February 11, 2008
Bookish Updates
Very cool: Bang Crunch is a staff pick at the shop around the corner from here. (Read my review). And my favourite book of 2008 is out now: The Monsters of Templeton gets an absolutely stellar review in The Globe. Just finishing Arlington Park, which I’ve loved. And today I purchased Housekeeping Vs The Dirt.
January 6, 2008
Reasons to be happy
Reasons to be happy– even if one’s holiday is rapidly drawing to a close– include cotton tights, sleep-filled nights, baths with bubbles, legs sans stubbles, magazines, movie screens, new bedclothes, h-nut cheerios, to-do lists done, friends and fun, books in the post, and he whom I like the very most. Plus California in thirty-four days. And….
…having just partaken in that “hour dedicated to the ceremony known as afternoon tea”, of which, under ALL circumstances, “there are few hours in life more agreeable than .”
January 4, 2008
Abookaday
During my holiday, I’ve managed to read a book a day (though this was accomplished by reading books that were primarily quite short and/or excellent), which has been tremendously satisfying, fun, stimulating and rich. I’ve got a lot of my new books read, and my focus is now on the older books I’ve picked up at sales over the past year and which have been lingering on my shelf. Now reading Perfect Happiness by Penelope Lively (who I love). But I’ll also be starting the new collection Graham Greene: A Life in Letters. I’ve loved Graham Greene’s work for a long time, including The End of the Affair, The Heart of the Matter, The Quiet American. Though it is Travels With My Aunt that stands out, actually. And I’ll be reading Brighton Rock shortly. It will be interesting though, as I know almost nothing about Graham Greene. Except for the Catholic stuff, which always gets a bit lost on me in his fiction (and I’ve had a similar problem with Muriel Spark). Perhaps this will help?
November 21, 2007
Spin
We’re all wound up like tops here at Pickle Me This of late, and since I sat down at my desk this morning I’ve made eleven (probably incomplete) lists of various things to do/ bake/ buy/ read/ download. I could do with a calmdown or a stiff drink, and thankfully this weekend promises plenty of the latter if not the former.
For a necessary diversion towards fun, via the marvellous Crooked House, try The Jackson Pollock Page.
November 13, 2007
Thinking about Elizabeth Hay
I’ve been thinking a lot about Elizabeth Hay since Tuesday. How her novel came under such scrutiny in the days leading up to the prize. But first, two remarkable things about Hay. Did you remember that I quoted her here ages ago? Before I’d even heard of her, I picked her line “catching a ride on the coattails of literature” from her piece in Writing Life. I read the piece again tonight, and how it resonates. How I love her work, and can’t wait to get all caught up with it. Further, I love how Hay phrased an answer to one of her 12 or 2o Questions: “In my late twenties and early thirties, as the feminist I remain…” How perfect, the resoluteness of her position, and yet its mutability (which, of course, is only natural).
And then Late Nights on Air, which you might recall I read under a spell. I sang its praises loud and clear and proclaimed “a literary achievement” which I still believe, though I would concede the novel is imperfect. “Masterful” might be hyperbole, though what Hay did to convince me otherwise certainly was mastery of a sort. Do they give prizes for writers who are hypnotic?
Criticism towards Late Nights on Air tends to reference the relentless foreshadowing, which of course I noticed, but I bought it. Looking back upon the novel I see that the foreshadowing is an inevitable result of its nostalgic bent. Of course one reconstructing the past would underline all the signs they’ve missed, and this would also read strangely for a reader embarking upon the journey for the first time. Here, voice is much more significant than plot.
The “anti-climax” then? What culminates from all those signs of doom? About voice once again, I think. For what happens ultimately might be a let-down stylistically, but imagine having been there. Would that incident not resonate back and forth in time? Forever? Which is exactly what the voice is telling us it does.
