August 14, 2007

Counting the steps to the door of your heart

There was an instant during “Distant Sun” where the whole world was perfect, and we were swaying, singing. The lullaby that is “Don’t Dream It’s Over”. Their new songs sounded just as good as the ones I know best, and I had to shut my eyes a few times. Crowded House was amazing, and I don’t think I ever appreciated what a live show could truly be. What an absolutely beautiful night.

Coming up is my review of The Raw Shark Texts, and it’s fortunate that I’ve had some time to attempt to get my head around it. Also a review of The Big Book of The Berenstain Bears. Find out what it is to be continuing the aquatic theme with a reread of Margaret Drabble’s The Sea Lady.

Short stories here in The Guardian. As one who gave up on The Bible at the part where Noah’s son finds him drunk and naked, the arguments for and against its readability hold interest for me. “Firstly, there’s the simple point that if the Bible really were the word of God, you’d think that He would be able to make it more interesting”. Jeffrey Eugenides on Middlesex in its second life.

“Do you climb into space?”

August 9, 2007

Claudia's room

I wish I could say that I read well as a child. That I not only precociously toted Shakespeare around, but actually read him. That I delighted in the classics: Tom Sawyer, Treasure Island, 20000 Leagues Under the Sea. I definitely regret throwing a tantrum the year when I received Swallows and Amazons for my birthday, instead of The Truth About Stacey. I did manage some good contemporary fiction: Jean Little, Judy Blume, Norma Klein, Berniece Thurman Hunter, Betty Miles, Marilyn Sachs. And of course there was LM Montgomery, and I covetted anything at all with her name attached. But in general, my taste in books was crap. If I have children I will have to work very hard to remember that bad reading is not necessarily a lifelong affliction. Archie comics were once my heart’s desire, and now I have an MA in English lit, so anyone can turn around. If I could get over The Babysitters Club, there is hope for us all. And just to show how far I’ve come, I give you this blog, in which a young librarian revisits the BSC novels she devoured in her youth. Her reviews are terribly funny, the books are atrocious, and the blog is addictive.

Thanks to Leah for the link.

Update: In related news, everything we ever learned from Judy Blume is profiled here.

August 8, 2007

Golden tomatoes and blue potatoes

Now rereading Carol Shields’s Unless, her masterpiece. I reread this book every summer, an amazing experience that allows one to, for example, pause and ponder the first paragraph for about ten minutes straight. It’s also sad and heartening to be reading this book after having read her book of letters with Blanche Howard in June. I also still maintain that this book is a treatise on novel-writing, which is very exciting seeing as I am returning to my own novel in just a few weeks after this summer of short stories. Anyway, I am enjoying this much the same way I always do, but also differently, of course.

I liked Michael Holroyd’s exasperation with author acknowledgements, as much as acknowledgements are the first part of any book I read. I also enjoyed Holroyd’s sister in law AS Byatt’s treatment of Middlemarch, which you might recall I read for the first time and fell in love with earlier this year. Byatt’s Possession is being “twinned” with Middlemarch for the Vintage Classic Twins Editions, which were brilliantly introduced to me here at dovergreyreader scribbles.

And it’s been nearly a week since I mentioned the garden last– you all must be on the edge of your seats! For your information my husband is now reading Animal Vegetable Miracle and is more obsessed than I was. We revisited the brilliant Trinity Bellwoods Farmers Market and brought home tons of wonderful stuff, including blue potatoes and blackberries. We did a harvest of our garden tonight, and brought in two enormous bowls of tomatoes of all kinds– the window sill is crowded. Tomorrow night I am going to attempt a golden tomato sauce.

July 24, 2007

Bruising

Kim, of the marvelous Kimbooktu Book Gadget Site, has set up a new page featuring home libraries. Mine’s there, and you can submit yours too. Voyeurism at its best. Due to my current line of work, I found this article on CEO libraries particularly fascinating (via Bookninja). I thought David Halberstam’s essay The History Boys in the latest VF was just extraordinary.

July 20, 2007

Alluding to my rubbisness

Now rereading Margaret Drabble’s The Seven Sisters, which is a rather curious book. I read it first two years ago in England, around the time I got married. It reads differently now, but I notice different things since I went to grad school. I’m enjoying it, though missing the point of innumerable allusions, because I’ve never read The Aeneid. I am rubbish. Where my project this year is brushing up on the classics of the 19th century, perhaps for the next year I ought to get caught up on antiquity. I do fully intend to read The Odyssey though, which is a start. But even in my ignorance, The Seven Sisters remains a good story. There is always something a bit aloof about Drabble’s characters, but this is made up for in the world she creates around them with such acuity.

Next up, one of my annual rereads. Oh, I can’t wait. Slouching Towards Bethlehem.

