. . . a bibliophile's blog . . . an online paean to the printed page and the bound word.
(And maybe films will be mentioned. And art. And food. And life in general.)
It isn't as if power outages never occur, it's just the timing is always a surprise. Normally, however, they're short-lived and one goes back to regular -- hopefully energy-conserving -- life. This time the dark and lightless interval lasted longer than usual. Twelve hours, to be precise. And was overlapped by lashing wind and rain.
Did I let that interrupt the evening's reading? Well, yes, initially. But then I broke out the candles and it was business as usual. Only more atmospheric! I finished reading Nicola Upson's An Expert In Murder, which I had already been enjoying. The story became ever more engrossing under the influence of my island of candlelight . . . I'm sure the ending is rather disturbing at the best of times, but in the dark? . . .
Set in 1930s theatre-going London, the narrative follows a handful of characters as they find themselves caught up in a murder investigation. A young woman is cruelly murdered in a train after bumping into, and chatting with, the playwright Josephine Tey who is heading to London for talks about her recent hit, Richard of Bordeaux. The murder, in fact, seems connected to the play and Archie Penrose, friend of Tey and the police detective on the case, spends much of the book worried for the safety of his friend while attempting to track down the guilty party before more dastardly deeds can be committed. Tey as fictional character is well-drawn, and I can't help but admire Upson's ability to make her both familiar and surprising, but equally interesting are the characters with whom she interacts, Penrose especially, the colourful characters of the theatre, the cheerful assistant to Penrose, the family of the murdered girl.
Especially interesting is the connection between the action and the last war before the story begins, World War I. All the characters have been touched by the recent war -- loved ones lost or personal involvement in the fighting -- and how Upson weaves this backdrop of shattered realities into the plot is just fascinating.
I also appreciated the author's note at the back, informing the reader about the liberties taken with the facts of Tey's life and circumstances.
It's a fun read and I loved it, despite the lack of electricity while reading.
Reading Zoe Whittall's Holding Still For As Long As Possible* was quite an experience. Gripping characterization, a story that was filled with character atrophy, fear, tragedy, but maintained its sense of humour, this book is a solidly told story by an author who doesn't pull any punches.
We're told that "Everything is just a cell talking to another cell. Consciousness is just this. Beep of a machine. The result of several actions. Her reaction. The harmonies in her brain, the hemispheres in A minor."
The twenty-somethings who pepper this story gained my sympathy almost immediately through quick, deft portrait-painting on the part of Whittall. They are uncompromisingly human, at times obnoxious, selfish, confused, lost.
The story revolves around three perspectives: Hilary/Billy, a former pop star, current OCD sufferer trying to find her way in a panic-ridden existence; Amy, art film-maker and reckless with others' affections, as well as her own; Josh, a cynical medic. All three are dogged by regrets and confusion over love, their exes, and how to negotiate the cold world that seems so accessible, but is, in actuality, not at all.
How these three lives intersect and resolve the frenetic tension that marks their days (their fear, their hunger, their carelessness) carries the hallmarks of the cellphone generation. Connected to others from the time they could text, the hollowness at the root of all three speaks volumes for the effectiveness of that connection. The three characters are inevitably drawn to each other. And Whittall delivers it all in a brilliant prose style.
The three voices relating their respective stories are distinct, believable. I was drawn in by the straightforward presentation of their disparate realities. These characters drink and smoke to excess, swear, display moments of blatant stupidity, have sex and panic attacks, and they love, are loved. The human connection is undeniably well rendered in this novel. Great writing!
[*Thanks to Anansi for the advanced reading copy!!]
I have to say that comics were NOT part of my childhood reading and I think that makes a difference regarding one's approach to graphic novels as an adult. (This is just a theory). However, since reading and watching one or two graphic novels and films based on same, I've found they've often quite a bit in common with those 19th c novels and/or tales of chivalry I read as a teen.
