August 8, 2010
From what I read over the past week
Another literary lost umbrella(!), this time in Barbara Pym’s thoroughly enjoyable A Few Green Leaves: “It was not until she had gone too far along the street to turn back that Emma realised that, possibly in the stress of some obscure emotion, she must have taken Claudia’s umbrella in mistake for her own. And it was an umbrella of inferior quality. She wondered what the possible significance of that could be.”**
(**Update: Upon reading Pym’s autobiography, I learned this was based on an actual incident reported in her notebook, which, I think, constitutes *another* literary lost umbrella)
And then I fell into At Large and At Small by Anne Fadiman, my one complaint about being that its lovely cover got a bit manky when I used it to kill a mosquito. “One of the convenient things about literature is that, despite copyrights– which in Emerson’s case expired long ago– a book belongs to the reader as well as to the writer. The greater the work, the wider the ownership, which is why there are such things as criticism, revisionism and Ph.D. dissertations. I will not ask the sage of Concord to rewrite his oration. He will forever retain the right to speak his own words and to mean what he wished to mean, not what I would wish him to mean. But I will retain the right to recast Man Thinking in my mind as Curious People Thinking because time has passed and the tent has grown larger.”
Then I turned to Margaret Drabble’s The Millstone (except that my copy is called Thank You All Very Much, which was the title of a film upon which The Millstone was based). “I was not of course treated to that phrase which greets all reluctant married mothers, “I bet you wouldn’t be without her now, so often repeated after the event in the full confidence of nature, because I suppose people feared I might turn on them and say, Yes I certainly would, which would be mutually distressing for questioner and me. And in many ways I thought that I certainly would prefer to be without her, as one might prefer to lack beauty or intelligence or riches, or any other such sources of mixed blessing and pain. Things about life with a baby drove me into frenzies of weeping several times a week, and not only having milk on my clean jerseys. As so often in life, it was impossible to choose, even theoretically, between advantage and disadvantage, between profit and loss: I was up quite unmistakably against No Choice. So the best one could do was put a good face on it, and to avoid adding to the large and largely discussed number of sad warnings that abounded in the part of the world that I knew.”
Next was Zadie Smith’s Changing My Mind, which was beautiful and difficult, and uncannily channelling Joan Didion in spots. “‘Blackness’, as [Zora Neale Hurston] understood it and wrote about it, is as natural and inevitable and complete to her as, say, “Frenchness” is to Flaubert. It is also as complicated, as full of blessings and curses. One can be no more removed from it than from one’s arm, but it is no more the total measure of one’s being than an arm is.”
And finally, Darwin’s Bastards, which I’m not finished yet, but how (in particular), I’ve loved short stories by Jessica Grant, Douglas Coupland, Mark Anthony Jarman, Timothy Taylor, and Elyse Friedman.
Such fun. Honestly, my vacation books could not have been more perfectly chosen.
July 27, 2010
Books I am taking away
All right, I have settled on the books I am taking away with me next week on vacation, none of which I’m reading for any reason except for pleasure (hooray!). And yes, I am being too optimistic with the amount of reading I expect to get done (because there will be swimming, and canoeing, and Scrabble, and… no other distractions. Oh, except Harriet). But can you imagine if I happened to get through all the books, and there was nothing next to turn to?
I am taking The Millstone by Margaret Drabble, because I love the Drabble and reread one of hers every summer, and have chosen to reread this one because someone loved its literary baby. And to read for the first time, Changing My Mind by Zadie Smith, A Few Green Leaves by Barbara Pym, Darwin’s Bastards by Zsuszi Gartner (ed), and At Large and At Small by Anne Fadiman.
April 13, 2010
Mini-Break fun.
Harriet was extremely wary of her first Muskoka Chair
Because we’re a family that thrives on extravagance, we’ve started a tradition wherein we book one single night at a very nice resort during the off-season and live it up for about twenty-four hours. (Check out the photo from last year’s mini-break to see what was sitting on the chair then instead of a baby). It was a little different this year with Harriet in tow– she couldn’t get enough of the swimming pool (because she is our child, after all), but dinner was take-out on the floor in our room rather than hours spent lingering over delicious food on plates with elaborate coulis designs. Once Harriet was stowed away asleep in the pack n’ play, however, Stuart and I were able to indulge in copious episodes of Mad Men season two (and have I mentioned here how much I love that show? Season One took a while to win me over to the show’s intelligence, though maybe the LRB review had made me prejudiced, but now I’m totally enthralled and intrigued…) And then reading in bed. Could a night be any more perfect? Capped off the next morning by brunch with a chocolate fountain– the stuff of dreams. It was a beautiful drive back to the city the next day, and it felt like we’d been gone for three weeks. .
March 17, 2010
Summer Summer Summer!
