December 31, 2009
The very best decision
The very best decision I made all year was to choose Laurie Colwin’s A Big Storm Knocked It Over as the first book to read after Harriet was born. Harriet herself and her birth having been that big storm that knocked it (me) over, and did it ever. Like everybody else, I had no clue how hard those days (and endless nights) would be, but somehow I knew that Colwin’s lightness and humour would be a kind of balm. That this would be the kind of novel I’d actually get through at a time like that. And what a comfort it would be to read what Colwin wrote about motherhood, and its early days, attesting to the awfulness of it, validating my experience, but with a touch that assured me that things would get better. Underlining the joy that was there, and please, may I quote the passage again that said it all?
“Motherhood is a storm, a seizure: It is like weather. Nights of high wind followed by calm mornings of dense fog or brilliant sunshine that gives way to tropical rain, or blinding snow. Jane Louise and Edie found themselves swept away, cast ashore, washed overboard. It was hard to keep anything straight. The days seemed to congeal like rubber cement, although moments stood out in clearest, starkest brilliance. You might string those together on the charm bracelet of your memory if you could keep your eyes open long enough to remember anything.”
Truly, truly, books can save our lives, and make our lives. All the very best for a joyous 2010.
December 29, 2009
Book of the Decade: White Teeth by Zadie Smith
Mostly due to the fact that this decade has had no name, it never occurred to me to try to experience it definitively. And really, how could one define a decade that begins with one (not) drunk (enough), falling down, pissing in a doorway, and ends with that same one married to the love of her life, with a seven month-old baby, and plans for a quiet-night-in with old friends? A decade that contained three continents called home, two degrees, new friends made and old friends kept, writing and reading that has inspired me and made me proud, a variety of jobs in interesting places. The decade during which I most definitely grew up (so far); it contained multitudes. And I could not possibly sum it up in a list of ten things or more.
But if I had to choose just one book, for reasons personal and even wider, I’d pick Zadie Smith’s first novel White Teeth. I first read this during the summer of 2001, and it was the first contemporary novel that I really got excited about. It was the first time that I really realized that amazing literature was being written right now, and by young people too. This novel was big, packed, funny, and gorgeous. Some people love to hate it, but most of them have never read it, and I maintain that it’s a magnificent construction.
White Teeth is also important for the way it anticipated the decade-to-come. When I reread it during the summer of 2006, it was hard to believe that it had been written before September 11, 2001. The whole clash of civilizations thing as enacted by British-born youths was quite prescient, and the racial tension in general. That the book had come true and didn’t read any less true was really something. That White Teeth was relevant even before it was relevant. And that it would even be a marvelous read, regardless.
November 19, 2009
On Longing: Bugs and the Victorians
After reading this review in the LRB, I am dying to read Bugs and the Victorians. My own interest in literary entomology (because believe it or not, I’ve got one!) arose via Virginia Woolf, who wrote about bugs a lot, and also wrote a wonderful fictionalized biographical sketch of Eleanor Ormerod in The First Common Reader. Ormerod was Britain’s foremost entomologist during the late 19th century, which was a very important kind of scientist to be at that time, and that she was a woman is only one of the many remarkable things about her. She’s mentioned in the LRB review, along with various surprising ways the study of insects influenced Victorian society.
Anyway, the book also happens to be $55, so I don’t imagine I’ll be reading it anytime soon.
November 6, 2009
The new Nick Hornby novel is good!
A long time ago, before you were born, dude, when I was still single, and life was rubbish… I thought that High Fidelity was a romantic comedy. Part of this was because I wanted to marry John Cusack, of course, but it was also wishful thinking– that loving insensitive men who didn’t love you back could possibly constitute romance or even comedy, because I was really eager to construct for myself a personal narrative arc.
And then I grew up, but actually, I’d gone off Nick Hornby before that, when I made the mistake of tramping through Europe with only How to be Good in my backpack. Idiotic, I know. And I haven’t read anything he’s written since, until his newest novel, Juliet, Naked. My interest was sparked by this piece at the Guardian books blog, that the new novel was “not as predictable as you think”. And I really, really loved it.