Dark, complex, aswarm in disparate and competing philosophies, I found myself quite enjoying Watchmen. Mr. Inkslinger had read the Alan Moore comic (on which the film is based) when the series came out in the 80s, but I came to the film in absolute ignorance. I was completely caught up in the story. What I like about films based on Moore's work (I've seen and loved V For Vendetta as well) is that paradoxical pairing of optimism and nihilism that seems to coexist in the stories. Chaos results from good interfering with the, seemingly, natural inclination of humankind to just go bonkers, yet the good is essential as chaos is better than the nothingness that results from the aforementioned state of bonkers (read as definition of 'bonkers' the rampant violence and evil, the imminent destruction of self and others as a result of obsessed power- and warmongering). So. To say that Watchmen was food for thought is an understatement. I found myself thinking about it, discussing it with Mr. Inkslinger, well into the succeeding days after viewing.
We immediately went out to our nearest book purveyors and purchased the graphic novel and began reading it together,literally, which is rather fun. There are differences, but it is markedly (as others have pointed out) similar in terms of frame by frame story progression. What I'm finding interesting as well, though, is the comic within the comic -- and fictional autobiography and excerpts from fictional books -- within the narrative itself. Great stuff. I'll probably write more about it when we've finished reading the book.
Which reminds me of a similar author I have not tried before now, Neil Gaiman. I began reading American Godsafter I read a positive blog review of it and I have to say it certainly is an intriguing story. Again, the themes are related to human interaction with forces beyond their control and the chaos that ensues from power mongers playing about with people's lives. The protagonist, Shadow, finds himself awash in the lead-up to a battle between the Old World gods, who came over to the New World with the people who believed in them, and the New World gods of technology, business,and media, etc. After Shadow is released from prison and learns of his wife's accident, he finds himself harassed and then employed by the New World version of Odin, a rascally, imposing old guy named Wednesday, as a kind of muscled assistant. As they travel about seeking to consolidate the efforts of all the Old gods, adventures ensue and questions arise.
What Gaiman does so effortlessly, blend the fantastical with the every day, is part of the fascination of this book. But it's a great story as well. He fits in questions about belief, the responsibility of succeeding generations, the concept of justice and fair play and all while conducting a kind of juggling act with mysterious deities. There's Eostre, Loki, the Russian Zorya and Chernobog, and Egyptian gods Bastet, Horus, and Anubis . . . along with a whole host of others. It really is fascinating.
I'm still thinking about the narrative, what Gaiman is saying with all that divine mess and human confusion. There is a subplot about missing children that fits in with the interaction between human and divine rather neatly, but it's a dark interaction. Like Moore, though, there is an optimism operating here, a sense of justice, of right action in the face of wrong. A moral code being honoured.
I'm going to have to read more . . . which is, as you can guess, hardly a sacrifice on my part.
Recently Read and ABSOLUTELY Loved: See previous post.
Still Currently Reading and Loving (tying in both Byatt and King, actually, in terms of context): The Vertigo Years by Philipp Blom. Savouring.
Recently Watched and Enjoyed: Coraline. Quirky, somewhat disturbing, and thought-provoking in a charming way. Now I must read the novel. Another tome on the TBR shelf.
Just Came In The Mail: here are some of the contents of that big box of books . . .
The Way We Are by Margaret Visser. Having become a fan of Visser's after reading her fascinating A Gift of Thanks, I had to start slowly accumulating her other books.
An Expert In Murder by Nicola Upson. I saw a review of this book at Juxtabook, a wonderful book-centred blog I happened upon recently, and thought I'd give it a try. I love Josephine Tey's writing and this features a fictionalized Tey as protagonist.
The Outlander by Gil Adamson. A novel recommended by Warbler, and she's never been wrong about books she thinks I'll like!
Tanglewreck by Jeanette Winterson. I'm trying to add more YA and children's fiction to my reading diet. It started after a friend asked me what book recommendations I might have for her teenage daughter. I found I did not have as much knowledge of recent/current YA/children's fiction as I'd like (it's been five years since I taught that age group and, to be honest, I had a more teachery approach than is called for at present). And I loved Winterson's Sexing the Cherry so much I thought, well, why not try this one? It's already got my vote for most compelling cover!
Additionally: Mr. Inkslinger, being on vacation and reading over my shoulder as I type, has requested a mention of some of his new book acquisitions that arrived in the same aforementioned box o' books (some of which I hope to be reading . . . particularly the Visser and Travels By Night)
The Rituals of Dinner by Margaret Visser. I can cross another must get off the list! Looking forward to reading this.
