Recent Reads Worth Mentioning

You wouldn't think staying up til the wee hours while enduring an annoying sinus headache would lead to a positive reading experience, but, as Madeleine L'Engle pointed out in one of her books (I believe it was Walking on Water), pain is oddly more endurable when one is caught up in a good story (though I suppose the Advil didn't hurt, either.)

And it really was a good story. I read til I turned the last page of Guy Gavriel Kay's Ysabel, closed the book, and immediately wished for more. And then I remembered that there are a good many more Gavriel Kay novels awaiting! (a stop at the bookstore is scheduled for this afternoon, naturally. :). Ysabel is the second novel of his that I've tried (after loving the recently released Under Heaven), and, while it wasn't quite as seamless and enjoyable as Under Heaven, Ysabel certainly held my attention and accessed my emotions as I gripped the book spine, wondering if young Ned Marriner would be able to solve the riddle of the ancient story he'd stumbled into in time to save himself, his family, and his friends. Fun read!*

The other novel I just finished and enjoyed immensely is Sam Eastland's Eye of the Red Tsar. As I've mentioned in the past, I find the tragic end of the last tsar of Russia compelling. It's one of those terribly unsettling historical events that I keep returning to, in fiction and nonfiction, and wondering about.

What Eastland does in Eye of the Red Tsar is pick up the story some years after the assassination (although there are flashbacks to the protagonist's time with the tsar), and the narrative follows the late Tsar's trusted Inspector Pekkala, now a recently released prisoner, as he is commissioned by Stalin to discover what really happened at the House of Special Purpose in 1918. Or so Pekkala is told.

This is a suspense novel with some interesting twists, and with something to say about the historical context in which it is set. Entertaining, at the very least, but since Eastland also depicts Pekkala as the kind of upstanding man one would want on his/her side, the changes to this character, the choices he must make, make the novel much more than just entertaining.*

* Inkblot Notes:

Novel and Genre: Ysabel by Guy Gavriel Kay, fantasy.
Inkblots: 6.8

Novel and Genre: Eye of the Red Tsar by Sam Eastland, mystery/suspense.
Inkblots: 7

While the birthday viewing of Robin Hood was just a tad underwhelming, I have to say I enjoyed the big screen view of England. And that's about all I should say about that (I'm resisting the urge to go into a lengthy rant about good story editing, film or novel, and the current lack of same in many contemporary efforts).

Case in point: Twilight by Stephenie Meyer. I actually rather enjoyed this novel (didn't think I would) and only found myself becoming annoyed when extraneous bits of Edward-mooning by Bella occurred (though they were repeated occurrences). It struck me that the only thing lying between it being an enjoyable read and a great read was some extra editing to snip off some of the less than useful narrative side-bars or repetitions. And that's something, considering this was marketed towards younger readers (not that that makes them any less demanding, though).

But I digress, really, because what I'm thinking about as I read the series is as follows:

It strikes me (so far) that some of the complaints and praise about morality in Twilight are rather missing the mark (at least the complaints I've seen). It isn't what Bella and Edward do or don't do (regarding sex, that is), it's the nature of love that is being portrayed that makes the difference, and is the most interesting and the most frustrating aspect of the novel.

All individual human endeavour is either moving towards or moving away from Truth, as far as I can figure, and that's the standard by which the morality of the work should be judged (the literary quality, however, is another argument). So far, I'm noticing the depiction of love in Twilight is fittingly complex. There are suggestions of physical desire on the part of both characters -- attraction based on appearance -- but it is in the similarities and differences of mind that the attraction becomes truly complex and authentic. Bella is aware of feelings of hypnoses or magnetism when it comes to Edward (evidently he is vaguely aware of this as a side-effect of his attract-the-prey powers related to being a vampire). The attraction is both part of their love and a reaction that is separate from it. The knowledge of this disparity speaks to the health of Bella's mind, if anything. But I'm still reading and have only just finished the first of the series . . . I have heard complaints that Bella becomes subsumed in Edward as the story progresses. Perhaps Meyer is exploring that as a part of the tricky balancing act of romantic love (and, as aforementioned, I did find the repetition of Edward-the-glorious-looking rather tedious after awhile . . . it felt very immature even though the narrator is a teenager).

