A brief update.

It's been a while since Molly stopped by to stare at you with her soulful eyes and whine at you until you feed her, and so: an update.

Molly has been keeping busy this winter, in spite of the fact that I, her terrible owner, have refused to put out a space heater for her to hog and she honestly feels like giving up on life every second except when a pillow falls off my bed. For reasons that REMAIN UNCLEAR every human pillow is more comfortable for a dog to lie on than a dog bed made for a dog. But I digress.

She has lately taken up a sport, or so she tells me. The rules of dog sports are a little obscure (run, run, RUN, stop, RUN), but she did make it clear that the prize was "MOR FUD, U GIV." When I said that no food would be made available after a recent win, she replied with a cryptic "NO WORRYS, MEATSTICK."

Here she is, being escorted to her podium by two men who are not imbuing this moment with the dignity and quiet admiration it deserves:

Molly copy

 

Meanwhile, I am reading Tana French's latest murder mystery, as well as the Pevear/Volokhonsky translation of War and Peace, and someday soon I will write a post about these things.  

 

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'Broken Harbour' by Tana French
Broken Harbor by Tana French

"Bonjour Tristesse" by Francoise Sagan

Bonjour tristesseThis weekend I took a break from pretending to read Infinite Jest (a book by which I have been awed and annoyed in turn) to basically inhale something that is more my speed. This short, short novel is a coming of age story set in the French Riviera during the 50s. Cecile is seventeen and staying the summer in a villa with her father, Raymond, a widower and a libertine. They're a superficially happy duo, indulgent of each other, needing no one, as another character puts it. Raymond is a womanizer, a creature of passion and whimsy, and Cecile, with no better example, is the same. Unlike her father she's afflicted by a growing ennui she can't quite understand. When Raymond impulsively casts aside his young mistress and becomes engaged to an older family friend--Anne--Cecile takes it upon herself to stop the marriage from occurring, with tragic consequences.

Cecile's relationship with Anne animates the book, and it's a complicated one. Cecile admires Anne, even adores her in her role as friend and adviser, but when Anne steps into the role of mother, Cecile becomes resentful even as she desperately craves Anne's understanding and love. Cecile is faced with a choice between turning into the sort of person her father and his friends are (they're painted as bitter, emotionally stunted, glitzy, fun people), or the sort of person Anne is: elegant, graceful, competent, but also someone whose life is ruled by order, by routine. Even while she flirts with the idea of becoming someone like Anne, she resents Anne's attempts to improve her, finding them insincere and invasive. She is almost as contemptuous of her father's friends and their way of being in the world, but Anne's way requires change, which is painful, and the sort of life that Anne represents requires an understanding of love which Cecile does not achieve until, perhaps, the end of the book. Not of love as an intense, temporary passion, but as fidelity, constancy; a feeling of need rather than one of desire, maybe. At the end of the novel, Cecile is haunted by an intractable sadness, which the poem that serves as the book's epigraph implies is the beginning and the end of love.

The poem (which also gives the book its name) is by Paul Eluard and is called "À Peine Défigurée" (Hardly Disfigured) and it took me a few tries to find a translation of the poem that was transparent...I think it's one of those that doesn't translate well. I reproduce the original and this useful, if imperfect, translation here, as well as a more standard translation:

Adieu tristesse
Bonjour tristesse
Tu es inscrite dans les lignes du plafond
Tu es inscrite dans les yeux que j'aime
Tu n'es pas tout à fait la misère
Car les lèvres les plus pauvres te dénoncent
Par un sourire
Bonjour tristesse
Amour des corps aimables
Puissance de l'amour
Dont l'amabilité surgit
Comme un monstre sans corps
Tête désappointée
Tristesse beau visage.

Farewell Sadness
Hello Sadness
I see you on the ceiling
I see you in the eyes that I love
I see you in the smile that betrays you.
Hello Sadness
Power of love
From which kindness rises
Like a bodiless monster
Unattached head
Sadness has a beautiful face.