Partly because FINALLY, a popular fiction book that isn’t just a mess of plot and character dressed up as a novel!! I’ve really lately been longing for the likes of this. And Nick Hornby has grown up too. He knows exactly what he’s doing here, doesn’t have to try too hard, and the result is remarkably assured. Juliet, Naked is funny, engaging, interestingly intertextual, smart and current. It is decidedly a Nick Hornby novel, so if you never liked him before, don’t bother, but if you liked him back when he did what does best– well, he’s done it again.
And I’m now barrelling through my to-be-read shelf. Before that, I finished My Cousin Rachel by Daphne Du Maurier, which I enjoyed very much, and am now about to start my first Barbara Pym with Excellent Women.
August 28, 2009
RIPs
Must admit that fateful day that took Farrah and Michael had me rolling my eyes only, but it does seem a bit much that Wednesday saw the deaths of Ted Kennedy, Ellie Greenwich and Dominick Dunne, each of whom meant a lot to me. Kennedy by virtue of being a Kennedy alone, and there was a time in my life when I lapped up Kennedy bios like they were fiction (and they sort of were). I know Ted Kennedy was both a hero and a dastardly villain, but I’m most amazed by a story I once read alluding to about him having sex with a woman in a crowded restaurant. I could find no further details, but it’s the best story I’ve ever heard. As far as I know, Ellie Greenwich got up to no such thing, but her music has been part of the soundtrack to my life (“I met him at the candy store, he turned around and smiled at me. You get the picture?” “Yes, we see.”)
But since we’re talking literature here, let’s focus on Dominick Dunne. Which means we’re not talking literature with a capital L, but I loved his books. When we lived in Japan, we frequented Wantage Books, a used bookshop in Kobe. Wantage Books was an English bookshop, which was rare and wonderful, and we’d buy at least ten books per visit. (It’s odd to remember what a precious commodity readable books were then, and how easy it was to take them for granted again). It was at Wantage where I found Various Miracles, my favourite Carol Shields book, discovered Margaret Drabble, and bought up every Dominick Dunne novel in the store. Stuart and I were obsessed with them, and remember reading them on my train commutes to work, gripping mass-market paperbacks that fit perfectly into my purse. The Two Mrs. Grenvilles, and A Season in Purgatory (speaking of Kennedys), People Like Us, and besides, he was Joan Didion’s brother-in-law, so I felt better about the whole thing.
There was something about the foreigness of our every day surroundings that made Dunne’s novels like a tonic. American, and glamour, and scandal, and intrigue– we devoured it like the books were bad for us, and perhaps they were, but they satisfied. They were delicious. And then I remember, after a string of Dunne novels, reading something else finally and being confused when there was no fil*tio by page three. I’ve since adjusted back, but I’ll always remember how perfect his books were at the time.
