November 12, 2006
Nearest Thing to Heaven
My New York Minute continues with Nearest Thing to Heaven: The Empire State Building and American Dreams by Mark Kingwell.
November 11, 2006
Loy Kratong
It was two years ago right now in Thailand that Stuart and I had the pleasure of befriending Carolyn (and here we are the morning after, at the airport in Chiang Mai). With great pleasure, last night we went out with Carolyn to Thai Basil to celebrate Loy Kratong for the third year in a row. An absolutely perfect meal and company just as good. Loy Kratong celebrations will continue on a more subdued level for the rest of the weekend, however, as I have so much work to do (and a Scrabble tourney tomorrow night!). Today’s exertion will involve a DVD rental at the most, I suppose. Oh, and The Emperor’s Children has of late become unputdownable.
November 10, 2006
When you're lost you can look
The Emperor’s Children is managing to absolutely delight me in places, however. When Julius goes temping, and also Danielle’s description of Eva Cassidy: “the posthumously celebrated folk-singing woman from Washington DC who had died of a melanoma in her early thirties, and whose tragic tale attracted Danielle more than her soft covers of familiar songs.”
November 9, 2006
Book Spine P*rn
The Guardian Books Blog asks how do you organize your library? Mine is alphabetical, by author’s last name with no consideration to genre, save for my children’s books which have their own little shelf. And A begins at the bottom of my shelf, to make it less clear that my books are alphabetical and that I am obsessive compulsive regarding my library is not so immediately apparent. I like the patchwork that develops from alphabetical cataloguing, different sizes and colours blending together, and I could just stare at the spines. Actually, often I do. Rows of books might be one my favourite sights to see. Awhile back the Calhoun Tribune displayed photos of her library, and by the way I gazed at them, you woulda thought they were p*rn. Oh, book spine p*rn. Orange penguins are my favourites.
Life continues dully, as I spend whole days at my desk. I did, however, bake a loaf of whole wheat bread today and it was absolutely delicious. Monkey Beach was wonderful. Now rereading The Blue Castle by LM Montgomery, because I remember once reading that it was uncannily similar to Lady Oracle (recently read). And next up: The Emperor’s Children by Claire Messud.
November 8, 2006
List Mongering
Now reading Monkey Beach, which I am just starting to get into. I also took Tristram Shandy out of the library, as I’ve never read it and from all accounts this has been a grave error on my part. I am going to try to read more classics, as I’m quite deficient in that department. I used the spreadsheet from this site to find out how many of the 1001 Books You Must Read Before You Die I’ve read. 116 in case you wondered. My total would be shorter if the list was called 1001 Books You Didn’t Have to Read for Your BA, or 1001 Books You Read When You Didn’t Have Amnesia (hello The Body Artist by Don DeLillo which was bought and read at an airport in 2002 but disappeared into that black hole that was my life then). Lists are lame, but I like them. And what I’ve learned from this one is that I’ve got gaps to fill, and so classics it is. (thanks to this site for the link to the spreadsheet.)
November 1, 2006
Cat's Eye
Usually when I read marginalia from former academic selves of mine, it makes me want to gouge out my eyeballs. Particularly my high school self, which destroyed my Great Gatsby with banality, but my undergrad self was no treat either– the river, as I noted in The Diviners, “=life”. Now reading Cat’s Eye, which I’ve read a thousand other times. One of those times was 1998 for a course in my first year at university, and I highlighted all important passages in green highlighter. No idiot comments, fortunately, just the highlighter. It’s not so annoying actually, and this time, as I’ve made my own markings through it (which undoubtedly will make me want to kill myself in the future), I’ve become oddly conscious of some sort of dialogue with my former me. It’s sort of wonderful.
October 29, 2006
Book Showers!
Goodbye Without Leaving was my favourite Laurie Colwin novel yet. I read it with delight, and it managed to talk about big things in a way that sat easily. Her writing is strong, and she writes narrators that confound me with their utter unclassifiability. You should read Laurie Colwin. I mean you. She’s pretty likeable. Finished Nixon in China, which was a fascinating reading. MacMillan is so clever that she gets to impart gossip and call it scholarship, but of course there is more than that. Apart from Nixon’s trip itself, I learned so many things about the history of Taiwan, Nixon and Kissenger, diplomacy in general (the word “obsequious” kept coming up), and appreciated the Asian lessons, especially considering how much the region has been in the news lately. Now reading Atwood’s Survival to fill that gap in my CanLit knowledge. It’s a delight, actually, and I’m out to embark on an Atwood kick for academic reasons, featuring (for nonacademic reasons) her latest Moral Disorder so stay tuned!
