sparks children had a unique upbringing: laissez-faire in some senses, but with certain iron-clad principles and a lot of love, that held the structure together. That the family was financially strapped is somewhat of an understatement. That they were resourceful, is another. In some senses, I was reminded of my husband's childhood in upstate New York. But the bonds in the family were strong, as became apparent when tragedy struck, again and again.

This story, of the Sparks family, interwoven with the brother's story of a round-the-world trip fascinated me. I thought so much of my two brothers finding both similarities and disparities. There's a lot of humor and honesty in the telling. Sparks' faith is evident, as is his strong love for his family. Clearly it was what has carried him through the deaths of the rest of the family and other obstacles that would have felled many others. I can relate to that handing on that combination of love and faith, because it got me through my own periods of grief. And now, like Nicholas Sparks, I am grateful for the love of a phenomenal spouse and the love of the only remaining member of my family, my older brother. I'll probably never take a round the world trip with him, but thanks to this book, I can read of one.

Though it's hard for me to believe, I really liked this book. I still won't read his fiction, even knowing from this narrative where the inspirations were. But remember that respect I felt after our brief encounter in that Books-A-Million? It's skyrocketed. I hope some day to have the chance to tell him that in person -- just as long as I don't have to read The Notebook again to do so. show less

This was an enjoyable read. Not only does the book cover the Sparks' trip around the world, it ties in the lives of each men leading up to that trip. These two brothers had been through a lot in the life of their immediate family and had a lot of common heartache and sorrow.

I couldn't decide whether to give this book three or four stars. I settled on three. I just didn't love this book, I liked it. It was a bit of a roller coaster at times, valleys and peaks of emotion but it I never got a sense of cohesion, too much was packed into this book to comprehend, I think that was my struggle with it. From the middle to the end it was emotional overload, perhaps that was intentional, they'd been through a lot.

Maybe over time it will sink in show more and I'll appreciate this book more. Never-the-less, these men have experienced two lifetimes of happiness and sorrow and that was clearly communicated in the many heart warming stories from their childhood and into adulthood. show less

When the Sparks brothers went on a round the world trip they also shared memories of growing up making this a combination of travelogue and biography. They didn't learn anything new about each other, just reminisced about their family. Long segments described the recent death of their sister, leaving the brothers the only remaining members of the family, and of the health conditions of other members of their families. Nicholas became occasionally preachy. There was so little about their travels that they might have written it without leaving home. Striking a "poor-me" tone, this did not turn out to be what I expected.

It was a fairly interesting biography. I took it at face value until he got to the part about his son having learning disabilities. I am in the field and I know that the US has an amazing early intervention program and there are many very good therapist who help children with disabilities. It didn't make sense why no one helped his child. Why he, as a father, had to reinvent the wheel to teach his child. Once I realized there was something that didn't sound right in that part of the book, it made me wonder about the other parts of the book and whether he was giving us a very distorted view of his life.

Here's a touching memoir from Nicholas Sparks, currently one of the more popular authors with credits such as The Notebook, Message in a Bottle and A Walk to Remember. This account of his life is structured around a multi-continent trip he takes with his older brother, Micah.

The stories from his past are the most colored and interesting, and focus on three points of view: His relationship with Micah, the kids' relationship with their mother and the struggles the parents endured to support their family. Micah was a classic firstborn child, often acting as protector to his siblings and always taking risks in his exploration of life. Nicholas, or Nicky, was the middle child, and the boys had a younger sister named Dana. Their mother is a show more pleasure to read; she has this striking ability to be both unconditionally loving of her children and giving them endless school-of-hard-knocks lessons on life. The family had very little material wealth growing up though the children never knew the difference.

The Sparks family experiences many life challenges and tragedy around the time Nicolas is just getting off the ground as an author. I'm of the mind that much good can always come from a great loss. It's just a matter of time and focus. Nicholas Sparks has suffered much though he should rejoice at the art he's been fortunate to pass on to others. show less

While I read this, I couldn't help thinking about why I fell in love with his writing. As a woman, I see romance in such a way that it can't fall under anything but a fairytale. When a man writes it, it falls into the real-life category.

I thought it was attention-grabbing from the very start, though I can't say that I read it in only one day. I think I planned to space it out, just so that I would have something interesting to read that wouldn't get me into trouble.

As I got to the end of the novel, because I won't say that it's a story, I couldn't help but cry at the strength he showed throughout the trials that he'd faced.

I loved it and hope to read more of his writing very soon.