July 19, 2007

My library

I’ve heard the call from Booklust to “show us yer library”, and so I will. Here’s mine. Though I envisage one day having a library unto itself, right now it’s embedded right into the household with the TV in its midst. Which is not such a terrible thing, really, to get to look at our books all the livelong day. I can gaze up at the colours on those shelves the way I might lie under the Christmas tree just to see the lights sparkle– the effect is as good. My library is arranged in alphabetical order by author’s surname, the one exception being biographies which use subject’s. ‘A’ starts at the bottom of the tall shelf and the alphabet continues up and over to the shorter shelf. I start at the bottom so I don’t look as obsessive-compulsive at first glance. The pile of books to the right of the tall shelf are my discards– for the Victoria Collge Book Sale or for friends to pick through when they come over. Though it hurts me, I make a point of only keeping books I love, and pruning my shelves periodically gives me an enormous sense of well-being. But even still, the collection is spreading rapidly. We have another tall shelf on reserve, currently housing photos, knick-knack paddywhacks, photo albums, and my collection of children’s books but I suspect it will be exclusively books before long. I am looking forward to moving out of our apartment and into a house, so that I can collect away with less compunction.

July 17, 2007

The best of what's around

Heather Mallick’s latest, in which she gets told off by Margaret Atwood (so you learn sans context). I learn that Margaret Drabble is reading Jules Verne this summer (thanks Leah). And that books win! (naturally– though I think there are even books written by people not named Jonathan and also people with xx chromosomes.) India Knight on why erasing history is a bad thing, and so let’s not censor Tintin. Oh! And on Shirley Hughes, who has written some of the books I’ve always loved– a wonderful piece, in which I find out that “Dogger” is real!

July 16, 2007

Workaday Worlds

A frequent complaint about about contemporary fiction, or at least stories which aspire to become contemporary fiction, is that characters don’t work. Whereas in the past, work might have dominated the narrative (Saturday Night and Sunday Morning comes to mind), modern characters’ lives take place after hours. Interesting to note that two exceptions I’ve just thought of are about doctors: Saturday and Bloodletting and Miraculous Cures. I don’t know what that means, however these doctors’ idle contemporaries tend to be artists, academics, or documentary filmmakers, and their work is usually peripheral. Or so it’s been said, but when I think back to the last nineteenth century novel I read (The Portrait of a Ladylast week, of course) nobody there did anything either, save for Henrietta Stackpole. And granted Henrietta’s vocation did give her character particular appeal, and I realize James perhaps is a class thing, and these are all just thoughts to think about. Woolf’s working characters were not usually at the forefront of her novels (or if they were, only subtly so ala Lily Briscoe, though of course she was an artist, which brings us back to the beginning). Many characters in books I read, particularly classics, seem to be bankers, but this tends to entail nothing beyond leaving the house in the morning and coming home in the eve.

I have two things to say about all these unformed thoughts, the first being that though none of this is new, what might be new is how positively unremarkable most modern jobs actually are. I cannot imagine what sort of narrative would grow up around the job I’m doing these days, or many I’ve had in the past. Prosaic is not even the word for many jobs around– mind numbing, soul destroying, base and boring. I am fortunate that such is NOT my experience at the moment, but think of how many people must work in call centres. Think of all the stories that will never be written about call centres. I am not terribly convinced this is a bad thing.

The second thing is that Lionel Shriver, like my very favourite Margaret Drabble, always keeps her characters occupied. An anthropologist in The Female of the Species; pro-tennis players in Double Fault; illustrater, think-tankian, snooker player, variously in The Post-Birthday World; travel guide writer and advertising location scout in We Need to Talk About Kevin. Their occupations make Shriver’s characters whole, their worlds rich, and give their stories legs to stand on. Her details are so fascinating, and I can’t think of how much learning it must have taken to acquire them.

July 14, 2007

Glass Worlds

I was surprised to find that the highlight of my trip to the ROM yesterday was the Glass Worlds Exhibition. Intitially I’d scoffed at the idea of a collection of paperweights, but they turned out to be beautiful and mesmerizing. And bookish too, in their own way, as the exhibit explained to me. As literacy increased, desks became fixtures in many households, as did the paraphernalia which adorned them. And just think of your favourite books: how many of their manuscripts must have been saved from a breeze by the fact of a paperweight? (Though truthfully, actually, I’d suggest not that many. I have a suspicion that functionality was never the ultimate object here).

July 11, 2007

Links of late

Links of late: A Midwest Homecoming is the blog I keep reading aloud to who ever is in earshot, scribed by Ms. Leah with whom I shared a bunkbed in Nottingham for three months nearly five years ago. Absolute hilarity, and bookish goodness too, though I suspect she’ll be changing her title, seeing as she’s just decided to move to Korea.

Also, Oprah Schmoprah— book recommendations by some of the bloggers I like best.

Hands down, the best story in the paper all weekend was Elizabeth Renzetti’s “You’d be a numpty to mess about with the weegies”. She writes, “Before you attack a country, it’s probably best to scan their cultural history. Did the two men who drove a blazing Jeep into Glasgow airport last week know nothing about Scotland’s past? Had they never seen Braveheart? Had they never read Rob Roy? Didn’t they know that it is always a bad idea to mess with an angry Scot, especially one from Glasgow? Ye’ll get a wee skelp and nae doot aboot it.” And it only gets better.

An incredible profile of Chinua Achebe here.

Here for summer reading tips. (Stuart was flattered and surprised to see that his recent reading had qualified him as “The Universal Literary Smartarse”).