March 13, 2007

On time

Alan Lightman won my heart with this article recommending books on “the mysterious nature of time”. He’s mixing up the fic and nonfic, suggesting Woolf’s Mrs. Dalloway, Einstein’s The Meaning of Relativity, and The Seven Day Circle by Eviatar Zerubavel. Apart from the good picks, I learned a whole lot about time from Lightman’s article itself.

March 7, 2007

Half a Grapefruit

~Horse Nicholson had made a lot of money as a contractor and had left that to go into politics. He had made a speech saying that what they needed was a lot more God in the classroom and a lot less French.~

March 6, 2007

Poor Scoot

Brilliant! Nora Ephron profiled in The Guardian. Kundera on the art of the novel. Deanna McFadden writes around town— with an interview with Ben McNally. Beryl Bainbridge on writing. Martin Levin on book lists, and more here.

I will speculate about why we love them– lists in general, I mean. They give the illusion of containment and control, and for a brief instant, all is manageable. The universe is catalogueable, navigable. To-do lists particularly illustrate the power we grant words; if it is written, it will get done. Book lists provide our sprawling to-be-read piles with an armature, and this is assuring. We don’t need to do anything with lists though, really. Their very existence is their object, and beyond that they are scrap. Therefore, no one needs to worry Sirs. List away and live free.

Middlemarch continues. I had to trade in my copy for another, however, as the small print was making me go blind.

And you do have to worry about a grown man called Scooter. Unless, of course, he is a muppet.

Short short story contest here in The Guardian. Fun.

March 3, 2007

Dashed hopes

In the midst of Mini Pops nostalgia, I remembered how I’d once longed to join their fan club. I don’t think I ever followed through, but thinking about this led me to remember one of the great disappointments of childhood– ads and offers in the backs of books.

As a small child, these appeared as invitations toward engagement with the outside world, and they seemed irresistable. Do you remember the scheme in Archie comics where you signed up to sell something (it was never clear what) and you could win points toward a new bike, a skateboard, or a tent? These marvelous full-colour images of everything you ever wanted. You could be an entrepreneur at the age of seven! Though I was never taken in. My parents wouldn’t let me do it.

Stuart told me today about how he wrote away to join the Beano club when he was five, and was promised “two badges and a newsletter or something”. His mum and dad helped him get the postal orders necessary, but he never heard back from Beano.

I had better luck with the Eric Wilson Mystery Club, though by the time I got my newsletter, years had passed and I wasn’t that interested anymore.

Part of the problem was that books tended to age, and it was always disappointing to see that the offer for ten books for a nickle had expired in 1963. Very very sad.

But nothing was as sad as when I wrote away to join “The Puffin Club”. I’ve got a copy of the ad on hand: “You will get a copy of the Club magazine four times a year, a membership book, and a badge.” The opportunity of a lifetime, I thought. And I heard back quite promptly, raising my hopes to the moon. But there would be no membership for me, in the end. They told me Canadian children weren’t eligible and I was absolutely gutted.

And so there would be no outside world for me for a number of years yet.

March 3, 2007

Full Disclosure?

I don’t really see how one can attack a collection of letters, except on two terms: the first, maybe you don’t like reading letters; the second, the letters are boring. As my entries of late have made clear, Decca: The Collected Letters of Jessica Mitford was hardly boring. This book was absolutely enthralling, and Mitford’s letters found their way into my dreams. Epistolary dreams! You can’t fathom it. This was such an absorbing book, a twentieth century overview, and a record of one absolutely fascinating life. Jessica Mitford was a complex, exasperating, difficult woman, but she was brilliant, funny and sharp, and I have never before gained such an intimate understanding of character from a book as I did with this one.

And so, when one takes a collection of letters that are decidedly not boring, the plan of attack must be through character. Fine, I suppose. Though that seems to me a strange approach for a book review, and probably inappropriate. And no doubt, Jessica Mitford herself would not disagree with Daphne Merkin’s review in Slate that she was neglectful mother, that “vitriolic archness was her first and last defense”, or that empathy was not always her forte. Etc. etc. (though I think this reviewer simplifies her character considerably– eg. why she “airbrushes” her deceased son from her memoir, because she could not bear to relive his death through writing about it).

What is inexcusable, however is for a reviewer to write such a review, with its snide attacks, and not mention that she herself is rubbished in the book, perhaps underlining her perspective? Decca, page 706: Sez Decca: “[Did you read the] New Yorker women’s issue? Some good, some awful. One of the worst was by someone called Daphne Merkin, v. long and all about how she craves to be whipped (she’s a masochist) with nary a joke in it. Marina looked up “Merkin” in the OED– says it means “a pub*c wig”.

So perhaps Ms. Merkin had a bone to pick, but shouldn’t she have been a bit more honest about picking it?