And the more common translation:

Farewell Sadness
Hello Sadness
You are inscribed in the lines on the ceiling
You are inscribed in the eyes that I love
You are not poverty absolutely
Since the poorest of lips denounce you
Ah with a smile
Bonjour Tristesse
Love of kind bodies
Power of love
From which kindness rises
Like a bodiless monster
Unattached head
Sadness beautiful face.

TL;DR/You should read this book because: you love coming of age stories, short novels, movies with Jean Seberg in them (she plays Cecile in the movie), stories about French people being extra-French, or you agree that Claudine at School is the best Claudine novel (duh).

 

Lately...

Grimm Crane

I signed up for an online lit class on Coursera: "Fantasy and Science Fiction: the Human Mind, Our Modern World." Have you heard of this thing, Coursera? It's pretty neat. My particular class is being taught by a U of Michigan professor. Yesterday, we submitted our first essays. The way grading works--because it's free for now and a bajillion people are taking the class--is that everything is reviewed by a group of your peers. So today I read five little essays on the Brothers Grimm's "Household Stories". Some were awful and one was GREAT, as you might expect. Mine was ok, I think.

My father is taking a Finance class, apparently. I'm trying to talk him into taking a World History class with me in the fall. I wonder what would happen if we had to peer-review each other. I AM PREPARED TO FAIL YOU, DAD. Just fyi.

 

Molly won an Olympic medal, which I reproduce below:

Molly medal

 


Literary Traveler: Portugal

Lately I've been doing a lot of armchair travelling, which is when you buy guidebooks for places, and think about going there, and then look at pictures of said places on random blogs and pretty much just delight in the possibilities. Portugal is one of the places I'd like to go, so I thought it would be fun to make a little reading list featuring some essential Portuguese writers...

Fernando Pessoa's The Book of Disquiet

Jose Saramago's Baltasar and Blimunda or The Year of the Death of Ricardo Reis (Actually set in 20th century Lisbon.)

José Maria de Eça de Queirós's The Maias

Antonio Lobo Antunes's Fado Alexandrino (Amazon tells me that people who bought it also bought Satantango, so... I mean, just consider yourself warned or something.)

***

Bootcamp is killing me, guys. I did 60 push-ups today.

Face

Yes, I made that in paint. I know I'm a genius; stop mentioning it. Honestly, you're embarrassing me.

 

 

Wolf Hall by Hilary Mantel

WolfhallI finished Wolf Hall. It took forever, but it was worth it. Henry the VIII, guys! So many wives! Possibly a genetic disorder! What a guy, what a time. This book is actually not about him.

It's about his chief minister and enabler, Thomas Cromwell. Cromwell as written by Hilary Mantel is a fascinating character: a self-made man who rose from the bottom of society to the very top, a capitalist, a pragmatist, and an alarmingly talented politician. Cromwell is known for several things, principal among them engineering England's split with the Catholic church so Henry VIII could marry Anne Boleyn, and for being a really huge jerk to Thomas More (although here More is the jerk). He's generally been regarded as a nebulous, dark, unheroic character, but Mantel brings him to life with so much sympathy. Her choice of Cromwell as a character is a pretty bold one. I really liked her intimate approach to historical fiction; so much of the book is just about Cromwell's household. When a character falls from grace, we hear about how he's forced to move to a terrible house, and make do with cheap food and the few servants who stay with him out of loyalty. History is a hazy thing, I guess, to the people living through it, and most of our days really are occupied with errands and not-very-impressive concerns about vermin infestations and our pets. 

One thing that has gotten a ton of praise is Mantel's spotty usage of proper names. She just uses pronouns all the time, even when there are several characters those pronouns could be referring to. I don't know how I feel about it. I thought it was pretty confusing. Not insurmountable, just...difficult. It gave the book this odd quality though...like I was reading someone's diary or something not quite meant to be read. I thought at one point that if someone was narrating his own life in the third person, this is exactly what it would sound like. There was an immediacy that was interesting. I did feel like I missed a lot though, in my confusion, and the constant re-reading cut into the momentum of the story, and on top of everything else, the cast of characters is so large. Sometimes I had no idea who was being talked to or about. 

Still, this is such a refreshing take on Henry the VIII and his whole dramarama. I mean, I hope someone adapts this into a Showtime series. So much better.