And finally the ending, and its petering. (And how odd, by the way, is peter as a verb?) Though I do wonder if the novel could have been stronger had Hay left her characters alone back in time rather than bringing all of them up to date. But still, how could the novel not slow down as it does? How could anything that came after ever measure up to what went before? In the very first chapter it is stated that life was never more vivid than then. Surely Hay shows this?
There, I’ve finished my defending. Now I just can’t wait to read the novel once again.
November 9, 2007
To hell with all that book stuff
There are some people, I realize, who visit Pickle Me This for reasons less than literary. In the emailed words of my Scottish friend Julie, “I just scroll down the blog for pictures. Haa! To hell with all that book stuff!” But lately, you see, nothing else but bookishness ever happens. Or almost nothing, except for my job, but trust me you’d rather hear about the books.
But for the sake of those patient readers who couldn’t care less about endpapers, I will tell you that we had Persian food Wednesday night. At Pomegranate, and how wonderful it was to taste flavours completely new. That we haven’t seen our naked downstairs neighbour since the night of the fiasco. I am obsessed with Kerry Katona and the Iceland adverts. I like Robyn. The cardigan I am knitting just seems a wee bit small. Stuart and I already have plans every weekend until Christmas. That I’ve not had enough to drink lately, and I’ve really got to do something about that. I watched Knocked Up recently, and absolutely loved it. I watched High Fidelity recently too, and can’t believe I ever found it charming. It apparently snowed in Toronto today, but I did not see evidence of it. I have a new little black dress from Jacob to see me through the holiday season, the loveliest thing I own, and it wasn’t even on sale. Bliss.
September 21, 2007
RR on Rosie
Writer Rebecca Rosenblum has kindly filed her book report on Rosie Little’s Cautionary Tales for Girls:
The nice thing about Rosie Little is that the central character is often wrong. Chicklit these days (ok, I haven’t read most chicklit, but what I come across) mainly has central characters who are never wrong. Rosie Little’s is far more interesting than a character created in order to alleviate some girl-power discrepancy. Rosie Little just lives her life, and more importantly, watches others live theirs. She is empathetic and reflective, and stupid about certain things. The men in this book are mainly one dimensional and often idealized (or demonized)but I’m not sure that was the writer’s failure of skill or the character’s failure of perception. Which is an interesting question, I think.
This book is billed as a novel [but…] I didn’t think it was much like one. I still don’t, but it is much like a life,
episodic and puzzling and unlikely to climax with a big prize.I liked it, and I liked it despite the fact that the narrator refers to an erect p*nis as a “sweetmeat” quite early on, which would normally qualify the whole thing for disqualification outright.
September 12, 2007
Adoring Rosie
Rosie Little mania abounds. You might remember the rave reviews when I read it recently– and I’m not the only one. My magnificent Jennie has reported adoring it, and wishes that Rosie were her friend. And what company she’s in, as Heather Mallick read it also, reporting ” The stories are odd and witty, but have an undercurrent of pure terror. Young women will love this book, but after reading it, they may not want to go outside.”
September 5, 2007
New Season
My second summer of rereading proved as fulfilling as the first, though it was not as concentrated. But it was a joy to revisit classics: The Portrait of a Lady and To the Lighthouse, which I’d previously just read as a student, but it was something different to approach them on my own terms. My regular rereads: Slouching Toward Bethlehem and Unless were better than they’d ever been. Books I’d read but forgotten, and certainly not because they were forgettable: The Summer Book, and The Blind Assassin. I have a theory that you’ve never really been anywhere until you’ve been there at least twice, and I think this might very well be the case with books.
But now it is September, and new books are blooming. I’ve been binge reading lately– what else are holiday Mondays for if not a book in a day? Looking forward to the long train journey this weekend to get some more books under my belt. Oh, there are some wonderful books coming out this Fall, so stay tuned here and I’ll recommend the best ones. Watch for my review of Richard B. Wright’s October very soon. I am now reading Turtle Valley by Gail Anderson-Dargatz, who I’ve never read before.
After reading under restrictions for the last two months, being able to read so freely feels deliciously licentious.
