April 12, 2007
Spring
Here is an image of spring– last spring, of course, because this spring is crap.
The number of undergraduate essays I have left to mark is in the single digits. Soon Pickle Me This, and my entire life, will return to regular service.
April 12, 2007
Wordsworth Rap
The Lake District has turned “I Wondered Lonely As a Cloud” into a rap delivered by a person dressed up as a squirrel. You can watch the video here. The squirrel is weird and frightening, but I didn’t hate the rap. Though I suspect this is only because it’s the littlest bit pitiful, and I feel terribly sorry for the scorn it will inevitably incur. Poor little rap– you’re trying so hard. (Thank you to PK in Chile for the link).
April 12, 2007
There she blows
Margaret Drabble writes with an omniscience that absolutely wows me. Rereading The Realms of Gold is like being strapped inside a rocket ship. Though the rocket permeates the depths of consciousness rather than outer space. It’s really quite a Woolfian book in many respects, which I didn’t notice when I read it first three years ago. It didn’t get a very good review in the NYTimes when it came out in 1975 though. Funny how much the criticism in that review is so similar to reviews of Drabble’s most recent book. Funny also that when I read bad reviews of Margaret Drabble’s work, I don’t ever necessarily disagree with them, but it never means I love her any less. In fact I think my love for Margaret Drabble may be unconditional. This, however, does not mean I intend to read her biography of Arnold Bennett ever.
Upcoming bookishness: Suite Francais, Kitchen, The Horseman’s Graves, and Open because The Calhoun says so.
Marking continues. 46 down. Yesterday’s treat was lunch with RR.
April 11, 2007
Treasures treasures
Today the best thing ever happened. The postman rang twice! I think maybe he forgot to ring yesterday, but no matter. For a mail-enthusiast such as myself, it was a dream come true. What a haul! The first delivery brought me a cheque, and the phone bill (which had already been paid). The second round was even better: two books and a magazine. And then Stuart came home with strawberries. Treasures treasures, arriving at my door.
April 9, 2007
The perils of mimeograph
I am sure that I too once began essays with sweeping statements like “All societies since the dawn of time have had to struggle for identity, much in the same way that Canada struggles to define itself in Barometre Rising“. Therefore I will not roll my eyes too high. I will, however, take a quick break from marking to direct your attention toward two great pieces on personal expression and the internet.
Brilliant Globe and Mail columnist Ivor Tossell on the illusion of on-line privacy. The just-as-brilliant Heather Mallick takes the point further here. She writes of comments (moderated or otherwise) tacked onto articles in The Guardian (and the Globe has them too), asking: “Why should everyone have a voice? They don’t in daily life. There are some people you wouldn’t sit next to on the bus. Online, clever and perhaps sensitive letter writers with an actual point to make are driven away by the ignorance and sheer hatred displayed by the other posters.”
She’s right, for example check out the comments on Ivor’s article, like that charmer who says “rotten things online” just “to get everything thinking”. Thanks pal. Or the one who uses the term “techno weenie”. Oh my. If you judged our international IQ by the amount of rage expressed in these idiotic comments, I think that we could all be geniuses.
April 8, 2007
Woke up this morning feeling fine
Japan was in the news last week, mostly unfortunately through this murder which has been sensationalized by the red-tops in Britain. I appreciated measured responses to the hype here inThe Times. (Judging from reader comments, clearly not everyone appreciated the first article as much as I did. The venom it unleashed was sort of baffling, but then a lot of people don’t like to call racism by its name). More positively, Top Ten Books Set in Japan by Fiona Campbell who has just published Death of a Salaryman. (Incidentally, I’ve only read number 10 but plan to read Kitchen someday soon.)
Lionel Shriver happily reviews Nora Ephron. I want to read Julie Burchill’s book on Brighton. Rounding up responses to Didion on stage. This review makes me so excited to read the new McEwan. I love this: Sunday Morning Music.