There are crocuses up in the garden across the street, and the sun was shining bright today. So bright so that I’ve got summer on the brain, even though it isn’t even spring until next weekend. But we’ve just booked our summer vacation, a cottage week away with a lovely lake almost at our doorstep, and I’m so excited for that.
I’m also excited about my summer rereading project. Every summer (except for last summer, during which a newborn was all the reading restriction I needed) I make a point of spending most of my time rereading all kinds of books, each for varying reasons. I’m already compiling this year’s stack– I want to revisit February by Lisa Moore (because of all the negative reviews I’ve read since, and I’m confused as to where they were coming from), Nikolski by Nicolas Dickner (to ensure it still stands up two years later), Small Ceremonies by Carol Shields (because because because), Anne of Windy Poplers by LM Montgomery (because of Kate), something early by Margaret Drabble (because I love her), Slouching Towards Bethlehem by Joan Didion (because I always do), and Still Life With Woodpecker (as part of the retro reading challenge).
February 17, 2010
Getting Settled
Oh, I do love my new website. I love the colours, and I love the doors (which I photographed in Elora last summer), and I love my cool twitter feed in the sidebar, and my “Features” buttons. In the wider world, I love that celebrating Valentines, Family Day and Mardi Gras, and though tomorrow is the first day in three days that isn’t a holiday, my husband’s got the week off work so the fun continues– tomorrow we’re going to the AGO. Though we’re completely exhausted already, and not just because of pancakes. I now see the advantages to preparing your baby’s nursery before the baby’s birth, as opposed to, say, when the baby is eight and a half months old, because it’s an all-consuming process, and then the baby gets so mad when you’re ignoring it to screw crescent-moon light covers into the wall. The one good thing about it though is that the baby gets an awesome room completely devoid of pastels, and perhaps a bit overstimulating, but something tells me our baby would have had that anyway.
Anyway, all this to say that we’ve had nary a spare moment, but I’m almost through Nicholas Ruddock’s The Parabolist and will be posting a review very soon. And next up for me is Patrick Swayze’s autobiography, if I actually decide to go through with it. Which seems like not the best idea in a world with so many books and so little time, but if I don’t, what might I be missing??
October 25, 2009
Flying Babies and Books
Once upon a time, a plane journey meant I’d get a whole book read, and a magazine or two. In-flight movies were for chumps, and I was the annoying person whose reading light was shining bright when you were trying to sleep. And then I had a baby.
And I’ve had a baby long enough to have a good idea of how much reading I’d get done in transit. Whereas before, I’d bring at least four novels and a magazine (because, I mean, what if we had to make an unexpected stopover at an airport without a bookshop?), I brought just one book this time. And I’ve also had a baby long enough to be pleased to get just the first three stories in Birds of America read during our flight.
Thankfully, we went to visit the grandparents, which is the closest thing I’ll have to a vacation from motherhood for quite some time. So I got two issues of the London Review of Books read, finished Birds of America, and read the wonderful Howards End is On the Landing. On the flight home, I began The House in Paris by Elizabeth Bowen, and got about 60 pages in, mainly because I read while jumping up and down, rocking Harriet in her Little Star Sling. On the whole, I am very satisfied.
Reading aside, flying with babies is hard work, but I really can’t complain, considering the moms I saw flying alone with two children. Harriet was pretty good, didn’t scream substantially too much of the time, airline staff and other passengers were really kind, helpful and accommodating, and having a baby makes the whole world a really friendly place. Once arrived, we had a really wonderful time. Harriet never adjusted to the time change, and went to bed at midnight every night, and while this made her grumpier and grumpier as the week went on, it’s been no trouble getting her back on track at home.
And I’ve got to get back on track too. Since my last “I’m not buying books” post, I think I’ve bought about seven more books. But no more, of course. I’m done, but it does mean I’ve got some serious blogging to do, and more reading to do, and then I’ll go and read some more.
October 16, 2009
European Vacation
Of course, I married my husband for his dreamy accent, but also so I’d have a good excuse to take frequent European vacations. (And it is a European vacation, proof here.)
And it’s that time again, because we’re off to the British seaside– it’s October after all. We’re returning to my husband’s homeland so that his parents can meet their grandchild for the first time, and while they’re busy spoiling her and ignoring us, we’ll partake in English things we love and miss, like cream tea; cheap books, beer and chocolate; newspaper supplements; penguin biscuits; lamb shanks; round postboxes; crisps; good TV and radio. Oh, and the weather. We’ll pack the brollies.
I’ll be posting a few updates while I’m gone, as well as an eagerly-awaited interview, and regular posting will resume in a week.