Edward being both what one would consider a 'fallen'/'evil'/'damned' creature as well as behaving in ways that suggest his goodness is complicated because the concept of vampire carries a lot of baggage in western philosophy (not to mention eastern philosophy) and perhaps that is where the novel becomes the most controversial. In terms of the love between Bella and Edward, however, it strikes me as a fitting metaphor that love can be both redemptive and potentially destructive. All of us who have felt deep, meaningful love have been able to see the flickers of both in ourselves, in others. The loss of self in the object of love, the intensity, the contradictory selfless and selfish impulses that manifest. Love is a potent, potent thing. And it is not always safe.

Also, in vampire tales the version of sexual interaction conjured up is usually (if not always) referring to the lust side of love (if lust can be called a side of love). Meyer does not shy away from this aspect, really. There is a goodly amount of lust between Bella and Edward, in my opinion, but it is not what we're used to seeing vampire lust depicted as and that is largely due to the emphasis on choice that lies behind the Cullen 'vegetarianism'. I'm curious about what Meyer does with this aspect in the other novels.

Obviously these novels have finally caught my attention, that's for sure. Twilight wasn't nearly as bad as I'd feared (given all the panting and cooing on the part of teenage girls that I've been witnessing lately). In fact, I managed to fit in a viewing of the Twilight film the weekend before last. The least said about that the better, however. I can (somewhat) understand the oohing and ahhing that occurs over Robert Pattinson (who plays Edward), but I was generally disappointed with the film and thought it did a certain injustice to the book . . . which was far more interesting and complex. The book told the better story.

Novel and Genre: Twilight by Stephenie Meyer, fantasy (young readers/teens).
Inkblots: 6.5

While the butterflies float by outside the window, and the blue jays flicker back and forth between the fully leafed trees, the family and I are enjoying Victoria Day weekend with bookish conversation, salads (potato, of course), cake (decorated within an inch of its young and transitory life), and, if plans unfold as they should, fireworks on the beach this evening! Let summer commence, I say.

Here's wishing you all a Happy Victoria Day tomorrow!

And, in anticipation of this evening's more modest entertainment, some Victoria Day firework footage from Ontario:

On Reviewing and Inkblotting

While lazing about this past week with books and birthday cake, roaming about the blogosphere (one gets so many good ideas from other book bloggers), it occurred to me that my book posts might need a more specific rating system than 'interesting' or 'good' read. Perhaps a loose rating system with one inkblot indicating barely passable and ten inkblots indicating virtual prose (or poetry) perfection?*

I want to distinguish between genres, too, and talk about the genre-busting novels that break the bonds of expectation . . .

Like Alan Bradley's Flavia de Luce mystery series which begins with The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie and continues in The Weed that Strings the Hangman's Bag (I've just finished the latter and found it be so much fun!!). While not literature (literature being the apex of what one can expect of a novel . . . though this is, admittedly, not always achieved), Bradley's series defies expectation by producing a fully-realized protagonist who is not only a child, but a smart-mouthed, manipulative, utterly, endearingly clever child who solves cases around the edges of police investigations in her small village. Totally unbelievable as a premise, really, and yet once immersed in the story, Bradley magically transports the reader to a place where this is obviously what should and does happen. The world of Flavia de Luce, then, becomes its own reality, as a good novel always should.

For that achievement alone, the inkblots should be forthcoming in abundance. But then there are the witticisms, and the laugh-out-loud moments when Flavia makes a sarcastic observation (though not always aloud).

A few excerpts:

"'You are unreliable, Flavia,' he said. 'Utterly unreliable.'

Of course I was! It was one of the things I loved most about myself."

and . . .

"I remembered that Beethoven's symphonies had sometimes been given names: the Eroica, the Pastorale, and so forth. They should have called this one the Vampire, because it simply refused to lie down and die."

The latter quote being forgivable only because Flavia has stated elsewhere that she really does love Beethoven.

And then there's the moment when an ex-prisoner of war observes dryly that "You English are all such perfect gentleman -- even the ladies!" and Flavia's aunt smiles at him in approval. Such great characters . . . eccentric yet believable.

As for my experimental attempt at ratings . . . I'll try it with this one (let me know what you think).

Novel and genre: The Weed that Strings the Hangman's Bag by Alan Bradley, genre-busting mystery.
Inkblots (from 1 - 10): 7 (where successful literature, like Anna Karenina or A.S. Byatt's Possession, would receive an 8.5 to a perfect 10 and unsuccessful less-than-worthy reads would receive a 1 or 2 . . . although, to be honest, I don't usually write reviews of novels I think are complete wastes of my reading time).