March 2, 2007

The Myth of Justice

A recent overdose of Decca had a detrimental effect on last night’s sleep. I’ve never dreamt in letters before. To do so is rather maddening. I’m starting Middlemarch today; Bronwyn’s reading it too.

The Guardian World Literature Tour in New Zealand: fascinating to read the discussion in comparison to Canada’s which turned in to an all-out internecine CanLit hatefest. Here for literacy initiatives. The usual suspects for Britain’s favourite books. Here for Granta‘s best American novelists.

Our beloved Curtis’s birthday plans were waylaid last night due to a ferocious winter storm. An emergency birthday party was thrown together with some success. Cake was devoured. Excellent. Bonne fête.

February 26, 2007

The Worthwhile Quest

Jacqueline Wilson on her own story. My favourite BBC Radio 1 DJ Edith Bowman profiled. Loved this response to this book hate-on from a couple weeks back. (My response on the blog was: “Hating books and authors is a waste of time. The books I don’t like don’t suit my tastes, but this doesn’t mean those books are crap. I like Zadie Smith and evidently others don’t. I don’t understand why this is a point of contention.” I still don’t.)

And how about The Library at Night. Can I just read you the beginning?

“Outside theology and fantastic literature, few can doubt that the main features of our universe are its dearth in meaning and lack of discernible purpose. And yet, with bewildering optimism, we continue to assemble whatever scraps of information we can gather in scrolls and books and computer chips, on shelf after library shelf, whether material, virtual or otherwise, pathetically intent on lending the world a semblance of sense and order, while knowing perfectly well that, however much we’d like to believe the contrary, our pursuits are sadly doomed to failure.
“Why then do we do it? Though I knew from the start that the question would most likely remain unanswered, the quest seemed worthwhile for its own sake. This book is the story of that quest.”

February 24, 2007

Injurious Reads

Everyone is right. Disgrace is wonderful. And Decca: The Letters of Jessica Mitford is impossible to take in morsels– I keep binging. Now reading Family Happiness by Laurie Colwin. Upcoming: The Library at Night.

I had a reading-related injury today when I read whilst brushing my teeth, paid too little attention to the latter activity, brushed too hard and and now my poor sweet gums are ailing. Reading is a dangerous business really. Sometimes holding the book makes my elbow ache.

I just came back from a splendid dinner at the beautiful new home of Natalie Bay whose fine company made the evening fly by. We’ve lived in all the same countries and so we spend most of our time talking about things no one else can stand to hear about. Which suits us well. And we’re off to Peterborough for the weekend, and the temperature calls for brass monkeys.

Further, Tide Simple Pleasures has rendered our apartment redolent with something slightly synthetic, but we like it. It smells better than we do. And, all real pleasure this week has been brought to us by crumpets.

February 21, 2007

Book Eating

Thank you to Patricia for referring me to The Incredible Book Eating Boy by Oliver Jeffers. As a book eating girl, incredible or not, of course I’d be interested.

Along those lines I’ve been ransacking libraries lately. I came home from work yesterday with Disgrace by JM Coetzee, Amsterdam by Ian McEwan and Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner by Alan Sillitoe. At the public library, I’ll soon be due to pick up Family Happiness by Laurie Colwin, The Namesake by Jhumpa Lahiri, and Son of Rosemary, which I bet will be absolute crap but Rosemary’s Baby was such a stunning tale (really), Stuart and I have to see what happened next, even if the future was very badly written.

Lately time has been wasted on my absolute fascination with Eric Delko. Ever since he was shot– there’s nothing like a man brought back from the dead. I’m totally in lust. His real life counterpart keeps an offical website here.

At our house we’re currently obsessed with red grapefruit.

February 16, 2007

Fierce

Upon a recommendation, I read A Passion for Narrative by Jack Hodgins and found it so illuminating. I don’t really believe you can learn fiction from a book (except books of fiction, of course), but I’m right in the middle of my big project and reading such a guide at this stage is quite practical. Shines light on what might be wanting, and made me think of a few things I never even considered. And then I can go right to my story and apply what I’ve learned. The book also dealt with matters of structure I’ve been grappling with. My aim is to have my story done by the end of this month so that I can spend March dealing with it as a whole. Though this aim would be more achievable if February were just a bit longer. Though if February were any longer, I would probably lose my mind.

On lending books— most people who know me know me well enough not to even ask. Lending out a book fills me with terrific anxiety and I don’t feel better until it’s back in its home. Because as much as I love books as objects, I love my library as an entity even more. When I prune my shelves, however, I always make sure I give away the discards. I have a moral objection to profiting from books. I feel that karmically I will benefit somehow by spreading that love– whether to a college book sale, or a friend.

Now reading Ladykiller, which I would sum up as “fierce”.

My Valentines Day haul was ace: I got a box of Celestial Seasonings Tea. I gave Stuart a grapefruit. And I also made him a chocolate treat from a recipe in Globe Style (“Triple Chocolate Attack”), though I made plenty and got to enjoy as much as he did.