- Currently Listening To: Haydn's Oxford Symphony.
- Recently Found Myself Embroiled In: a flurry of 19th c. reading. Completing Treasure Island (now I want to read the Delderfield prequal, The Adventures of Ben Gunn), The House of the Seven Gables, The Mystery of Edwin Drood, and The Woman In White, I remembered once again why I love this time period in literature so much. They really knew how to spin a good tale! I particularly loved The Mystery of Edwin Drood. Even though he left it unfinished, this may turn out to be my favourite Dickens novel. I was sad when I reached the end, and frustrated, of course, because I was completely wrapped up in Rosa and Mr. Grewgious and Dick Datchery. And the mystery! I'd initially decided to read it because I'd been hearing good things about Dan Simmons' Drood and wanted to first read the Dickens novel it references before diving into the Simmons. I'm so glad I did. It was great fun!
- Recently Watched and Enjoyed: Two very different films. And the first may be a surprise: Cop Out. What with the script not having been written by Smith, Tracy Morgan being one of the main actors (not a Morgan fan, am I), and the movie getting rather negative reviews (to say the least), I figured this would be a disappointing viewing at best, possibly a collosal waste of time. Perhaps it was all due to low expectations, but I found myself enjoying the tongue-in-cheek 'homage' to cop films that is Cop Out. And Bruce Willis is (almost) always reliably diverting. The film goodnaturedly sends up all the ridiculous cliches that go along with a buddy-cop film. Even including the oh-so-80s soundtrack. But a glorious film of sound, image, and meaning it's not. (It's no Hot Fuzz, for example). The second film I found myself enjoing is visually gripping, as well as tragic, dramatic, and splendidly acted. The Warlords is an epic kind of film which was satisfying in the way a good, tragic Russian novel is satisfying. Jet Li does, as always, a wonderful job at everything required for a well-acted, well-written, well-choreographed action film. Lots of interesting fighting choreography, but not at the cost of story. Loved it!
- Curently Reading: I've started in on Drood by Dan Simmons, but I will probably be at it for quite awhile. Nearly 800 pp . . . hoping those are 800 gloriously written pages. I'm also dipping into The Sea, The Sea by Iris Murdoch every now and again. This is the first Murdoch I've tried.
- Currently Looking Forward To: some no-bake, creamy cheesecake with fresh raspberries (picked by Mr. Inkslinger from our own bushes in the backyard).
Discouraging. That's what I'd answer if anyone asked me for my impression of Margaret Atwood's The Robber Bride. Gothic.* Over-the-top, dark, filled with mysterious happenings and quasi-supernatural doings (Charis and her healing grandmother, for example), and not a little satirical.
I found myself becoming bogged down about halfway through. Not because Atwood is boring, but because the style and subject are discouraging. How can good writing ever be discouraging, you ask? Good question. Answer? I've no idea. But I found it discouraging nonetheless. Perhaps it's just the looking at the dark side of humanity that does it (with or without a dollop of humour/satire or no satire). More likely it's the characters, these three women who are strangely embarrassing as women. Although I'm not really sure I know what I mean by that . . . that's just the impression I had while reading (I guess you could say I didn't really warm to any of the three main characters).
Don't get me wrong. This is an engrossing, involving, obsessing read. Three women (Tony, Roz, and Charis) are united by their past with another woman (Zenia) who has, supposedly, shuffled off this mortal coil. When Zenia shows up at their lunchtime spot alive, the narrative follows each of the three women in turn as she reflects about her own past and how that past intersects with Zenia . . . and we discover what each decides to do with her now. We get inside the heads of all three -- Tony, Charis, Roz -- but Zenia's thoughts remain, like most things about her, outside our ken. Duplicitous, possibly evil, man-stealing, elusive Zenia. It's all kind of like Sex and the City on steriods.
All three women have roots in WWII, all three women have issues with their parents, and all three women have man troubles. Serious man troubles. As in, their men are troubled and trouble them. Mostly, seemingly, due to Zenia. As Tony muses, it's like Zenia holds them in thrall. Interesting, since the men, ultimately, hardly matter at all.
This novel is kind of like a fairy tale for feminists (not the Disney kind of fairy tale, by any means, but the authentic fairy tales that are filled with horror and pain and misery, etc, like those of the Brothers Grimm) with Zenia as the evil witch making foul-smelling soup out of other women's lives. But the narrative also toys with female archetypes -- the crone, the mother, the handmaiden, the man-eater, etc. -- highlighting, in the process, female expectations of other women as well as the expectations women place on themselves.
