January 29, 2007

Show and tell

Last week The Robber Bride TV movie was slagged off in the Globe, and I must voice my disagreement. The adaptation wasn’t flawless by any means, and I do wonder how the story was different for a man having joined the triumvirate which told so much about women’s relationships. Nevertheless. For two hours last Sunday night my husband and I sat together and thoroughly enjoyed a made-for-CBC movie and I consider this an unusual mark of great achievement.

Speaking of Ms. Atwood, her fine and illuminating piece in Saturday’s paper is here, regarding the federal government axing the promotion of Canadian arts abroad. Mix-Tape mania at The Observer. Today’s feature on violence in Nottingham (which was my home for a while) turns bookish in its reference to the 1958 novel Saturday Night and Sunday Morning by Alan Sillitoe, and I’ve decided to read it soon. Q&A with the marvelous Sue Townsend. Canadians write great songs— Joni Mitchell in particular. Katrina Onstad concurs.

Why why why instead of actually governing has our government launched an idiotic attack upon its opposition? Please please please let’s not retaliate. Give Canadians some credit for intelligence, let this crap slide, and win favour with integrity and dignity.

Things Fall Apart was as powerful as they said. Oh my goodness the last chapter. And this book enlightened quite a few bits of the brilliant Half of a Yellow Sun.

Though the amazon link for this book is such a lesson in idiot reviewing. Can you imagine prefacing your review of a book like this with “As a writer myself…”? Some nerve. Virginia Woolf never even did that in her criticism, and unless you are Virginia Woolf, you probably shouldn’t either. (I googled said reviewer, and found a link to some of his “work” which was unsurprisingly a pile of crap.) Further, knocking Achebe for his failure to show instead of tell? Oh go puke on yourself. Really.

I’m beginning to sound irate. However it’s January, which is excuse enough, and I will be nicer tomorrow. Now I am going to read Rosemary’s Baby for a good dose of satnic action. Though if it tells instead of shows, I’m totally asking the public library for a refund.

January 23, 2007

Love is a Mix Tape by Rob Sheffield

Rob Sheffield tugs all the heartstrings in his memoir Love is a Mix Tape: Life and Loss, One Song at a Time. He writes an elegy for the 1990s: “Remember Brittany Murphy, the funny frizzy-haired, Mentos-loving dork in Clueless? By 2002, she was the hood ornament in 8 Mile, just another skinny starlet, an index of everything we’ve in that time”. His subtitular “loss” is the death of his wife Renee, who loved music as much as he does and died of a pulmonary embolism in 1997. And he tells the story of his life through mix tapes, one per chapter with full track listings– and even the shameful tracks.

In spite of the tugging, Sheffield surmounts bathos. He’s a good writer (contributing editor for Rolling Stone says his bio) and his material is appealing for anyone who grew up in and around the same era. More than an elegy for his wife, Sheffield writes a celebration of her life and the time they shared together, and it’s a joy to read. The book’s mix-tape chapter structure is fun, engaging and inspiring. There is a certain High Fidelityness to it all, but without the pretension. Rob Sheffield doesn’t seem to take himself or his music too seriously, in spite of making a career of it.

Because music is music after all. After his wife’s death, Hanson came out with “MmmBop” and Sheffield regretted that she would never know it, because as cool as she was, it was a song they would have loved together. In the chapter “The Comfort Zone”, he uses a “dishes tape” to tell the tales of domesticity. He taped most of it off Casey Kasem’s American Top-40 countdown, including The KLF/Tammy Wynette with “Justified and Ancient”, Kris Kross “Jump’, “I’m Too Sexy” and “Baby Got Back”. Etc. Also featured was Tom Cochrane “Life is a Highway”: “Tom Cochrane had nothing to say, plus a stupid way of saying it, but he helped me get the dishes done.” “A Little Down, A Little Duvet”, a mix Renee made to fall asleep to at night (and the chapter in which they get married) contains Van Morrison’s “Sweet Thing”, which is my favourite song in the world. These guys were cool. Sheffield writes about the grunge and 1993, when “the music we loved had blown up nationwide”. But then his mix from that time also includes Tag Team and and Lucinda Williams. And I like that.