*Note: inkblots (as opposed to stars or other symbols) seems appropriate for someone who reads while making scribbles in the margins (or notes in a journal . . . the more inkblots, the less contained the excitement while jotting down notes . . . if you see what I mean).

Currently and Recently . . .

. . . on vacation: The posting might be a little sparse this week due to a birthday holiday/vacation with Mr. Inkslinger. I'll be aided and abetted in this holidaying mood by the new Kindle he bought for an advanced birthday present. I've finally entered the world of ereaders, but, while I truly do love the Kindle with its ease of book-downloading and environmental cleanliness, I'm still firmly committed to the book as object. I have a feeling the Kindle will serve best as a kind of 'let's see if this is the kind of book I want to add to my personal library' kind of device (for me, that is).

. . . listening to: Allen Toussaint on Elvis Costello's Spectacle series.

. . . enjoyed: 'Tis the season of strawberry shortcake at casa Inkslinger and today saw cream and berries sitting in delicious prodigality on top of a fluffy white cake . . . but only briefly. It was consumed in the blink of an eye.

. . . watched (and was very underwhelmed by): Twilight (see below).

. . . read and tentatively enjoyed: Twilight by Stephenie Meyer. I was pleasantly surprised by the novel and even decided to watch the film. The latter was a bad idea. It felt . . . awkward. Very awkward. And unintentionally hilarious at times. More to come on Twilight the novel, though.

. . . read and enjoyed immensely: The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie. An 11 yr old who is obsessed with chemistry (specifically poisons) and a mysterious death in the garden?!? What's not to like? Alan Bradley does such a wonderful job of making his protagonist come to life with all her believable eccentricities! I found I just couldn't put the book down. Loved it. The next instalment of Flavia de Luce mysteries (The Weed that Strings the Hangman's Bag) was the first book I downloaded to my Kindle.

. . . looking forward to: The family is piling into my little blue car and heading out to see Robin Hood for my birthday tomorrow night. My sister (who is a rather ardent Russell Crowe fan) thought it would be a great way to celebrate, and I think I might actually agree with her. I'm interested to see what Ridley Scott does with the Robin Hood legend since, like the Arthurian, it has been subjected to all kinds of tragic film renditions over the years (I can't even begin to list all the things wrong with the Kevin Costner attempt). Tentative excitement reigns.

From George Eliot's Romola:

Love does not aim simply at the conscious good of the beloved object: it is not satisfied without perfect loyalty of heart; it aims at its own completeness.

Sea and Poetry

Memories of a weekend afternoon coasting . . . we took in some sea air, sat in comfortable silence watching the waves lap the stony beach. Communion is a lovely word, isn't it?

As if the Sea should part by Emily Dickinson

As if the Sea should part
And show a further Sea --
And that -- a further -- and the Three
But a presumption be --

Of Periods of Seas --
Unvisited of Shores --
Themselves the Verge of Seas to be --
Eternity -- is Those --

What a great character is Alan Bradley's Flavia de Luce!! I'm in the midst of The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie and find myself enjoying it immensely, mostly due to the aforementioned narrator. A wonderful invention, she needs to go right up there on the list of fiction's most precocious, yet strangely believable (and mostly likable) child protagonists . . . combine Anne Shirley's vocabulary and imagination with Briony Tallis's heartlessness and self-focus, add a dash of Scout Finch's inexhaustible curiosity and scrappiness, a snippet of Mary Lennox's initial sourness and you're just about there.

The other night I was reading the part where Flavia talks about her favourite bit of music (the toccata from Pietro Domenico Paradisi's Sonata in A Major) and just had to look it up:



But now . . . back to more reading . . .

Friday's rising sun found a wide-awake Inkslinger, ready to brave the hordes at the yearly Library Sale . . . and braving the hordes was certainly required. Eager book lovers intent on finding new reads can be an intimidating bunch.

And new reads (and old reads that I wanted to read again) were found. To whit:

A Natural History by Keith Oatley. Having just read and enjoyed his new novel (with some reservations in terms of ambitious concepts that are not fully fleshed out in the narrative), Therefore Choose, I thought I'd give a previous novel a try.

The Wordy Shipmates by Sarah Vowell. Despite hearing conflicting impressions of this book, I've been wanting to read it since I saw her talking about it on The Daily Show some time ago (a few years, I believe). Now I can read it at my leisure.