Ultimately, I appreciated it, I respected the story-telling craft involved, and I enjoy books that play around with gender norms and expectations . . . but I can't say I loved it.
*I suppose the technical term is Southern Ontario Gothic.
Sure enough, summer reading has meandered its lazy way into the land of children's lit/books. After reading A Little Princess -- and having a marvellous time in the process -- I moved on to take a stab at some even younger fare.
I hadn't read any Thornton W. Burgess tales in such a long time. Tales involving talking critters were rather big hits with my younger self (like the Beatrix Potter tales, She Was Nice to Mice, the Miss Bianca books, The Chronicles of Narnia, The Wind in the Willows). I remembered having Burgess stories read to me before bedtime by my older sister when I was a small child, but I could remember very little about the stories themselves. So I started in on the first of his books I encountered way back then, The Adventures of Peter Cottontail, which centres around a young rabbit who, among other things, is forced to outwit the wily machinations of a rather hungry fox.
Peter's misplaced pride, his altercations with Reddy Fox, and his misunderstanding about what various creatures do during the winter, still provide a chuckle now and then (although not the alternating reactions of horror and delight I experienced as a child), and I noticed that the critters are terribly fond of playing (somewhat nasty) tricks on one another. I think the story raises some interesting questions about what friendship means -- the adventures are rife with complications resulting from duplicity and betrayal -- and these Burgess stories always seem to end good-naturedly. There just isn't enough good-natured anything, it seems, is there? When you come across it, relish it!
For my next 'young' read, I think I'm going to try a classic I have never read . . . Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson. Somehow, I missed reading this when I was younger. I did read (and reread), and love, Kidnapped, though. Now I'm looking forward to experiencing another classic (if a bit late).
What I like about this collection is . . . well . . . just about everything. Divided into three sections -- Alien, Correspondent, and Birthplace -- Antony Di Nardo's book of poems is a treasure of a poetry trove. The first section is minutely observant, relentlessly immediate, and undeniably relevant -- connecting the various pasts with the now of the reader. This section is alive with a traveller's observations, the poet as outsider, the poet as travelling voyeur. Morocco, Beirut, temples and Fred Astaire, no possible (or impossible) image is overlooked. And so beautiful are some of the lines (especially those in the first poems of the Alien section) that at times one forgets to pay attention to specific words and has to go back, read again, appreciate the details. These are largely laments for war, loss, the fear of the inevitable changes in the wind.
The second section is more contemplative, or, at least, contains more commentary. But that doesn't mean the lines don't sing. "Dear Mahmoud", for example, is a quick-weft comment on composition in context, and "Every Note Is Equal" an image-rich poem about watching the Grammy Awards. Di Nardo has a talent for connecting the narrative line to life, and making it memorable.
In the third section, Birthplace, the poems steep slowly while increasing the intimacy factor. There is much mention of ruby (as colour and name), and women appear in various states of reflection. Sadness lingers, though time doesn't, and the end feels like a return.
Maintained throughout is a witty wordplay that pleases. But these are, often, grim poems for all their play with language. Serious poetry in theme and execution. Di Nardo's expert use of line break and rhythm between lines, the pauses of sound and meaning, are all as significant as they need to be.
I'm so glad I got the chance to read this, because it's going on my list of favourites for this year.
*Many, many thanks to Brick Books for the review copy!
Where have I been . . . and why have I never participated in this before? Thanks to this interesting post at the lovely blog The Indextrious Reader, I am now excitedly signing up for the following (even if I am a tad late to the party, as usual):
The Book Mine Set hosts this challenge, evidently, so for more details you should scoot on over there and read up (it's an interesting blog to check out even without the added temptation of a delicious reading challenge). The basics are, however, that participants read a minimum of 13 Canadian books over the year (the challenge year begins on July 1 -- Canada Day -- so there's still plenty o' time to get in lots of good reading) and then review them online. And each participant gets to decide which author(s), genre(s), etc he or she is going to read for the challenge. Nice.
This should be fun! I'm always on the look-out for more good Canadian content to add to my reading shelf.
Now, what should I base my reading list around? Not theme, no, because that would be too limiting. Region? Specific author? How about just new-to-me reads? Great examples of CanLit I've just never gotten around to? Maybe I'll go completely random and pounce on whatever looks interesting at each moment of choice. But I do so like lists . . .
Maybe I'll start with the Canadian books already on my TBR shelf. And include some that are on my want-to-read list. To that end, I guess I'll start with these:
1. Alien, Correspondent by Antony Di Nardo. A book of poetry that promises to be (and, since I've started in on the first few poems, is) very good indeed.
