June 10, 2007
Lettuce
Last night was a very exciting one in the land of Pickle, as our vegetable garden has yielded its first crop. The tomatoes aren’t ready yet, and so our salad was a scant one, only one of lettuce, but never, ever, has lettuce tasted so good.
June 9, 2007
Home Again
It’s bad to be home, only because away was so extraordinarily good. Our landing was delayed by last night by a fierce thunderstorm which forced us to land for an hour in Ottawa. We finally got home to find that lightning or wind had wrangled with our tree, knocking most of it down, which is quite sad. But otherwise all is fine, and we’re exhausted after a week of super touring and nonstop fun. Stay tuned for pictures, and for more pictures throughout the summer as I extend my vacation in spirit. Now rereading Bliss and Other Stories by Katherine Mansfield, on the tale of the marvelous Thieves. Coming up: On Chesil Beach!!
June 9, 2007
Town House by Tish Cohen
Three cheers for Tish Cohen’s Town House, which proves that popular fiction does not have to be stupid. The eponymous town house is in Boston, home to Jack Madigan, the agoraphobic son of a dead rockstar. Life presents particular challenges for him, unable to step beyond the front door. These challenges are only underlined when they involve Jack’s teenage son, his somewhat batty real estate agent, and the precocious little girl who crawls in from next door through a hole in the wall. Cohen has created a cast along the lines of a John Irving novel, or The Royal Tenenbaums, and she uses sympathy to negotiate a balance between quirky and real. It was apparent to me that Cohen must have so loved these characters, to invest them with multi-dimensions and have them keep surprising us. When their lives turn out a little too tidily, we’re glad they do, because we have come to love them too.
June 9, 2007
Heft
To me, England is the land of books, and we came home with our carry-on full. From the bottom, shall we? The last three acquired at the airport Waterstones on 3 for 2, as we had pounds stirling to burn. A Short History of Tractors in Ukrainian by Marina Lewycka, which I’ve been meaning to get to for two years now, and comes recommended by my sister in law. Stuart chose The Book of Dave by Will Self, and I imagine I shall read it too. And Ian McEwan’s Atonement, because I’ve fallen in love with him and everyone says that this is the best.
Next we come to the 3 for 2s we got in Lancaster. Double Fault by Lionel Shriver who I adore. Pies and Prejudice: In Search of the North by Stuart Maconie, because we’re on our Northern kick. And So Many Ways to Begin by Jon McGregor, because I loved his last book, the reviews were great, and plus he lives in Nottingham.
Continuing on to my Persephone books, gifts from Bronwyn who must have read my mind. I got Hetty Dorval, the first novel by our very own Ethel Wilson. Also Kay Smallshaw’s guide How to Run Your Home Without Help, which I suspect will mingle useful, hilarious, and relictness. And It’s Hard to be Hip Over Thirty, poems by Judith Viorst (who wrote Alexander and the Terrible Horrible No Good Very Bad Day).
Next we’ve got Making It Up by Penelope Lively, which was her newest book until quite recently, and I picked that one up in the Oxfam book shop in Lancaster. The last two books are also gifts from Bronwyn: How to be a Bad Birdwatcher by Simon Barnes, and more poetry with Mean Time by Carol Ann Duffy.
The shelves are bursting with delight.
June 6, 2007
Best books won
How cool! Best books won. Though I am on vaca, I could not resist spreading the news that Karen Connelly won the Orange Prize for New Writers for her magnificent The Lizard Cage, and Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie won the main Orange Prize for Half of a Yellow Sun. Absolutely brilliant, as these were two of the very best books I read last year.
June 6, 2007
Brief Pickle Road Report
That all I’ve eaten save supper during the last few days are scones with jam and clotted cream, and I’ve consumed enough tea since Friday to float a boat. That we’ve had enormous fun in Lancaster, Cleveleys, and to the Lake District (to Bowness-on-Windemere, where Stuart rowed me in a boat and quothed original poetry, and Hawkshead, where more scones were eaten and a man was noted on his tombstone as “an observer of rainfall”). I have started a tea towel collection. The road into Hawkshead was so narrow we thought death was imminent, and everyone behind me honked as I had to stop whenever another car passed by. That we walked home yesterday skipping stones and collecting interesting pebbles. That it never rains in the North of England. That I haven’t driven into a hedge, stone wall or another vehicle, but I’ve driven into the curb, twice. That I have watched EastEnders and Two Pints. That I closed my English bank account and got £14. That both of us are going to come home with those famous Northern English sunburns. Tomorrow we’re off to Skipton.
