February 16, 2007
Don't give me no jazz
What a nice day I’ve had, the sun shining through the windows and the cold shut out by the walls. Since September, I’ve been working on the second draft of the story that will be defended as my Master’s theis come April. I’ve worked with the new draft by starting fresh and retyping each chapter with the first draft as a guide, making changes as I see fit and then going over it again (and again after that upon feedback from my advisor). And I’m getting toward the end of my story, and though the ultimate end has stayed the same, so many details have changed. And so I’ve thrown out (most of) the first draft from this point on. And it’s wonderful really, to work with these characters I’ve come to know so well and put them in fabulous places I’d never before considered. To be template-free, and let my imagination take over. All toward the same destination, of course, but I aim to make the ride more interesting than it was the first time around.
Now rereading To Kill a Mockingbird, which is rumoured to be even better than it was when I read it last in grade eleven. In periodicals news, The Walrus was really wonderful this month, and Vanity Fair arrived today.
And it is now the weekend. The Doering-Lui’s will arrive for dinner at 7:00. Tomorrow’s plans include long-awaited fish and chips, Kensington Market, and a search for a DS game on which I will be a trusty sidekick.
February 16, 2007
Fierce
Upon a recommendation, I read A Passion for Narrative by Jack Hodgins and found it so illuminating. I don’t really believe you can learn fiction from a book (except books of fiction, of course), but I’m right in the middle of my big project and reading such a guide at this stage is quite practical. Shines light on what might be wanting, and made me think of a few things I never even considered. And then I can go right to my story and apply what I’ve learned. The book also dealt with matters of structure I’ve been grappling with. My aim is to have my story done by the end of this month so that I can spend March dealing with it as a whole. Though this aim would be more achievable if February were just a bit longer. Though if February were any longer, I would probably lose my mind.
On lending books— most people who know me know me well enough not to even ask. Lending out a book fills me with terrific anxiety and I don’t feel better until it’s back in its home. Because as much as I love books as objects, I love my library as an entity even more. When I prune my shelves, however, I always make sure I give away the discards. I have a moral objection to profiting from books. I feel that karmically I will benefit somehow by spreading that love– whether to a college book sale, or a friend.
Now reading Ladykiller, which I would sum up as “fierce”.
My Valentines Day haul was ace: I got a box of Celestial Seasonings Tea. I gave Stuart a grapefruit. And I also made him a chocolate treat from a recipe in Globe Style (“Triple Chocolate Attack”), though I made plenty and got to enjoy as much as he did.
February 14, 2007
D to the pearls of love
Tomorrow is Valentines. My wise friend Carolyn said that Valentines is really only for women with crappy men in their lives, just so at least one day a year they get a dose of goodness. Those of us with oft-upstanding blokes should expect a day much like any other. Which isn’t so terribly really, but it’s certainly not what the lately-ubiquitous diamond commericals on television have had me expecting. I’m totally holding out for White Day though.
February 14, 2007
Radiance by Shaena Lambert
Radiance would be the story of Keiko, a “Hiroshima Maiden” who comes to America in 1952 for plastic surgery on her facial scars. It is quickly apparent, however, that this story belongs instead to those she meets during her sojourn– people who see her as an opportunity to fulfil their own personal longings. And all of them want to hear her story:
~’Tell me about Hiroshima.’ But she is. She is. It is a map she carries in her body, where north holds the hills and, beneath them, the wide suburban avenues, the streetcar rails dusted with snow. South is full of winding cobbled streets, smelling of fish. East beyond the castle is a flat plain that reminds her of her father. Here soliders practice their drills and formations, carrying black bayonets.~
Hiroshima is a place of many stories. For me, for many years, Hiroshima was a book by John Hersey and a photo of a mushroom cloud. While we lived in Japan, we visited the city twice and it became one of my favourite cities in that country, with beautiful canals, a vibrant atmosphere, and nearby Miyajima, which might just be my favourite place in the world. Lambert plays with the idea of a storied Hiroshima in a marvelous way. How a city’s name has come to stand for such atrocity, and yet behind it are the stories of the people who live there. And similarly are stories woven throughout the novel– in particular the story of Daisy Lawrence, Keiko’s American “host mother” who is dealing with her own personal trauma when Keiko comes to stay. Keiko herself remains a cipher right to the novel’s ambiguous end.
Daisy comments that once Keiko comes, everything seems to be “carrying a double shadow, so that you could never be sure if what you saw was strange or natural.” It is the same experience for the reader, who can never be sure whether incidents are interpreted through characters’ neuroses, or can be seen for what they are. This ambiguity is particularly effective as the narrative takes place during the era of McCarthyist paranoia, and Daisy’s own husband is called to testify about his affiliations. But at the same time, so many unanswered questions leave a reader a bit unsatisfied too. More of a focus could have aided this: with so many double shadows, and you long for something solid to hold.