Recent Acquisitions

I should really finish a book sometime, but instead I got two new ones on my kindle:

Wolfhall A heart so white

I actually got "A Heart So White" in Spanish...google reminded me that this is a line from ol' Macbeth. Lady Macbeth says: "My hands are of your color, but I shame/ To wear a heart so white." The more you know...

This was a pretty strange, nice, busy weekend. I fiiiiinally put the finishing touches on my craft essay. I am not so impressed with myself, as far as that goes, but it was helpful in terms of my own writing, and thinking about writing a little historical novel. Ye historye, you guys.

Two Josephine Tey Mysteries

A little while ago, I read a few Josephine Tey mysteries, one after the other after the other. Tey is pretty original, even now; sixty odd years after they were written, these little novels still seem fresh. As you probably know by now, I have never met a mystery I didn't like, but I have to admit that I usually know going in what I can expect.

Daughter of timeFirst I read "The Daughter of Time" (the title is part of a Francis Bacon aphorism: truth is the daughter of time, not of authority). It's about a bedridden Scotland Yard detective who sets out to solve the centuries-old mystery of who killed the two sons (the heir and the spare) of Edward the IV. The prime suspect has always been their uncle, Richard the III, the last of the Plantagenets and the man who became king in their stead. Listen, do you like those old-school documentaries that they used to have on the History Channel? Where they were like "Who killed King Tut?" or "What was this Atlantis place everyone* goes on about, really?" If you do, then you'll like this book. It's a fascinating period in history, and if the stakes seem low in summary, they never do when you're reading the book. It was a page-turner for me. It reminded me a little of Rear Window in its set-up. It sounds sort of boring and constrained in concept, but in both cases, the characters' limitations (on the one hand, and inability to leave one's apartment, on the other, an extreme distance from the crime) are exploited to great effect.

 

 

BratBrat Farrar was actually the most traditional of Tey's mysteries that I read, and also the most melancholy. I get the sense that Tey sort of regrets that someone has to die (even a fictional someone) in order for us to have our entertainment. This is an odd story: there's a family by the name of Ashby, owners of an important English estate. The family was once composed of Aunt Bee and the five children of her late brother and his (also late) wife. After their parents' death, the oldest child, Patrick, committed suicide, leaving his brother Simon the heir to the estate.  The story opens on the eve of Simon's coming of age, when a young man appears claiming to be Patrick, thereby challenging Simon's claim to estate. Patrick is of course Brat Farrar, and the meat of the story is concerned with what happens next. This was probably my least favorite of the mysteries; it was very "Rebecca." By Daphne Du Maurier? The story is haunted by Patrick's violent and inexplicable death, and there's an encroaching darkness about the whole thing. It's the only one of Tey's mysteries that really has about it a sense of menace.

***

In unrelated news, I have been listening to this during workouts at the gym:

 

I just really feel like it encompasses all the feelings I feel at the gym: euphoria, frustration, boredom, and the one where I'm about to die of a heart-attack.

***

Also, do you remember how good that first Coldplay album was? I mean, I was fifteen, so who knows, but remember how we felt? The second was not as good, but I heard this today, and oh, memories.

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yEoHFzEmld0?fs=1&feature=oembed] 

This was also the first video where I didn't think Chris Martin looked like an attractive alien life form. (The unattractive alien lifeforms all look like Jabba the Hutt and the things you find in tap water when you look through a microscope.)

 

*The conclusion is always that Plato is one of these

Review: Masha Gessen's "The Man Without a Face"

I am back from New York, where I met all my goals for the weekend (eating delicious things, walking a lot, sleeping a ton, chilling with my Juanbro, finishing this book, deciding to skip the Frick). Except for a foray to the MoMA (God, Cindy Sherman's art from the 90s is so creepy), I barely left Brooklyn, and you know what? It was glorious. At this point, I have seen New York, so when I visit, I kind of just like to wander aimlessly and take in some big city energy while stopping to eat brunch as many times as humanly possible (WHY CAN'T CHARLOTTE GET BRUNCH LIKE THAT? I had these potatoes at one point, and Juan asked me how they were, and I turned to him with what I can only assume was an expression of shock and awe and said "f***ing amazing". And I meant it, dudes! Juan laughed at me. I don't even like potatoes that much!). The weather was ridiculously good. I krumped at bars. I introduced Juan to Archer (you are welcome).