August 27, 2009
Alternate Endings
“You know all those blank pages they have at the end of books? I always thought they were there so that if you didn’t like the way the book ended, you could write your own ending. I wrote rediculous alternate endings on those pages to pretty much every book I ever read as a kid… I pretty much made everything a happy ending. Leslie dying in Bridge of Terabithia was just a dream; Winnie decides to drink from the spring and run away with Jesse in Tuck Everlasting; Elizabeth returns to Frobisher Bay forever in The Other Elizabeth; Walter’s death in World War One was just a case of mistaken identity in Rilla of Ingleside. Oh, and the end of every one of my Nancy Drew books now features a love scene between Nancy and Ned. I was so frustrated that he was supposed to be her boyfriend, yet we never saw them kiss!”– Amy Jones from “Amy Jones in Conversation” by Katia Grubisic, in The New Quarterly
August 24, 2009
Define "tuffet"
“The conventional wisdom is that a precocious reader is a child in possession of a prenatural grasp of both the facts and features of the adult world. This may well be true of some, but was not true of me. My reading list didn’t grant me access to the particulars of adult life, but to its moody interstices, the dark web of complex feeling that apparently suffused life after grade school. Like a child reciting nursery rhymes, I was consumed by the music of the words, not the circumstances surrounding Miss Muffet and her actual tuffet. (Well, can you, even now, define “tuffet”?)” –Lizzie Skurnick, from Shelf Discoveries
August 13, 2009
The Children's Book's longlisting is good news
My two weeks on maternity leave before Harriet was born were spent so unbelievably well, perpetual sunshine and copious ice cream. Lots of reading and writing too. She was scheduled to be born on a Tuesday, and the Friday before AS Byatt’s The Children’s Book arrived in the mail. At more than 600 pages, the book was a rather daunting prospect for the final weekend of my wonderful, self-indulgent baby-free life. But I also knew that if I didn’t get the book read then, it would sit unread for months and months. (I didn’t know much then, but I knew enough to know that was true). And so into the book I plunged, 200 pages a day (in addition to all the other things that had to get done that weekend). It was such a brilliant way to read the book, to become so steeped inside it, and I enjoyed the experience thoroughly. And it stayed on my mind during those first few weeks of Harriet’s life, when my mind was tied up on knots for various reasons, and the book is the one thing from that whole time that I remember vividly.
All of which is to say that I’m glad it’s on the Booker Prize long-list, and I’ll be happy if it wins.
July 23, 2009
Weird Books I've Loved
I like to say that I love books of all kinds, though that’s not strictly true. There was a time, however, when it almost was, when I was little and covetted the most bizarre volumes. Books I’d snobbishly deem unworthy of capital-B Bookishness if I was consulted now. But then, oh. My library contained numerous books such as Mysteries of the Unexplained (“How ordinary men and weomen have experienced the Strange, the Uncanny and the Incredible”). I was obsessed with these books, and they always had photos of “ghosts” on staircases, and even kind of looked like ghosts if you just squint your eyes a bit (and otherwise they looked like a white glare). Also stories of children as reincarnated witches, and green children discovered living alone in the countryside.
I also had a book that explained the meaning of one’s dreams. I’d covetted this, hoping that the underlying theme of all my dreams would turn out to be, “You’re going to have a boyfriend one day”. I think my book was a Dream Dictionary, alphabetical, of course. With entries like, “Dreams of unicorns symbolize a longing for an idyllic age”, or perhaps something that makes even less sense, like “Unicorn dreams mean you’re worried about rain.” Trouble was, I never dreamed of unicorns, or anything else that could be alphabetized. And I never really needed a dictionary to decode the fact that perpetually dreaming of being chased by outsized dogs might mean acute anxiety.
I also had a baby name book. This was long before babies were a remote possibility (though don’t think I didn’t go through the entire volume to figure out the perfect first and second names for each of my four (!) future children. I think that was around the time I wanted to name my kids Bianca). I really did read the whole thing multiple times, and I’m still not sure what the attraction was. How helpful was it really to know that Margaret meant “pearl”? Name meanings are about as helpful as dream analysis. But I might only think this because my name is a kind of terrier.
June 19, 2009
Flowers in the window
It was four years ago today that I married my husband and started out on this rather mad journey that has been us as a family. And now we are three! And however terrifying and awful the past month has been very very often, the moments of absolute delight have been sparkling and they’re really all that I’ll remember of it anyway. Stuart’s love and support has been unwavering, his patience infinite, and I couldn’t imagine what this all would have been like without him. He’s as good a daddy as he is a husband, which is certainly something. Harriet and I are a lucky pair, and we love him very much.
From the song we danced to at our wedding, which I heard for the very first time one sunny morning two days after we first met, when I just knew….:
There is no reason to feel bad,
But there are many seasons to feel glad, sad, mad.
It’s just a bunch of feelings that we have to hold,
But I am here to help you with the load.
Wow, look at you now, flowers in the window
It’s such a lovely day and I’m glad that you feel the same.
‘Cause to stand up, out in the crowd.
You are one in a million and I love you so,
lets watch the flowers grow.