Now rereading The Realms of Gold by Margaret Drabble, for kicks.
I’ve marked thirty essays, and as I’ve only done four and three today and yesterday, the weekend has contained some aspects of nice. Yesterday we partook in lattes over the paper in Kensington, and today we ate our delightful M&S Easter Treats from England. But otherwise, yes, not much has occurred. Life continues on hold. The notable event of the weekend continues to be that I brought a very large object into our home, oh and mustn’t forget the startling revelation (to the sound of Herman’s Hermits) that I dance like my dad.
April 8, 2007
Certainty by Madeleine Thien
I adored Certainty, the beautiful and thoughtful debut novel by Madeleine Thien (new in paperback). There is something masterful about her seamless weaving of ideas and narratives into this remarkable whole. This story is a careful balance between the possibility of certainty and the probability of chaos.
Certainty is constructed upon ideas: page eleven, and already, we’re considering the history of the mind. Further, we find references to genetics and empathy, to fractals, pulmonology. “The snowflake is the perfect example of sensitive dependence on initial conditions”. These facts and ideas inform the novel, and fill it with the world. Certainty borrows from the post-modern in terms of structure, but then an ultimate sense of wholeness places the novel beyond that tradition.
Thien explores the nature of grief, but more often Certainty is concerned with the nature of love. And the nature of time, of course, as history is what ties the various pieces of this narrative together. Told from at least six points of view, spanning more than half a century and four continents, somehow Thien can invest such vastness with careful meaning and gorgeous language. She writes, “Knowing another is a kind of belief, an act of faith.”
Thien’s novel resists convention. Gail, the character most central to her plot, is deceased before the book begins. Her partner Ansel, and her parents Clara and Matthew are dealing with their grief. Chronology is spurned, as the book’s next section (from Matthew’s point of view) takes us to Borneo in 1945. Later we will discover Clara’s story, more from Ansel, the mysterious role of Ani in Matthew’s past, and toward the end of the book Gail is “resurrected” in a sense, to de-cipher her own character and offer some answers.
Though of course none of these parts gives too much away on their own. Each fits together like a puzzle, and ultimately it is the sum of these stories which provides the “certainty” amidst uncertainty: meaning is evident, and beauty abounds.
(I enjoyed this profile of Thien very much.)
April 7, 2007
Yolk
Busy week here at Pickle Me This. 23 essays down, and I am pretty deranged. Life is dullsville at the moment as marking is almost all. This Easter weekend will be a fairly lacklustre affair, unfortunately. And the weather is absolute garbage. Which I guess is not the worst seeing as I have to spend most of it indoors.
I went to see Lionel Shriver and Jacqueline Baker read on Wednesday. I am looking forward to reading Baker’s novel soon, and Lionel Shriver was so terribly nice and thoughtful toward those of us who approached her to get our books signed. She read with such authority, and I think she’s such a fascinating woman. She reported being interested in depictions of contentment, and how such portrayals are received as “boring”. She said she was going to making a point of reading us the “boring bits” of her novel that evening, and they were wonderful.
April 7, 2007
A large item
Stuart is not convinced but I think it’s the best thing ever. We found this vintage wardrobe trunk out on the curb tonight bearing a sign that said “Free- Take Me”. And so we did, and it’s lovely. It came with little keys for the lockable compartments, and is in fine condition. The trunk bears old stickers from passage to Glasgow, and all the latches work. It doesn’t smell, which is always important. I will admit we have no need for it and no place to put it, but it just seemed too perfect to walk past. And I am reasonably sure I won’t come to regret carrying it up the stairs and into our apartment. One day we’ll know we needed it. I do have much pity, however, for whoever had to lug it around when it actually contained things. I will not be taking this piece of luggage abroad anytime soon.
April 4, 2007
Blurb Fun
The Quill and Quire blog puts Rebecca Eckler’s blurbs in their proper contexts with illuminating results. Oh, what a mighty weapon is the truth.