Tuesday, 21 July, 2009
My sister has been reading, loving, and recommending the Mary Russell/Sherlock Holmes novels by Laurie R. King for years, but, somehow, I never managed to get around to them. My focus on literary novels and literary criticism precluded a great deal of genre delving. Until now, of course, when reading voraciously, across genres and time periods, has become half research, half addiction.
I read the first novel of the aforementioned series in a haze of admiration over the weekend, and now I'm hooked. The Beekeeper's Apprentice was not only good storytelling, it seemed to me (albeit an amateur in the world of Holmes admiration) to only improve on the tone and character of the original Holmes/Watson detective stories.
If you are not acquainted with the series (the first novel came out in 1994), they centre on the relationship and adventures of one Mary Russell (young polymath with a penchant for dressing and thinking outside her constructed gender norms) and the legendary Sherlock Holmes, now retired (ostensibly), older, but retaining a mind like a steel trap. How they meet, how they manage to work together despite age/cultural/gender differences is part of the fascination of this story. But there are mysteries to solve and adventures to experience as well. While a war is waged in Europe, the young Oxford student and the retired sleuth engage in a richly described list of dangerous activities. A kidnapping, a strange series of bombings and attempted bombings, all involving an elusive villain. What fun! King manages to bring the early years of the 20th century alive in ways I did not expect. I revelled in the sound of bees, the smell of hay, or the crowded London streets.
And perhaps I should point out that I particularly appreciated the uncompromising intelligence of the female protagonist. Of course Holmes would accept nothing less than genius from a partner, male or female, but that his partner should be a young female is particularly interesting.
Friday, 17 July, 2009
Stefanie at So Many Books had an interesting post the other day about bibliocentric fiction. I was going to leave a comment about my favourite bibliocentric reads, but realized it might get pretty lengthy. So why not post it over here?
Books about books (I'm going to interpret this category as books about books, fictional and otherwise) is just about my favourite genre -- and I'm sure I'm not alone in this (book addicts are book addicts) -- yet I've not read many of those mentioned in the comments to Stefanie's post.
But this is what I've come up with so far, however incomplete. I'll list them as I think of them so the following does not indicate any sort of heirarchy of preference.
Possessionby A.S. Byatt and The Children's Book by A.S. Byatt (although, really, so much of what Byatt writes are books about books or books within books). What I like about Possession and The Children's Book as books about books/books within books is Byatt somehow manages to capture the feel of the reading experience even while creating it anew. If you know what I mean. This would seem an impossible paradox, but isn't art always an impossible paradox?
The Raw Shark Texts by Steven Hall. I was both impressed and engrossed by this novel, if truth be told.
Tam Lin by Pamela Dean. Ever a Dean fan, I love this novel and though it involves/retells a ballad (as opposed to a book, per se) it's still getting a mention on my list. It does utilize literary allusions throughout, and splendidly, too.
The Daughter of Time by Josephine Tey, the plot of which stems from the revisionist Ricardian book Inspector Grant is reading. Brilliant mystery!
The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams. :)
The Frankenstein Murders by Kathlyn Bradshaw which takes letters and journals imagined from the margins of Shelley's Frankenstein as its meat and potatoes.
Chasing Shakespeares by Sarah Smith. Just a fun romp through the land of possible Shakespeares and who wrote what.
Thursday, 16 July, 2009
To be perfectly honest, it surprised me. Having read one other book by this author, I was expecting a good read with strong characters, believable action, good dialogue. But I wasn't expecting a great read. And a great read is what it was! I've added it to the short list of best novels I've read this year. Certainly the best Canadian/Commonwealth novel. Straightforward, compelling, character-driven. It just kept me turning those pages . . .
Trudy Morgan-Cole's By the Rivers of Brooklyn is a deftly handled multi-generational story that never loses focus, never becomes an unwieldy saga, but maintains a sense of each individual voice while, at the same time, weaving each character into a fine panoply of great story. Illustrated through these characters, among other things, is what it means to come from somewhere, to love something, and then lose it. Morgan-Cole illustrates the pain of leaving with these characters, the inevitability of coming home.
The tale begins in 1924 and follows a handful of Newfoundland immigrants to New York. Rose, Bert, and Jim Evans head out from Newfoundland for bigger, more lucrative lives, initially leaving behind their sister Anne and youngest brother Harold. What they find in New York, however, is not what they were expecting and the Newfoundland they remember and return to/visit isn't what they thought it was. Expectations, compromises, memories, regrets. Morgan-Cole makes each turn of fate individual and believable, dependant on the particular facets of each character.