The man wo a faceAs to the book: Gessen's book is an important one, and a brave one given the fates of the various reporters who've previously taken on Putin. If you're looking for a detailed account of the last twenty years of Russia's history, you're better off looking elsewhere (the history here is neither linear nor inclusive), but as a study of Putin's character and motivations and how they've been shaped by and have shaped Russia's politics, it is superb. Putin is like one of those miraculous creatures--walking fish, for example--that are so adapted to the environment that produced them that in any other context they look totally absurd. Putin's personal history is one of mediocrity. He isn't particularly charismatic or intelligent; instead, his great gift is the ability to reflect back on those around him exactly what they expect of him. That's what Gessen means by "without a face"; Putin is someone onto whom others can project whatever they want. I can't even express to you how bizarre his rise to power in Yeltsin's final months was, or how Cold-War-crazy his response the Chechen situation has been, or how blatant his repeated property and power-grabs have been. I mean, he maybe possibly engineered some terrorist attacks to consolidate his power? He possibly stole a billion dollars by putting entrepreneurs in jail? Putin is basically a conspiracy theorist's dream. And the incompetence of these conspiracies! I mean, the arrogance implied by the carelessness with which some of these alleged FSB operations were carried out is unbelievable. Do you remember Alexander Litvinenko?!

Gessen's book is cautiously hopeful: since the Duma elections in December, Russians have risen up in protest against Putin and his cronies. The problem with Russia is that these uprisings don't necessarily mean much. With elections rigged and the judicial and legislative branches of the government totally in thrall to the executive, there's no system of redress for an increasingly disgruntled opposition and no checks and balances. So, what happens next? Gessen says all such regimes--insulated, out of touch, despised--must come to an end, but when is a much more uncertain matter. 

So excited to start Masha Gessen's new book about Putin!

Screen Shot 2012-03-03 at 11.38.54 AM

It just came out like two days ago and already the Amazon reviews are totally polarized. The Guardian called it clear and brave. I find Putin and his whole weird bear-wrestling thing so fascinating. I'm going to start it right after lunch...it'll be a perfect read on a cloudy day.

PS- I'm trying out a new format with tiny images and wrapped text. It looks better, doesn't it? Right? I mean, when the entry isn't super tiny like this one.

Review: Mindy Kaling's "Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me?" and music, because why not?

Everyone-hanging-out-lg

I loved the pants off this book. It made me so happy.

It's a memoir, albeit written by an accomplished young woman who has mostly had nice things happen in her life and who makes her living writing comedy. Also, she's a little silly, pretty ambitious, and very awkward (I knew there HAD to be a term for what she calls an Irish Exit). So, that's what's on the page. It's refreshing and just...nice to read a nonfiction book about a woman that isn't tragic, but also isn't fluffy nonsense about the three outfits that will change my life. And she even loves her job! It was inspiring, as a writer, and also as a woman (omg, feminist tear). 

There were so many little bits of this book that I read five times over just to feel the satisfaction of someone agreeing with me about things that I'm sort of embarrassed to think. For example, she goes into how those zeitgeisty articles about relationships always make her cry ('train your boyfriend like a dog!', 'a key party saved my marriage!') because "this wretched little magazine article has helped convinced more open-minded liberal arts graduates that the nuclear family doesn't exist without some hideous twist, like the dad is allowed to go to an S&M dungeon once a week or something. It makes me cry because it means fewer and fewer people are believing it's cool to want what I want, which is to be married and have kids and love each other in a monogamous, long-lasting relationship." It was also nice to hear someone else say that it's really tiresome the way some married people always talk about how much work relationships are, as if they just invented marriage. Is 'work' really that bad? "We seem to get so gloomily worked up about [marriage] these days," she says. We expect so much of our romantic relationships. All Mindy wants is a pal. All I want is to shake her hand.