April 5, 2009
Mini-Break, with frost on
Ah, so we realized why we’d been able to get such a good deal on our spring weekend getaway– because where we were about to get away to could very well still be winter. The snow started falling not far up Highway 400, and we had to contend with roads variously icy or flooded as we made our way toward an old friend of mine to have lunch with her beautiful family. Definitely worth the peril though, as our reunion was glorious, her husband and baby were terrific, and they served a wonderful meal by the warmth of their wood stove. Also good was the jar of maple syrup we came away with, which they’d tapped from their trees.
From there, we proceeded to the resort where we were booked, got lost by the town of Windemere so I was very nearly late for my pre-natal massage at the resort spa. Because it was to be that kind of weekend, the spa I mean, not the tardiness (for we arrived in the nick of time). The bad weather was not afterwards a problem, for we had no desire to go outside. Not while there was a pool to be played in, and a delicious dinner to linger over. This morning I lazed in bed reading and laughing at Playing House by Patricia Pearson, then we were energized enough to make it to the hotel brunch, whose chief feature was a chocolate fountain, and the spread was thoroughly delicious, sumptuous and by today the sun was shining anyway. The snow was quickly melting as we left Muskoka behind us, brilliant skies and gorgeous rays along the road to home.
December 12, 2008
What a lucky one am I
Last month I was invited as a blogger and a writer to participate in the 33rd Art Matters forum, an initiative of Their Excellencies the Right Honourable Michaëlle Jean, Governor General of Canada, and Mr. Jean-Daniel Lafond. The theme of the forum was “A Passion for Reading/Le désir de lire”, and I had to accept the invitation, naturally, as it was irresistible however terrifying. How fortunate that terror can be swallowed too, because these last two days I’ll remember for the rest of my life.
First, the forum. Even before I met my co-panelists, I suspected their conversation would make for something very special. I’ve attended plenty of forums and literary events in my time, but never heard people speak from these particular backgrounds, and all speaking together no less. The other panelists were Margaret Eaton, President of the non-profit adult literacy foundation ABC Canada; Geneviève Côté, Governor General’s Award-winning children’s book illustrator, author, and arts educator; and Miriam Cusson, whose work as general and artistic director of Le Salon du Livre du Grand Sudbury has helped to cultivate a thriving Francophone literary culture in that city.
The forum was so much fun. Each panelist was so vibrant, well-versed in her particular point of view, and each of our presentations so complementary. (I will post a copy of my presentation in the next few days). The atmosphere was exceptional, each of us with something to share, nothing to prove, and ever-supportive of one another. All marvelously presided over by our moderator, CBC Arts Reporter Jeanette Kelly. I learned so much from the others, and from the presentations by the Governor General and M. Lafond. The audience clearly felt the ambiance to be as warm as I did, no one shying away from sharing their own perspectives on passionate reading, and everyone had something important to contribute. I was honoured and proud to be a part of this extraordinary event.
Another overwhelming aspect of my experience was the opportunity to spend the next two nights as a guest at Rideau Hall. I was so fortunate to be joined by my five panel co-participants, who were exceptionally good company and made the experience a lot of fun. Our rooms were magnificent, decorated with brilliant Canadian art, furnished beautifully, outfitted for everything a guest could possibly require, and oh, the comfort. I’ve never in my life been to anyplace so nice, and I’m not sure when I’ll have such an experience again. We were treated so well, a particular highlight being our breakfast on the veranda– a glassed in porch with the sun shining in and the snow-covered grounds of Rideau Hall on show. I could have lingered there forever, the conversation with these women so exciting and inspiring. Rideau Hall is impeccably run by a staff whose object seems to be their guests’ comfort, even if that guest is ordinary me.
And then there was the presentation of the Governor General’s Literary Awards last evening, which the five of us were so fortunate to attend. The atmosphere at Rideau Hall was electric as the guests arrived, well-dressed men and women who appeared in their element, and then the writers, artists and publishers dressed in the nicest clothes they’d ever put on in their lives. All ecstatic to be in attendance. The Governor General made a tremendous impression, the artists’ acceptance speeches were so moving and inspiring, and when all rose to sing our national anthem at the end of the event, I’ll confess to crying a little bit. The evening had been so moving, and I was once again proud and honored to be a part of it. It made me think of any cries of elitism, which should be shot down by the simple fact they let me in. And that once a year, at the very very least, we do celebrate our country’s literature in such style. That these artists have it affirmed that what they do matters, and I can only imagine how satisfying that must be after the struggle and sacrifice required to succeed in the arts at all.
I am not sure I even suspected how truly marvelous days could be (and we all know that I do collect good days like postcards). My respect for Michaëlle Jean knows no bounds, I think, and I am awed by her intelligence, her demeanour and elegance– class personified. I have met some lovely people I hope to know for a while, and made fabulous memories. And now to be home again, where the staff aren’t so agreeable but it’s where I belong. What a lucky one am I.