We follow the thread of their lives through the war years, the years of desperation and disappointment, of searching and reconciliation. Through a strong sense of voice and characterization, these figures burst off the page. I came to care deeply about whether Rose would find whatever it was she was looking for (a troubled one is Rose). I worried about Anne left alone with her parents in Newfoundland (but then there is Bill!). And I felt the pain of Ethel's (Bert's fiancee) early tragedy and a sense of dread as she makes a desperate choice.
And then the second generation. The children of those whose decisions help to ruin or make them. Ralph, who has Bert's eyes and loses his grip on his family through no fault of his own. Claire who searches calmly and relentlessly for the facts of her birth. Diane, so like her aunt, flashy and fragile. The eccentric, imaginative Valerie who wants to make up her own version of events. And then Claire's daughter Anne, the girl who searches for secrets passages and trunks or diaries that can open the past. Such wonderful characters!
This narrative is fascinating and accessible, tragic and funny. I can't say enough good things about it.
An excerpt:
The pages are black instead of white, the photos black-and-white instead of colour, held in place by little triangles at each corner rather than clingy sheets of cellophane lying on top. Aunt Annie, compelled against her nature, sits down on the chesterfield beside Anne and begins to interpret the lost language of old pictures
"That's me, with your Aunt Frances, Frances Stokes she was then, that was before she married your Uncle Harold. And that's Jim and Poor Bert, up in the field behind our house. That was when we lived out in the country. Look, there's Jim and Ethel on their wedding day, that wasn't here, that was in New York. There they are with Little Jimmy and Diane, look at the lovely head of curls on Diane, she was such a pretty baby. There's your Uncle Harold with --"
"Wait, who's that one?"
"What? I can't see."
"There. Isn't that you, and . . . who's that other girl?"
"I don't know . . . oh, I think that's Rose, me and Rose. Your grandmother." Quickly the page is turned.
Anne sits alone with the album later, turns back to that page, to Rose-your-grandmother. Rose and Annie, sisters, somewhere in St. John's in the 1920s.
It feels like a day for a meme. This one comes via Tea Leaves:
1) What author do you own the most books by?
Probably one of the following: A.S. Byatt, C.S. Lewis, Jane Urquhart, Helen Humphreys, Virginia Woolf, or Jane Austen.
2) What book do you own the most copies of?
Hamlet. Without a doubt.
3) Did it bother you that both those questions ended with prepositions?
No, but now I feel guilty it didn't.
4) What fictional character are you secretly in love with?
It's not really a secret. In the past I would have quickly, unreservedly said "Mr. Rochester!" But, really, it's always been Hamlet. Or Lord Randolph in The Secret Country (very Hamlet-like is Randolph). Or Jack Boughton in Home (very Hamlet-like . . . oh, you get the idea).
5) What book have you read the most times in your life (excluding picture books read to children)?
I really don't know. Probably one of the Chronicles of Narnia. Or Hamlet (I know, I know, there's a theme developing).
6) What was your favourite book when you were ten years old?
The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe. Or Anne of Green Gables. Or even one of the Ramona Quimby books. Or Little House in the Big Woods. Or Burgess's The Adventures of Peter Cottontail. Or was it The Hundred Dresses by Eleanor Estes? No, I think it was Miss Bianca and the Salt Mines. As now, I just loved a good book with memorable characters. :)
7) What is the worst book you've read in the past year?
The Tsarina's Daughter by Carolly Erickson. I love Erickson's historical nonfiction, but the fiction? Yikes.
8) What is the best book you've read in the past year?
9) If you could force everyone you tagged to read one book, what would it be? (not that I'm going to tag anyone . . . those who are interested, feel free . . .)
Force? Hmm . . . a forced read is a useless read. But -- from this year's reading -- I would recommend everyone should try The Gift of Thanks by Margaret Visser. It has so many valuable, wonderful things to remind us about being decent. Or, for fiction, Marilynne Robinson's Home.
10) Who deserves to win the next Nobel Prize for Literature?
I have no opinion.
11) What book would you most like to see made into a movie?
Of recent reads: Far North by Marcel Theroux, but only if John Huston made the film (which, I realize, is impossible).