He doesn’t get all up on new technology either, as might be expected. Though the cassette holds nostalgic appeal for Sheffield, he uses the term “mix tape” figuratively (though he’s certainly not the only one who does that). He welcomed the advent of the recordable CD, admits to loving his iPod “carnally”. But it’s the “romance” of the mix tape, and those of us with cardboard box-fulls of the stuff packed down in the basements of our past can certainly understand that. “The rhythm of a mix tape is the rhythm of romance, the analog hum of a physical connection between two sloppy, human bodies… Love is a mix tape” says Rob Sheffield, and his thesis convinced me.

I loved his book like a souvenir of a good time.

January 17, 2007

My Wedding Dress by Whelehan and Carter (eds)

I can provide you with some sort of an idea of what it’s like to read My Wedding Dress: True-life Tales of Lace, Laughter, Tears and Tulle. Read the post below, and the imagine in ten times as long, and multiplied by twenty six. It’s a bit much, but then it also works.

It works because most of the pieces in this anthology are truly excellent. With contributions by such well-known names as Michelle Landsberg, Stevie Cameron, Lorna Crozier, Kerri Sakamoto, Edeet Ravel and Ami McKay, this is unsurprising. The wedding photos included are also a great addition to the text. There are an assortment of happy tales, hard lessons learned, and sadness endured. Jenny Manzer’s story of her wedding, just days after her mother’s death from cancer, had me in tears. When, after all the drama, Ilana Stanger-Ross’s mother stepped on them hem of her dress and it ripped, and Stanger-Ross just laughed. I do wish that Elyse Pomeranz had been a little less earnest about the fact that she knit the clothes she and her husband wore on their wedding day. She’s included a photo. I won’t say any more.

At their very core, anthologies are terribly self-indulgent. My blog post below is an example of this, I know it: my story, and I want you to hear it– no, I want to TELL it– and I won’t consider the likelihood that it’s not so extraordinary to you. Where My Wedding Dress succeeds is when contributers stick to the focus, as most of the strongest pieces do. The few pieces that faltered use the dress motif to springboard over to what they really want to talk about, which could be anything, and I didn’t find these contributions so interesting unless they were in the hands of a very good writer. My other criticism of this book is my first one: it’s a bit much. Naturally, stories like these are inspiring (my blog entry case in point), and everybody wants a turn, but I don’t think this book with its twenty-six pieces really required a forward, and afterword and two introductions. (I have a feeling this book will also inspire a sequel).

Target audience here would be quite specific: recent brides, and mothers of brides, I think. This book will be appreciated. Forthcoming brides, of course, don’t read because they are way too busy with calligraphy and decoupage.

January 17, 2007

This is My Country, What's Yours? by Noah Richler

A literary atlas plots our places with their stories, and the product of this one is Richler’s country (though of course, he invites us to consider our own). His Canada is much more than just the sum of parts, which is a daring stance to take in some circles, but one that is perhaps supported better by stories than any other foundation. He draws out the connections between Canadians. “You can forget about provincial boundaries and think about the singing of work as a calling these writers have in common. Do so, and our sense of the map of Canada as one of a disparate country is eroded and in its place another one appears, in which novels arising out of shared experiences wash over the territory”. And indeed, Richler manages to show this about more than just work, and our stories become what we have in common.

In the sense of a Canadian Literary Guide, this is an updated Survival, but it’s more a literary guide to Canada than a guide to CanLit. Also, (as Richler’s title suggests), this is a very personal guide. Richler comes to his text decisively, taking controversial stances (refusing to equate the novel with oral traditions, for example), but objectivity is never his intention. Which is more interesting to read than tiptoeing anyway, and his perspectives are well argued.

From sea to sea is not good enough for Richler. He believes that Canada would be a more unified nation had our route across it developed as a loop as opposed to a straight line along the Southern border, back and forth. If we could traverse Canada along the south and back around through the north, we’d be able to take in our country in its entirety. The North would not be missed. We’d arrive at the end and it would be where we started. And in a sense, Richler follows such a trajectory throughout his text. He begins with the Inuit, and the Natives further south, and discusses how Native writers are using the novel for their own purposes. Throughout the book, Richler’s ideas are ruminated over, developed and argued in conversations with other writers. His reader is privy to some excellent conversation. It’s akin to being a fly on the wall at a clever party. From the north, to Vancouver, and then the prairies. And finally, he considers what he sees as Canada’s three distinct societies: Newfoundland, Quebec and the City. Along the way, taking into account Multiculturalism (the new guiding force in CanLit, he says), the legacy of colonialism, the experiences of the Metis and the Acadians, and the seminal Canadian idea of “Nowhere”. As you might imagine, it’s quite a tour.