2. The Divine Ryans by Wayne Johnston. This has been languishing on my shelf since the aforeposted mention of the library sale in May. It needs a good reading.
3. A Natural History by Keith Oatley. Same as above.
4. The Robber Bride by Margaret Atwood. I would be embarrassed if you knew how long this one has been languishing on that TBR shelf.
5. The Cellist of Sarajevo by Steven Galloway. I've heard such good things about this novel, but have hesitated to dive right in because it's supposedly an intense read and I keep waiting for a good time for an intense read . . .
6. For and Against by Sharon McCartney. Another book of poetry I've been meaning to get around to finishing. This is as good an excuse as any, isn't it?
7. Curiosity by Joan Thomas. Can't wait to read this one!
8. The Manticore by Robertson Davies. Love, love, love Davies. Having already finished Fifth Business, it just makes sense to start in on the next in the Deptford Trilogy.
I think that'll serve for a beginning . . . Good reading ahead!
Addition Upon Reflection (or, rather, upon noticing it on my TBR shelf after writing the above):
9. Tigana by Guy Gavriel Kay. I purchased this on a recommendation from the marvellous Compulsive Overreader and then promptly, unceremoniously, forgot I'd purchased it. *sigh* You know you've too many books on the TBR shelf when . . . But I am looking forward to reading it (now that I've remembered it) because I've absolutely loved all the Gavriel Kay I've read so far.
It must be well over twenty years since I first read A Little Princess. As a youngster, it was a favourite of mine, but as time went on, it didn't seem to occupy my memory and imagination quite as much as The Secret Garden. Rereading A Little Princess by Frances Hodgson Burnett as an adult is quite a lovely experience. The novel is filled with bits of prose that exhibit particular, and often pretty, ways of seeing the world. The familiar "Magic" that Hodgson Burnett employs in The Secret Garden is there ("I asked my Magic, and it told me to go and look"), as is the philosophy of goodness coming back to reward goodness.
A moral-strewn tale to be sure (the bad get their comeuppance, the good are rewarded accordingly), but there's mercy to be had, and a lot of grey area over which to spread grace. And Hodgson Burnett gives Sara Crewe such an endearing character, as well as not a few intriguing thoughts: "One of her favorite fancies was that on 'the outside,' as she called it, thoughts were waiting for people to call them. Becky had seen her stand and wait many a time before, and knew that in a few seconds she would uncover an enlightened, laughing face."
I'd forgotten all about Sara's ability to pretend a different reality to ameliorate the poverty she finds herself reduced to. This is reminiscent of the 'glad game' in Pollyana, I suppose (or, given the publication dates, vice versa). And I enjoyed the emphasis on the power of story itself: "It is a story,' said Sara. "Everything's a story. You are a story --- I am a story. Miss Minchin is a story."
Imagination as a means of understanding the situations of others is highlighted (which is a useful moral in a children's novel). Sara uses her imagination to become friends with a rat, putting herself in its place. I'd also forgotten all about poor Melchisedec (the rat) and his noisy family. I had not forgotten the magnificent Ram Dass, however. I love how his friendship and concern are, ultimately, catalysts for the restoration of her rights (as well as the means by which she is cared for until that time). It's very much a pro-outsider kind of narrative (if, by inside, one means 19th c English society . . . and I'm sure there is a negative, postcolonial approach one might take, but I don't think it would be ultimately justified by the complex rendering of both Ram Dass and Miss Crewe).
And then there's this:
How is it that animals understand things I do not know, but it is certain that they do understand. Perhaps there is a language which is not made of words and everything in the world understands it. Perhaps there is a soul hidden in everything and it can always speak, without even making a sound, to another soul.
A nostalgic read that turned into something quite lovely and thought-provoking.
Summer reading, work reading, project reading . . . intersecting, overlapping, colliding. It's going to be a convoluted week in ye olde office. I've been steeping in the Holmes/Russell experience, imbibing a bit of Wilkie Collins on the side (he's a good pairing for Arthur Conan Doyle), picking at a bit of Tom Stoppard here and there (The Coast of Utopia trilogy), sampling a bit of my childhood (rereading Hodgson Burnett's A Little Princess for the first time in almost thirty years), and, subsequently, getting oh-so-little writing accomplished.
But it's summer, the roses are drooping only slightly in the humidity , the blue jays are flapping back and forth from birch to birch -- it's a good time to be lazy and read, read, read.
A few quotes I'm jotting down while I indulge:
From Sara Crewe (A Little Princess) . . . "stories belong to everybody."