The multitude of perspectives is one problem in this text. Swinging between characters results in such bizarre situations as Daisy seemingly noting her husband sitting in the car “watching her stout, muscled buttocks” as he dropped her off at the train station. Similar awkwardness exists in some of the prose: a sentence like “The pilot… stepped jauntily down the steps” is absolutely crying out for a better verb, or an editor. I was uneasy about some of the metaphors connected Daisy and Keiko: that the former takes off her girdle and is imprinted with flowers, as victims of the atomic bombs are burned by the patterns on their kimonos, and while the connection is jarring, I did not find it particularly informing.
But as the above passage about Hiroshima indicates, Lambert is capable of very strong writing. And this story gathers momentum as it goes, culminating in twists and turns that took me completely by surprise. Perhaps Radiance is a book of too many stories, but the story at its core, which is Daisy Lawrence’s, is well-played out until the very end. And Keiko’s story too, even in her reticence. She proves a most intriguing trickster figure, never explained away and this contibutes to the novel’s magic aura. Using a remarkable blend of Japanese and American lore, Shaena Lambert’s Radiance tells the stories which underwrite the history we think we know.
February 13, 2007
Self Portrait
We’re tired at our house, which is what happens when we both spend the night having dreams in which we are struggling to sleep. And so for today, in lieu of coherence, Pickle Me This brings you me waiting for the tub to fill. Turban-headed because if my Japanese life taught me anything, it was that a bath sans shower is foul. And I like this image because it incorporates four of my favourite things: books, baths, big mugs of tea and Stuart (for it is his robe after all). Happy All The Time was a splish-splash delight.
Today in the post was a letter from Bronwyn, with whom I’ve defied Laurie Colwin’s quote from Happy All The Time: “Friendship is not possible between two women one of whom is very well dressed”. (That said woman is Bronwyn and not me should be revelatory to nobody). And her note contained the news that she has subscribed me to the London Review of Books, which is sort of like having pennies rain from the sky. I’d say life must be mostly good, with friends like that.
And I think Lucky Beans is one of the prettiest blogs I’ve ever seen.
February 11, 2007
Culling Nothing
Wonderful! Some writers’ rooms (with photos!). This one is Hilary Mantel’s. Here for literary friendships, and rivalries. Calvin Trillin in conversation. The beginning of this article is something a lot of book collectors can related to, on pruning your shelves: “…the same thing happens with every potential discard: You start to read it. Four hours later, you wake up on the floor, having culled nothing.” This article pleased me– on being a good wife. Heather Mallick’s manifesto— it’s always amusing to read the comments of her irate (and apparently avid) readers.
February 11, 2007
Bliss
This weekend the sun came out and I had to leave the house because I’ve been living in pseudo-hibernation the last while and by Sunday evening I’m always crazy. Not this weekend however, as we’ve had a delightful time. We went to St. Lawrence Market yesterday for fruit and veg and had lunch there, and then hung about in a coffee shop reading the paper. Last night the Brown-Smiths came for dinner and we had a wonderful time, and I didn’t drink too much– just enough. Today we went for a walk down College Street and had coffee/tea at Golden Wheat. The house is clean, delicious leftover risotto in the fridge, and just enough ice cream to make a dessert. Bliss.
February 11, 2007
Cheating
I’m totally cheating because I’ve gone on a YA spree. I am justifying this by explaining that I am dealing with a young protagonist at the moment and so it’s good to have some exposure to that kind of voice, but the truth is that I love the Anastasia books. They are so clever. I went to the library yesterday to return one and brought home four more, as well as a couple of other young adult novels. And I say that I am cheating because I read one in an hour, and then mark it on my list of Books Read Since 2006 and now I’m at 199 and I don’t know if that’s quite right. Now reading Happy All the Time by Laurie Colwin. I love Laurie Colwin.
February 11, 2007
Epigraph
The streets of London have their map; but our passions are uncharted. What are you going to meet if you turn this corner? -Jacob’s Room
February 11, 2007
Project
Whenever someone came to visit us in Nottingham, we took their picture in front of the Robin Hood Statue. This was not only because there wasn’t much to do in Nottingham, but it was quickly an important ritual. Some shots are quite posed: me and my guests standing at attention (hello Erin, Claz, Mike, and all of ye who attended my 24th birthday celebration). We’ve got Stuart’s and my sisters in town, and even a shot of my Mom (though she’s standing a bit east of the statue; her visit occurred before tradition was cemented). Some great dramatic shots: Bardley launching his bow alongside, Rebecca swooning at RH’s skirts, and Britt being nailed in the skull. All in all, an excellent photographic exhibition (in which, it must be noted, the sun is never shining) and I’ve decided to arrange and frame some sort of a display that will deck our walls forever more. At the time I was unaware that I was creating an historic record, but then I suppose one never is.