October 27, 2006
Fun Without Prairie Fiction
We had a grand old time last night at the echolocation Halloween Party, and we were truly humbled by the amazing costumes assembled there. We didn’t dress up. We are lame. I did, however, give my secret party trick the light of day (or night?) and composed two spontaneous folk songs- one about the Filthy Federlines and the other about robotic dogs (naturally). They were received warmly and I did so enjoy the night out. On the walk there, my mind was shouting to the beats of my feet, “Need drink. Need drink. etc.” Drink was had. Delicious.
In my previous entry, when I mentioned that The Diviners was one of “those books”, I meant that it is a book I intend to be revisiting as long as visiting hours are open. What I had neglected to realize, of course, is that it is also one of “those books” in the sense of the dreaded Prairie Fiction. Remember how Prairie Fiction nearly drove me to defenestration one month ago? Now, it is distinctly possible that my Prairie Fiction issues are linked to my menstrual cycle, but I think there is something further than that. I learned recently about certain types of fiction that cause post-traumatic stress disorder in readers, and I really think Prairie Fiction does that for me. I am not being completely dramatic. Books do tend to make their impressions upon me (ie when I read Fight Club and became psychotic?) I loved The Diviners, but it stirred something up in me that needs to be left alone in order me to be functional. I become overwrought. Sarah Harmer wrote “I’m a Mountain’; I’d love to hear “I’m a Prairie” and find out what it has to say, and then maybe I could get to the root of the problem.
I am now reading Laurie Colwin’s Goodbye Without Leaving which should calm me down a bit.
Two fabulous acquisitions in our house: Atwood’s The Penelopiad (which I read last winter and loved) and a pastry marble!
October 26, 2006
Stranger than Fiction
The Guardian has a books blog, which might turn out to be good. Or not. The movie Stranger than Fiction looks quite bookish, and I think I want to go see it. And I quite enjoyed the Guardian’s podcast on creative writing programs. No definitive answers, which is best really, but the exchange of some good ideas.
I’m now rereading The Diviners, one of “those” books. I will return to it again and again, and find something new every time. I am finding present-day Morag resonates with me if a way she never did when I read this book before. Pioneers, oh pioneers.
October 20, 2006
Growing up in Las Vegas, England seemed so far away
There’s lots of good pop-music news in The Guardian today. My favourite is the review of the new Robbie Williams’ album. Apparently “Rudebox” is not very good. I quote (rather extendedly, but it’s funny): “…it’s hard to think of a song more likely to curb the listener’s generosity of spirit than Rudebox’s closing “secret” track, Dickhead. A woeful sub-Eminem rant, it features Williams gallantly threatening to set his retinue of bouncers on anyone who dares to criticise his music. By the time it concludes, puzzlingly, with the singer shouting “I’ve got a bucket of shit! I’ve got a bucket of shit!”, one feels less inclined to say the kind thing than the cruel thing: you don’t need to tell me that, pal, I’ve just spent the last hour examining it.” An excerpt on Razorlight in Japan, which is exciting, because that’s where Stuart and I first saw them, and because their wonderful “America” is predicted to be the UK number one this week. And, finally, I had no idea the Killers’ new album was a mormon rock concept album.
I’m honestly so glad the forces conspired to send me two (2!) rejection letters in one day yesterday. No sense in dragging out my failures for weeks, and to buckle down and onward then. My big project has lately developed a new cohesion and I wrote a lovely little essay yesterday, and so I am not so disheartened. I’m still reading Nixon in China, and of course a novel on the side. Penelope Lively’s Heat Wave. She really is one of my favourite authors; she’s never aloof and it’s as though she conjures her stories from my preoccupations, but perhaps that’s a sort of self-absorbed way to regard them. Next up is The Thirteenth Tale by Diane Setterfield, which is the most beautiful new book I’ve come across since The Middle Stories or Elegance. It has the most gorgeous endpapers. I can’t wait to read it.
Another article about the blighted East Midlands, Nottingham’s urban decay and suburban gangs (big ups the Basford massive!). Interesting from an urban development point of view, but all the same, we lived there and it wasn’t so bad.
