April 24, 2007
A Stock of Stories
“When they tell these stories to friends (as they sometimes do) Brenda never says to Jack, ‘Please don’t tell that old story again,’ and he never says to her, ‘We’ve all heard that one.’ They love their stories and tacitly think of them as their private hoard, their private stock, exquisitely flavoured by the retelling. The timing and phrasing have reached a state of near perfection; it’s taken them years to get them right. It seems to Brenda that all couples of long standing must have just such a stock of stories to draw upon”. -Carol Shields, Happenstance
April 24, 2007
It's hard to find good music
Indeed, I successfully defended my Masters Thesis yesterday, and came home to this beautiful bouquet sent by my family. Lucky I, and luckier still for this Saturday afternoon Stuart and I are going out to celebrate the end of school in the fashion I have chosen, and it is a very special fashion. I can’t wait to tell you all about it.
Linkylink:
-Find an update over at my hobby blog Now Doing! Posted are pictures of the blanket I knit this winter, and my current patchwork project.
-I was thrilled to find out that the marvelous Saffrina Welch has started a blog. Saff is a friend of Stu’s from uni, and when she and her boyfriend Ivan came to stay with us in December, we had a brilliant time. So it will be fun to see what she gets up to online.
-Bookwise, I was happy to see that Karen Connelly’s The Lizard Cage has been nominated for the Orange Award for New Writers. As I expressed when I read it last March, The Lizard Cage is an extraordinary novel, and deserves so much recognition.
-I’ve never read Barbara Pym, but I feel like I ought to after having read this wonderful feature on the Barbara Pym Society Conference.
-And on an unrelated note: Kirsten Dunst is credited with saying: “I was brought up on Guns ‘N Roses, the Les Miserables soundtrack and anything my mother listened to. But it’s much harder to find great music these days.” Bless.
Still reading Happenstance very happily, though copy errors make my eyes bleed. I also picked up the new Hart House Review today and it’s absolutely beautiful. The ever-accomplished Rebecca Rosenblum took a top prize for fiction. Congratulations RR! Some poetry as well by other creative writing comrades. What a bunch.
April 23, 2007
Sassy
Banana Yoshimoto, according to the blurb on my 1994 copy of Kitchen, is “hotter than a steamin’ bowl of yaki soba” sez Sassy. Oh Sassy.
First, isn’t that vaguely offensive? Like saying, “James Joyce is more tuberlier than a potato”. Or “Virginia Woolf is more captivating than an Imperialist”. “Ali Smith is more down to earth than a turnip”. I could go on and on. Would a writer really want to be compared to a bowl of noodles?
I never really got Sassy. I was a bit too young, and way too uncool. References to orl sx and body piercing made me uncomfortable, and I was frightened of drugs and dyed hair (because we all know that one just leads to the other). I was so uncool in Sassy‘s heyday that I found out Kurt Cobain died just before symphonic band practice. We were at Britt’s house, and Jennie delivered the news. She thought his name was Kirk, and we weren’t sure that it wasn’t. I knew the lyrics to “Smells Like Teen Spirit” because I’d read an article about it in my mom’s Chatelaine. And this was our youth. The very beginning of it, at least. Luckily I got more in touch, but by the time I did, Sassy was already dead.
April 22, 2007
April can be so uncruel
We stuck close to home this weekend, which is natural as close to our home is a wonderful place to be on a weekend like this. Lots of indulgences: first ice cream of 2007, first outdoor patio supper with the first pitcher of beer. Today we partook in chicken wings as the street went by. I’ve felt mellow enough to be boneless, which is so nice (and rare).
I read Kitchen by Banana Yoshimoto this morn, and I loved it. My problem with Japanese fiction in the past has been its weirdness (I’m a realist to the core) but I rode with it, and I enjoyed it. It’s the first Japanese fiction I’ve read since we lived there, and it was nice to go back for an hour or two. Now reading Happenstance by Carol Shields, who I continue to be obsessed with. And then on to The Bookshop by Penelope Fitzgerald who I’ve never read before, but is much championed over at dovegreyreader scribbles. I’m curious.
Tonight we’re watching Notes on a Scandal (a bookish film!) in order that I can get through the evening without fretting to death about my thesis defense (!) tomorrow morning.