I liked this book because it taught me things I didn’t know, which is rarer in a book than one might think. I also like it for its rendering of a whole Canada, one in which we all share a part of each other’s story. This is not always an easy assertion to make these days, but one I appreciated this vision. And finally, with its emphasis on contemporary Canadian writing, Richler demonstrates the continuation of a rich and vibrant literary tradition in this country. Nowhere is definitively somewhere after all, and the future is full of possibility.

January 12, 2007

Peppermint Love

I’ve just learned that my household has acquired Apples to Apples, which is one of the most enjoyable games I’ve ever played. Though I hate most games so my perspective is limited, and this one is bound to infuriate serious game-lovers, as it has no rules. Though I still lost at it when we played, but I lose at all games. It’s my constitution. And so that’s fun news, and more fun is that I’ve got a date with my husband this eve. We’re having company for dinner tomorrow night and I’m looking forward to that (as well as a chance to break out the game?). And so life continues lamely, but nicely.

I finished rereading Alice Munro’s Who Do You Think you Are? yesterday. What an incredible book. I reread the legendary Lives of Girls and Women last summer, and wasn’t as impressed as I’d wanted to be. I think that Munro was constrained by “A Novel”, and Who Do You Think…, while definitely connected, was obviously composed of short stories and she’s better at that. In fact, she is extraordinary at that. I know I’m certainly not the first one to say so. It’s just nice to be reminded. And I’m now reading Noah Richler’s This Is My Country, What’s Yours?”, which is cool because the only other book on CanLit I’ve ever read was published in 1972, and certainly a lot has happened since then.

Here for an article on Richler’s and a few other unusual Canadian atlases, and their lessons on Canadian identity. 50,000 copies of Andrea Levy’s brilliant Small Island have been distributed through parts of Britain “to encourage reading, and discussion”. (Wonderful connections between Levy’s novel and Kate Atkinson’s work have just dawned on me). Here for Literary Pop Idolatry. Type Books in the press (and the business press to boot).

My new teapot is full of peppermint love, and I shall get down to an afternoon of glorious work.

January 10, 2007

Human Croquet by Kate Atkinson

I really didn’t think it was possible. Kate Atkinson’s second novel Human Croquet might just be better than her brilliant Behind the Scenes at the Museum. There really aren’t words to do Atkinson’s own words justice. From doorstep babies to death by mushrooms, intertextual delights to incest, doppelgangers and the disappeared. The bad guy gets his comeuppance. Everybody wins.

January 8, 2007

Only Connect

Lucky Lori Lansens, whose novel is the first Canadian book selected by Richard and Judy’s book club. Britpop enters its latest golden age. On le history of chapbooks.

I just finished reading the bizarre and wonderful Never Let Me Go, and the imaginary sounds of Judy Bridgewater are playing in my mind. Next up is Human Croquet by Kate Atkinson, who is always a treat.

The basement neighbours’ screaming match is entering its 49th hour. We’ve deciphered that she quit her job, he never shows her affection, he declared her unreliable and she is no longer allowed to eat his bread. Moreover she has outstanding debt on rental cars and owes him a ton of cigarettes. It’s difficult to keep track of because they move between inside and out, and so we have to keep moving between the vent and the window to get the details. It’s all getting a bit tiresome, however. We’re hoping they kill each other before bedtime.

In literary connexions, my mom met a man at a party yesterday who is uncle to Ms. Z. Smith’s own Laird.

January 6, 2007

A Spot of Bother by Mark Haddon

It was at page 133 that Mark Haddon’s A Spot of Bother finally cast its spell upon me; I marked the page. This is the second book by the potentially one-hit-wonderish author of The Curious Incident of the Dog in Night-Time, and this time he’s got an altogether different trick up his sleeve. Each chapter in this book is written from the point of view of each member of the Hall family: George is having a nervous breakdown, Jean is sleeping with George’s former coworker, Jamie is unwilling to commit to his boyfriend, and horrible Katie is about to marry a man everybody else hates. Initially, I really didn’t care about any of them and I considered whether I was actually willing to invest a whole 354 pages in such nasty souls. But then on the 133rd page, suddenly these characters began to engage with one another and the story had me in its grip.