12) What book would you least like to see made into a movie?
The Peppered Moth by Margaret Drabble. It hasn't, has it? I don't want to know.
13) Describe your weirdest dream involving a writer, book, or literary character.
I don't believe I've ever had a dream involving a writer, book, or literary character. Not that I can remember anyway.
14) What is the most lowbrow book you've read as an adult?
Hmm, what shall I assume is the definition of lowbrow . . . mere entertainment with nary a brain cell engaged? If so, I've dipped into a few lowbrow books (and even finished some of them). Probably Angels & Demons by Dan Brown (which I somewhat enjoyed despite it's deficiencies) or The Anglophile by Laurie Gwen Shapiro (which I mostly did not enjoy).
15) What is the most difficult book you've ever read?
A book can be difficult for many reasons. Emotionally difficult. Difficult to understand/grasp, etc. The most difficult book to read in terms of emotional involvement for me is To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf. The most difficult in terms of complex concepts presented, etc: either C.S. Lewis's Space Trilogy or The Abolition of Man by C.S. Lewis.
16) What is the most obscure Shakespeare play you've seen?
Are there obscure Shakespeare plays?
17) Do you prefer the French or the Russians?
(I hope this means as novelists) Definitely Russians! Yay Tolstoy!
18) Roth or Updike?
More familiar with Roth. So I'll go with him.
19) David Sedaris or Dave Eggers?
No opinion.
20) Shakespeare, Milton, or Chaucer?
Shakespeare, with a side order of Chaucer and Milton to go.
21) Austen or Eliot?
Both, but mostly Austen.
22) What is the biggest or most embarrassing gap in your reading?
All reading gaps are embarrassing, but I would like to include more philosophy.
23) What is your favourite novel?
You can't make me choose! From the top ten, however, there are the following: The Biographer's Tale by A.S. Byatt, That Hideous Strength by C.S. Lewis, The Lost Garden by Helen Humphreys, Changing Heaven by Jane Urquhart, Persuasion by Jane Austen, Middlemarch by George Eliot, Ethan Frome by Edith Wharton, Possession by A.S. Byatt . . . it's like choosing which of your closest friends is the best . . . impossible!
24) Favourite play?
Either Hamlet or Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead.
25) Favourite poem?
Say, rather, Poet: Emily Dickinson. Or, if I had to choose one poem I go back to again and again that was not written by Emily Dickinson . . . it'd have to be either "The Swimmer's Moment" by Margaret Avison or "The Frog Prince" by Stevie Smith.
26) Essay?
Sshh . . . school's out.
27) Short story?
Though I love the short stories of Flannery O'Connor, it would have to be either "A Stone Woman" by A.S. Byatt or "Precipice-Encurled" by A.S. Byatt.
28) Work of nonfiction?
Just about anything by Alberto Manguel, but Madeleine L'Engle's Walking on Water is pretty good, too.
29) Who is your favorite writer?
Jane Austen or Shakespeare.
30) Who is the most overrated writer alive today?
There are, really, too many to list. But I'd rather shout the praises of those who are writing worthwhile stuff and just ignore the overrateds.
Not all novels are created equal. Which is a good thing, right? Variety and all that . . . Some, like those penned by Marilynne Robinson or A.S. Byatt, hold and transform the reader with a style that transcends. Others are simply diverting, good for a quick read (especially at 3 a.m. when you might find yourself suffering from insomnia). The Wonder Singer by George Rabasa was just that, a quick, not unsatisfactory tale. A rather interesting read for a summer's night.
The plot centres on an angst-ridden middle-aged hack writer as he attempts to keep his one great write out of the hands of another, bigger-billed hack writer upon the untimely death of the subject of his biography-in-progress, Merce Casals. When the great opera Diva, Casals, hires Mark Lockwood to ghostwrite her life story, he thinks it's yet another step on the hack ladder. Little does he know that her story will take over his own, cause an obsession, change his life just as she loses hers. It doesn't hurt that there's an attractive nurse to take his mind off his less than stellar career and failing marriage.