Lean-To by Tonja Gunvaldsen Klaasen. Since it recently beat out what I considered the best book of poetry published in the last couple of years (Anne Compton's Asking Questions Indoors and Out) to win the Atlantic Poetry Prize, I thought I'd give it another go.

Silver Salts by Mark Blagrave. I borrowed this book, read it, loved it, and have wanted to purchase a copy for my own personal library. It's a keeper.

Love, Again by Doris Lessing. Another step on the ladder of Doris Lessing reads (I've liked everything of hers I've read so far, to a greater or lesser extent).

The Divine Ryans by Wayne Johnston. Enjoyed his Colony of Unrequited Dreams so thought this would be a low-risk try.

Thornyhold by Mary Stewart. I haven't read this book in probably fifteen years . . . time to give it a re-read.

My Cousin Rachel by Daphne Du Maurier. I've not read this one. So I must!

Currently and Recently . . .

. . . listening to: The Rolling Stones (it's been that kind of week).

. . . finished reading: Edith Wharton's Glimpses of the Moon. Another novel on the theme of social dyspepsia, Wharton focuses on the somewhat comedic (often threatening to spill over towards the tragic) romantic adventures of Susy and Nick Lansing. Supposedly not one of her better novels, I still found this to be a great read. Contemplative and reflective at times, it captivated this reader. And the sympathy created for the transformation of Susy from intelligent sponge to female-of-integrity is very expertly done. She's not my favourite Wharton heroine, but she might make the top two (so far).

. . . watched (again): Stranger Than Fiction. Loved it as much as I did the first time (perhaps more). I'm now contemplating the watch's about-face in terms of narrative device. Fun stuff.

. . . looking forward to reading: Twilight by Stephenie Meyer. I've been reluctant to give this series a try (yes, it's my usual distrust of mass-driven trends), but after reading so many intelligent recommendations I decided to check it out of the library and see what all the fuss was about. (Aren't libraries wonderful for providing risk-free -- at least financially speaking -- reads?). We'll see what happens . . .

. . . enjoying again: the end clip from the aforementioned Stranger Than Fiction (a clip which makes more sense if you've seen the film, but which offers bits of wisdom even if you haven't):

Lest, dear reader(s), you think the waterfall adventuring was delayed by the aforementioned undertheweatherness . . . while our planned visit to a waterfall mentioned in Guitard's guide did not, alas, take place, Mr. Inkslinger and I still found brook-beauty and waterfall-fun aplenty when we went to visit the erstwhile home of his grandparents this past weekend (still owned by family).


While the sun played its familiar springtime now-you-see-me/now-you-don't game, much delight was taken in the (almost) bug-free, lily-accented environs of the brook he played and fished -- and frequently fell -- in when small.


The brook boasts several small waterfalls like this one. And it was a lovely afternoon with family as well!

Outdoors, the sky is making up its mind to stick to spring (even if it can't make up its mind to stick to sun); indoors, a cozy nest of a bed piled with books (for reading and writing) and felines beckons . . . it's been so quiet around these parts lately that I've not only been able to read without irritation, but I've been able to make some valuable writing headway. All despite the vagueness of mind that accompanies being a tad under the weather.

Books about to be indulged in:

Edith Wharton's Glimpses of the Moon
Ysabel by Guy Gavriel Kay

And I'm still working on the Kingsolver, Bradley, and Schlink mentioned earlier. I'm also in the midst of reading a very interesting book called Piers' Desire by Marianne Ackerman (set in Avignon and involving a writer, secretive pasts, and, well, the possibly redemptive qualities of desire).

And I came across this little youtube snippet of Ackerman talking about the book:




In (somewhat) unrelated news: I've also been busy envying Mr. Inkslinger's snazzy fountain pen (a Meisterstuck).* While I make do with the cheap and readily affordable, I can only dream of the days when my fingers will clasp the barrel of a Montblanc like this one, when I'll be able to write liquid, lucid, lovely prose with the gold nib, and . . . oh, okay, of course I'll get to use it, too! Here's hoping the liquid, lucid, lovely prose will follow.



* Note: the arrival of said pen to the Inkslinger domicile involved child-like glee and much ink geekery on the part of Mr. Inkslinger. You'd think he was obsessed with pens and gadgets and . . . oh, wait, he is. :)