133 pages sounds like a long time to wait, but this is a quick read and the chapters fly by. The action is unrelenting once it finally begins, culminating in a massive blow-out that is equal parts hilarious and heartbreaking. Haddon, who wrote from the point of view of a boy with Asbergers in his first novel, gets points for his portrayal of George Hall’s depression, and also for the reaction of George’s wife who just can’t understand what is wrong with him. Humour abounds through this book, even in the darkest bits. The ending was everything I wanted it to be. This story is a true-to-life portrait of family, showing the ways (unintentional and otherwise) in which we drive each other mad.

And so I’d recommend this book, but I’ve got one reservation: I sort of think it should have been a movie. It was not just the sparseness of Haddon’s prose, but rather the fact that this book didn’t seem to be about language at all. Plot plot plot, which is important and of course I was dying to get to the end, but there was nothing much to savour along the journey. For some people, I think, this isn’t a problem. And it’s not particularly a problem for me either. I certainly don’t subsist on “demanding” books, but I mention in light this novel’s nomination for the 2006 Costa Book Awards and the fact that the shortlist was cited for froth and populism. In the case of this book, I do understand. A Spot of Bother is a good enough novel after all, but there was nothing extraordinary about it. If weren’t for that curious incident awhile back, I don’t know if anyone would have taken much notice of it.

January 2, 2007

Francine Prose: Reading Like a Writer

I must recommend Reading Like a Writer: A Guide for people who love books and for those who want to write them as the most practical writing book I’ve ever come across. Prose uses contempory texts and classics to demonstrate effective techniques for developing character, writing dialogue, using details and also taking advantage of structure– word by word, sentence by sentence and with paragraphs. She expounds upon the importance of close reading and supports her emphasis with examples. I learned a lot from her advice– particularly about dialogue. But what I liked best about this book was Prose’s “anything goes” attitude.

For example, you should use long paragraphs, she says. Or short ones. Or none. You should have a consistant point of view. Or ever-changing. Have your narrator die mid-text. Write from the point of view of an amoeba. Don’t tell us what characters look like. Or describe every bit of their apparel. Her contradictory advice is not confusing in the slightest, because each guideline is given in the context of a working example, and as readers we see that different things work in different situations and toward different ends.

Prose believes one learns to write by reading successful works, rather in workshops in which students take on the role of critic towards works which aren’t even developed yet. And, she writes, “Reading can give you the courage to resist all of the pressures that our culture exerts on you to write in a certain way, or to follow a prescribed form.”

I was surprised to find her chapter on reading Chekhov (who I’ve never read) one of my favourite parts of this book. Prose writes of a workshop she was teaching, and the advice she was dispensing, and how as she’d ride the bus home after her class she’d read one of Chekhov’s stories and see him working very effectively against just what she had been advising (that characters musn’t have similar names, that a story must belong to a certain character, that something must be resolved by the story’s end, etc etc). The point of all this, says Prose, is that there are no rules, and a writer only learns this singular rule and how to use it by reading. Carefully.

December 30, 2006

The Finish Line

And so my bookish goal this year was to read 200 books, and mine has been a triumphant failure. A failure, because alas I’ve only managed 171, but a triumph all the same because I really don’t imagine I could have read any more than that. And I remain ambivalent about stupid reading marathons, because while I’m so glad I read all these books, I know I read some quick. Though my Great Summer Rereading Project did make up for that (and I will continue to hold such projects each summer in the future). But maybe my husband would like to see my face once in a while, rather than just my eyebrows. But it was an absolute joy to be consumed by reading, and to be consuming reading at once. The stack on my bedside was never too too overwhelming.

There is a slight chance I will get to 172 by finishing The Voyage Out by tomorrow, but I don’t think so. My NY Res is to read a mite slower this year, and I’m starting now. (I think Reading Like a Writer will help to underline my pact.) Anyway, it is with great joy that I’ve kept finding friends turned up on my doorstep the last few days, and it’s quite rude to read while hostessing.

What I have found worthwhile without a doubt, however, is keeping a list of books read. “Books Read Since 2006” says mine, and I’ll maintain it long into the future. It’s an excellent reference and archive, and like a diary of sorts. Moreover, it detects patterns I may not have noticed, and makes clear the gaps in my bookish endeavours. Though perhaps I’ve just got a thing for catalogues.