It's suspenseful (will his life fall apart? will he finish Casals' life story before bigger and burlier writers take it away from him? will he discover the secret of the unconventional love shared by Casals and her husband?) and, though the characters seem a tad unsubstantial/one-dimensional, Merce Casals a little too tame for a diva, the story holds one's attention with strong descriptions (especially the parts told in Casals' voice) and a well-tailored plot. While it lacked a bit in terms of accessing the colourful world of opera, it still managed to inspire thoughts of great performances and performers.
Monday, 13 July, 2009
What a great companion to Gilead. Home answered a great many questions I had while reading Gilead, but after turning the last page I still want to read more and more about Jack and his sister Glory. What a wonderful story. And such writing! It felt like the emotional equivalent of settling into a plump, well-loved sofa with a plateful of spicy oatmeal cookies and a tall glass of frigid milk. That perfect mix of comfort and excitement (okay, perhaps I'm the only one who gets excited and comforted by spicy oatmeal cookies eaten -- with crumbs -- on an old couch, but fill in whatever details work for you) . . .
Marilynne Robinson's Home, about a ne'er do well who returns home to his disappointed sister and ailing father, is rife with heartbreak, insight, humour, and wisdom (and, in case that puts you off, scandals, anger, and misery). Glory Boughton, thirty-eight, unmarried, and weary of her life, has also returned to Gilead to care for her aging father, the erstwhile Reverend Robert Boughton. When his beloved son Jack (John Ames Boughton) returns after twenty years, Glory forges a new relationship with her rakish, emotionally damaged brother. Set against a difficult backdrop of threat and violence created by the black and white flickering newscasts of the American Civil Rights demonstrations, as well as Jack's own past, the gentle revelatory nature of the tale unfolds just as it should and the small-town society comes alive through the vivid characterizations of Jack and Glory. Not to mention the oft-petulant Rev Boughton.
I just about fell in love with the miserable, memorable Jack Boughton. Robinson's ability to draw brilliant characters through gesture, dialogue, and description is wonderful to behold. And that's not to cast any aspersions on Glory. She's a brilliantly well-drawn character, too. Glory's hiatus from her disappointing life at her father's home turns into the realization of her worst fears (there are so many different kinds of martyrdom/paths to sainthood). Both she and Jack must face a reality neither wanted or intended. Heartbreakingly real, this novel! As when reading Gilead, by the end of this novel I felt like I knew and loved these characters -- like they were part of my own family -- so rich is this imagined world.
An excerpt or two:
There is a saying that to understand is to forgive, but that is an error, so Papa used to say. You must forgive in order to understand. Until you forgive, you defend yourself against the possibility of understanding. Her father had said this more than once, in sermons, with appropriate texts, but the real text was Jack, and those to whom he spoke were himself and the row of Boughtons in the front pew, which usually did not include Jack, and then, of course, the congregation. If you forgive, he would say, you may indeed still not understand, but you will be ready to understand, and that is the posture of grace.
And this . . .
That odd capacity for destitution, as if by nature we ought to have so much more than nature gives us. As if we are shockingly unclothed when we lack the complacencies of ordinary life. In destitution, even of feeling or purpose, a human being is more hauntingly human and vulnerable to kindnesses because there is the sense that things should be otherwise, and then the thought of what is wanting and what alleviation would be, and how the soul could be put at ease, restored. At home. But the soul finds its own home if it ever has a home at all.
Tuesday, 7 July, 2009
Having just begun Marilynne Robinson's novel Home (companion to, but independent of, Gilead), I predict much novel reading and less novel writing in the foreseeable future. It's just a great story so far! It opens with Glory, Jack Boughton's sister, and she is the sort of character one feels immediately drawn towards.
Here's an excerpt of her thoughts as erstwhile teacher:
Why do we have to read poetry? Why "Il Penseroso"? Read it and you'll know why. If you still don't know, read it again. And again. Some of them took the things she said to heart, as she had done once when they were said to her. She was helping them assume their humanity. People have always made poetry, she told them. Trust that it will matter to you. The pompous clatter of "The Charge of the Light Brigade" moved some of them to tears, and then she had talked to them about bad poetry. Who gets to say what's good and what's bad? I do, she said. For the moment. You don't have to agree, but listen. Some of them did listen. This seemed to her to be perfectly miraculous. No wonder she dreamed at night that she had lost any claim to their attention. What claim did she have?