From Stankevich (a character in Stoppard's Voyage: The Coast of Utopia Part I) . . . "Everything now depends on artists and philosophers. Great artists to express what can't be explained, philosophers to explain it!"
And from Belinsky (another character from the aforementioned) . . . "Don't you bother with reading, Katya, words just lead you on. They arrange themselves every which way with no can to carry for the promises they can't keep, and off you go!"
And from Martel's Beatrice and Virgil . . . "This was a room full of adjectives, like a Victorian novel."
First off, let me say how much I loved Life of Pi by Yann Martel. Read in those far-off pre-blogging days, I remember closing the cover on the last page and thinking it was definitely one of those knock-you-off-your-feet kind of novels. I no longer have my copy because I did what I rarely do with books, I gave it away to a loved friend to experience. It was just too good not to share (even if I do love hoarding good books in my own little library).
Needless to say, I've been wanting to take a look at Martel's new novel-like thing, Beatrice & Virgil. This week, the chance came and I grabbed it. It wasn't at all what I'd expected (though I've no idea what I was expecting), but I found myself entirely absorbed by Henry (the protagonist . . . for lack of a better word) and his strange taxidermist.
Just a quick synopsis: Henry, a successful writer, is floundering in the midst of misunderstandings about his new manuscript (a new kind of book about the Holocaust). He chucks the whole thing and goes abroad with his wife. He is then sent a letter in which a copy of a Flaubert short story involving the slaughter of animals is paired with a short section of a play in which two characters, Beatrice and Virgil, discuss the attributes of a pear. Intrigued, Henry seeks out the sender (a taxidermist) and is introduced to the inspiration for Beatrice and Virgil, a mounted donkey and howler monkey in the taxidermist's shop. Some humour and horror follows.
I don't want to reveal too much about the story (for those of you who haven't sampled its pages yet), because it just unfolds so well, paced just right to involve, surprise, and transform. Definitely a must read book!! Not cheerful, by any means, but integral.
I've had affection and respect for Steve McOrmond's poetry since Lean Days (the fourth section of the aforementioned contains poems centring on Glenn Gould that are just staggeringly good) so it was with much anticipation that I opened the pages of his latest collection, The Good News About Armageddon. And I wasn't disappointed.
As the title suggests, this collection explores the collision of two beliefs taken from the realm of Christianity, the Good News of salvation (the poem from which the collection takes its name begins with a "Young woman delivering the word / door to door") and the ultimate destruction of humanity, specifically the wicked portions of humanity. Reactions to that dual message of hope and terror are at the root of these observations, or, at least, they take this seeming paradoxical conflation as a starting point.
It is a rather cynical, sometimes funny, sometimes tender, exploration along a dark theme. The poems contain a good deal of (rather dark) insights about humanity, but they're infused with enough humour that one never feels caught in a maelstrom of dark thoughts (have I mentioned dark?); one can't despair while reading "The Hypochondriac Flies to Mexico," for example. And, in the end, dark or not, it's just great poetry.
From the first poem, "Advisory," which provides us with a witty parody of t.v. and film censor warnings, and through to the last line of the last poem, "Envoi," McOrmond captivates with tone and image (as good poets are wont to do). Biting, at times, sarcastic, there are moments that feel like a poetic lesson in contemporary apathy. But McOrmond's pithy, sometimes aphoristic, approach compels throughout.
There are lines wonderfully apt ("the jetty / sliding past us like a film strip"), images of delightfully congruous incongruity ("Cold, bone's / tuning fork"), fits of wisdom and folly ("Accustomed to instant gratification, / we wanted our apocalypse now"), telling observations ("Now the monsters / are out of the closet and the wolves // wear wolves' clothing"), and often the speaker's voice is undeniably callous. The eyes we're looking through in this collection are keeping their distance, voices measuring themselves against futility. But like the musicians playing away while the boat sinks, these poems keep their collective chin up to the end.
There are poems that explore a variety of end-time scenarios. Poems with sections partitioned in quick shots. Poems that make use of McOrmond's versatility with voice. Poems that inevitably occupy one's thoughts long after the last page turns.
Disturbing, humorous, well-crafted, a fascinating collection.
* Much thanks to Brick Books for the review copy!!
Whether Canadian or not, the beginning of July is a good time for a celebration. Sunlight, strawberries, laughter with friends and family. And no snowstorms in sight! Any excuse to stop and smell the roses is a good excuse.
So, to that end, here's hoping you find it a lovely day filled with love, good food, and great reading.