April 22, 2007
The Horseman's Graves by Jacqueline Baker
“…or so it was supposed,” writes Jacqueline Baker in her new novel The Horseman’s Graves, “since no one ever did learn for certain and it was all pieced together in the usual way, as history always is, by hearsay and supposition and outright imagination”. Such is the tale Baker tells, and clearly this is a “tale”– old-fashioned and unselfconscious. The story is filtered through various points of view of members of a prairie community close to the Alberta/Saskatchewan border, and it is this union of voices that allows the story to function differently than so many other prairie stories with their isolated first-person narrators.
Though of course this community is no neighbourly idyll. I cannot pinpoint one character at the epicentre of this story, but the characters who come together to fulfill this role are each alone in their own way– the Schoff boy who is hideously scarred after an accident; his parents who are so isolated in their grief; Lathias, the Metis hired man who caused the accident and becomes devoted to the boy; the bizarre character of Leo Krauss (whose family had been feuding with the Schoffs since “the old country”); Leo’s first and second wives, whose union to him is unfathomable to the rest of the community; and Elizabeth, the daughter of Leo’s second wife who arrives in town with her mother’s marriage and casts various spells with her bewitching looks and her strange behaviour.
And the tangled web of all of these characters (whose ties are not substantial enough to render any of them not lonely) is conveyed by each of them, and by their neighbours with a wonderfully limited omniscience on the narrator’s part. It’s so effective to come to understand a character through what others see. Baker writes beautiful descriptions of landscape, reveals so much with dialogue and weaves something lovely with humour and darkness together. She develops her tale in such a roundabout way that makes it feel like a yarn, and yet momentum is present all the while. Her pacing yields a fabulous suspense, and she holds back enough to allow her realism a decidedly ghostly edge.
I liked the unfashionableness of this book, and I am not entirely in the habit of being contrary. I like what seemed to be Baker’s utter concentration on a story for the sake of itself, and the manner in which the narrative seemed to be “crafted”. That with a genuine skill with language and story, Baker successfully realizes her vision without having to try to be clever.
With The Horseman’s Graves Jacqueline Baker has written a real-live story with legs, and it runs and it runs and it runs.
April 22, 2007
Go outside
Lionel Shriver, you are so famous these days! And I am rather pissed that when I went to see you a few weeks ago I only brought your new book to sign, and not your very first book which I own and, according to this profile, is worth a good sum. I find people who arrive at signings with stacks and stacks a bit obnoxious, but perhaps there is method? Our national paper shamed me with its lameness this weekend, although Rex Murphy’s column was extraordinary. Celebrate Muriel Spark.
Now go outside.
April 20, 2007
Sign of the times
Yes, it’s true. I saw it with mine very own eyes.
The Big Chill is back open for business!
April 20, 2007
Greetings
Greetings from the state of things! From the land of green grass, blue skies, painted toenails, sandals and cropped trousers. Exposed tattoo courtesy of the University of Saskatchewan Women’s Studies Program (no relation). Today I am going out in the sunshine to drop off the marked-essays and then get my hair cut. Tonight I’ve got a party with my creative writing comrades. I just spent a half hour on hold with Passports Canada, during which I put in a load of laundry and cleaned out my closet. The sullen woman on the line assured me I would get my passport in time for my trip, even though one of my references has moved to Antigua. Hooray!
The season has begun. We’re having an ice-cream van turf-war on our street. I have totally got the fever.
Oh, please do check out Patricia Storms’s Art Imitating Lit comic strips. In terms of good things that woman creates, Booklust is just le tippe de le iceberge.
April 19, 2007
Take another chance on the prairies
I’m starting to read The Horseman’s Graves today and I’m feeling nervous, which you might understand if you’re aware of the problems I’ve had with prairie fiction. Prairie fiction makes me absolutely crazy.
However I was somewhat reassured by this (rave) review of the book from The Globe this past weekend. Particularly by this bit: “Though the geographical, cultural and temporal setting of The Horseman’s Graves might generate comparisons to early 20th-century practitioners of “prairie realism,” Baker displays little of their inclination to romance, nor does she set up the prairie landscape and community to represent oppressive forces to be succumbed to or transcended. Her judicious plotting avoids parable and object lesson, and insists that the story of these people in this place is worth telling for its own sake.”
I do hope so. And I suspect my long-suffering husband hopes so too.
April 18, 2007
That's some couch
Introducing the new couch– the most exciting item to pass through our door since two weeks ago when we got a salad spinner.
And so clearly things have been a bit dull around here domestically, but it’s all looking up now. The essays are marked and ready to be sent away, and the sun is shining for the first time in weeks. The weather forecast for the weekend is promising. Now reading Open by Lisa Moore, and each story seems like a package wrapped up just for me. And of course, there’s the couch. Reclining has never been so much fun.