Monday, 6 July, 2009
Currently Listening To: Bach's Cello Suite No 6
Recently Enjoyed Watching Again: Rear Window (1954). Thanks to a plethora of Hitchcock films on TCM lately I've been imbibing loads of great films . . . but Rear Window has long been my favourite Hitchcock film.**
Recently Enjoyed Watching (with some reservations) for the First Time: Knowing. Starring Nicholas Cage and involving a race against the end of time as we know it, Knowing held my attention and even had me gripping my seat at one point. Well-acted, it certainly delivers on the suspense end of the spectrum. The theological implications, however, were less enjoyable (very impersonal and slightly creepy seemed the non-human elements). It shares some similarities, in terms of an imminent-disaster-resulting-in-a-confrontation-of-or- return-to-faith kind of film, with Shyamalan's Signs. The latter being more successful in terms of plot, the former being much better acted by the lead.
Just Enjoyed: egg salad sandwich with caraway seeds added to the egg salad. I don't know why I haven't tried this before, but it's a wonderful taste addition.
** Side note: is it just me, or does Robinson's John Ames (in Gilead) have a James Stewart feel?
Saturday, 4 July, 2009
Reading John Milton's Paradise Regained on a rainy Saturday afternoon. An excerpt (about glory/praise and its worth):
For what is glory but the blaze of fame, The people's praise, if always praise unmixed? And what the people but a herd confused, A miscellaneous rabble, who extol Things vulgar, and, well weighed, scarce worth the praise? They praise and they admire they know not what, And know not whom, but as one leads the other; And what delight to be by such extolled, To live upon their tongues, and be their talk?
Friday, 3 July, 2009
It's interesting that as I was reading Marcel Theroux's Far North, I was also just finishing Gilead by Marilynne Robinson (see here, Compulsive Overreader's site, for a great review of Gilead). There are so many similarities between the two novels. No, really. Both feature first person perspectives (rather unconventional perspectives at that), a wandering in the wilderness (Biblical references abound), and a need to explain their own respective worlds to someone else. Granted, the voices are quite different, but the need to reach some kind of resolution, to pass on something, to make sense of it all informs both narratives.
What I enjoyed about Gilead is a lot. The first half of the book dragged a bit for me because I found the narrator cagey, restrained (though gentle) in a way that was initially off-putting, but as the novel progressed and expanded, so did my affection for Reverend John Ames. While the other characters surrounding Ames remain shadowy (an interesting effect considering it is Ames who is not long for this world), the Reverend just compels attention. His story, sketchy at times, rambling here and there at others, is punctuated by questions, theological musings, and snippets of profound wisdom. We are let in on his memories of his father and grandfather (both reverends) and his respect for and discomfort with both.
Of his father, and the limitations of the narrative voice:
That biscuit ashy from my father's charred hand. It all means more than I can tell you. So you must not judge what I know by what I find words for. If I could only give you what my father gave me. No, what the Lord has given me and must also give you. But I hope you will put yourself in the way of the gift. I am not speaking here of the ministry as such, as I have said.
Of his grandfather:
I believe that the old man did indeed have far too narrow an idea of what a vision might be. He may, so to speak, have been too dazzled by the great light of his experience to realize that an impressive sun shines on us all. Perhaps that is the one thing I wish to tell you. Sometimes the visionary aspect of any particular day comes to you in the memory of it, or it opens to you over time. For example, whenever I take a child into my arms to be baptized, I am, so to speak, comprehended in the experience more fully, having seen more of life, knowing better what it means to affirm the sacredness of the human creature. I believe there are visions that come to us only in memory, in retrospect. That's the pulpit speaking, but it's telling the truth.
When the renegade Jack, his godson and namesake, returns to Gilead the narrative increases in tension, but it also increases the various moments of insight . . . into what it is to forgive, what it means to covet, what kind of power accompanies a blessing. The weaknesses in us all.
Gorgeous writing that is both dreamlike yet tangible at the same time. I felt like I'd been visiting a real town, and knew and loved John Ames by the end of the novel. And I can now add another character to the short list of worthy literary fathers. Up til now I could only think of Atticus Finch in To Kill A Mockingbird by Harper Lee. Now there is also John Ames.
A moving story for those who aren't put off by novels with a spiritual/religious aspect. And for those who are this novel might prove the exception.
A few more excerpts:
I believe I have tried never to say anything Edward [his nonbelieving brother] would have found callow or naive. T hat constraint has been useful to me, in my opinion. It may be a form of defensiveness, but I hope it has at least been useful on balance. There is a tendency among some religious people even to invite ridicule and to bring down on themselves an intellectual contempt which seems to me in some cases justified. Nevertheless, I would advice you against defensiveness on principle. It precludes the best eventualities along with the worst. At the most basic level, it expresses a lack of faith.
And more on defensiveness: "nothing true can be said of God from a posture of defense."
And, finally, this:
In every important way way we are such secrets from each other, and I do believe that there is a separate language in each of us, also a separate aesthetics and a separate jurisprudence. Every single one of us is a little civilization built on the ruins of any number of preceding civilizations, but with our own variant notions of what is beautiful and what is acceptable -- which, I hasten to add, we generally do not satisfy and by which we struggle to live. We take fortuitous resemblances among us to be actual likeness, because those around us have also fallen heir to the same customs, trade in the same coin, acknowledge, more or less, the same notions of decency and sanity. But all that really just allows us to coexist with the inviolable, untraversable, and utterly vast spaces between us.
So much to think about . . .
Thursday, 2 July, 2009
What a riveting story! I literally could not stop reading this novel. I carried it around with me on errands just in case I had a few moments of waiting here and there so I could read on, read more about the perfectly named Makepeace.
Marcel Theroux's Far North is just, simply, a must read kind of book. Set in a dystopian future (the results of antecedent ideals gone wrong . . . and don't they always?), the first person narration take us on a journey from the ghost-town Evangeline in what used to be Siberia to an abandoned metropolis within which lurks both disease and hope. Without revealing too many details of plot and character, I can say that Makepeace is a gem of a creation. This character, whose voice never falters in terms of believability, shines in this genre-busting, gender role-bending novel of defeated expectations and unexpected possible futures.
Told in a spare style (Makepeace's narrative voice is compelling), the action begins at Evangeline with the arrival of Ping, a misused, runaway slave. What we discover about Makepeace, about the lonely, bare-existence reality that is life at Evangeline (and the North itself) is telling, about Makepeace, but also about human interaction, what it means to believe and hope and why we do it. And the revelations and insights only get more fascinating as the narrative progresses.
There are ancillary characters with punch, characters we don't meet directly, who exist in the memory of Makepeace, that spring brilliantly to life. Makepeace's father, Reverend Boathwaite, Shamsudin. All skillfully drawn but in that same spare voice of Makepeace's. Brilliant story-telling on the part of Theroux, that's for sure.
The sparse inner and outer world of those left in the aftermath of human excess is certainly thought-provoking. This is a novel that not only entertains (really, a gripping read), but also informs, projecting current trends to their logical conclusion and showing us a future informed by that bare, bleak conclusion. And yet, at the same time, it is not a hopeless future. There is human resilience and humility in the face of the unknown here, too.
This is a timely tale set in a unique place and peopled with unforgettable characters. Part mystery, part Western, with a little bit of sci-fi thrown in, this dystopian novel deals with questions of religion, politics, and the power that goes with ideas. It has it all and knows what to do with it. Can't recommend it enough!
An excerpt:
The world has shrunk to simple facts, and the simpler the people, the better they cope. My father spoke six languages but he couldn't hammer a nail straight. He could speak with presidents and governments, when there were such things, on matters of law. He was one of those who negotiated the grant of land that became our home. He had yards and yards of words to dress up his vision of what our life should be, but he couldn't so much as make a fist when the time came to defend it. He spoke constantly of bringing good to the world, but I don't think the good he brought would cover a penny piece. It takes no words to do good.
Wednesday, 1 July, 2009
Will it rain? Will it not? Sun or clouds? Historically, this is usually a foggy and/or rainy day around these parts. Either way, the company (family) is good, the food smells delicious (vegetarian homemade burgers* and potato salad), and the day is just bursting with memories made and in the making. And if the roses don't mind a little rain or cloud crowd, why should I?
Happy Canada Day to all!
* Side note/recipe: we've decided to do simple burgers this year. We purchased some vegetarian ground round(Yves), combined it with tomato soup, some garlic and cheese croutons (crushed), two egg whites (large), and then mixed it all up into a gooey mess. Once fried in some olive oil and topped with mozzarella cheese it tastes heavenly.