I don't know that we would be friends in real life, though. There's a whole section about Mindy's rules for best friendom, like that friends should share clothing and that if on vacation the bed is large enough, sleeping together is superior insofar as it provides the opportunity to talk till you fall asleep. She's so cute, but also really weird to me. Like some rules I was down with 100%, and others I was like "hell no, bitch." Maybe it's because I'm foreign? If I had rules for good friendship, they would be like:

1-Under no circumstance should you ever invite yourself over to someone's home or party. If someone hasn't invited you to their get-together it isn't for a really mundane reason like that they forgot to because you're not the center of their universe. It's because they actively do no want you there.

2-Never lend anyone anything if you can avoid it. Not pens in class and for the love of God not clothing. People never return anything, and if they do, you will catch a fungus and die. Don't ask to borrow things. The exception to this is books, which are public property, obviously.

3-Only ask for favors in life and death situations. Even then, you should always try throwing money at the problem. Ex: You are bleeding to death because you lost a foot (don't ask me why, I'm not the irresponsible one who lost a foot). You would like to ask a friend to use their shirt as a tourniquet. First, ask to pay for their shirt. Then, pass out from blood loss as you try to tie said shirt onto your own stump, Stumpy. Finally, accept help.

A subsection of this rule is that you must bring everything everywhere, because God forbid you have to ask someone for a kleenex or an umbrella or a snack. If you're ever hungry, you will always have a Lorna Doone airplane brownie that's been sitting in your purse for three months. Mmmm, chocolate flavored dust.

None of these rules apply to people you're related to, even if you consider them your friends. By the way, Dad, can I borrow a plane ticket home?

You're probably expecting me to say that these rules seem unreasonable and curmudgeonly now that I've written them down. 

...

...

...

Anyway, Mindy Kaling is hilarious, and I'm so happy she wrote a book to supplement her twitter feed, which I am always reading, even though I'm not on twitter, because ew. Gross.

And now for music! I recently listened to Andrew Bird's new album..."Lazy Projector" is my favorite song from it (it's like halfway down this page...no, I can't embed it...what do I look like, some kind of witch? oh, now we're in a fight). Did you know it was written for the Muppets movie?

Andrew_bird_1330603820_crop_550x525


A review of book #6 of the Amelia Peabody series by "Michael", standing in for all our moms.

From Audible.com:

"Not half Bad, but get a room!

I like E. Peters' stories of Peabody et. al. As with long series I sometimes get confused as to the chronology of the story [EDIT: we humbly suggest you may be reading them out of order]. In this one, Ramses is a young boy and in some I found him as a young adult [EDIT: we understand that it is confusing when time passes]. The characters are always consistent though. Stories of lost civilizations are usually interesting to me and this one was partially developed and left lots of questions [EDIT: we cannot disagree that the book failed to contain all of ancient Egyptian history, but we love pie!]

Really, the only reason I wrote this review was that Emerson and Peabody seemed to spend a lot of time in the sack. I'm no prude, but it seemed like they were "getting busy" in every chapter. Their special moments were alluded to in a Victorian vocabulary; the author was trying to use every subtle phrase to indicate the onset of the physical act. Peabody seemed to be quite horny, but the reader is left wondering just how did they "Do it" with all those clothes, the sand, and the baying of the camels [EDIT: RIGHT?]. Thus, it is requested that more details be provided or that their rabbit-like natures be minimized." 

Dear Michael, I love you.

Book Review: The Shadow of the Wind by Carlos Ruiz Zafon

Hi! HI! Hi! This morning, because I needed to WAKE UP, I decided to forgo my usual espresso and take a caffeine pill instead. The package claimed that one caffeine pill=one cup of coffee. They must have meant this cup:

Big_coffee_cup

Anyway, I feel like I'm on speed. In the minute since I published this I've found no less than 5 typos. So the lesson is: don't take a whole caffeine pill. Maybe take half and see how it goes. I guess I should have known. Saved by the Bell totally tried to warn me.

Moving right along (because I can't stop moving)...

Shadow of the Wind

To borrow a ratings structure from Reading Matters, I'd give The Shadow of the Wind 3 out of 5 stars...it is (very much) a good read. If it sometimes seems a little amateurish, the kind of book that just barely holds together, it more than makes up for it in terms of sheer verve. Zafon is an ambitious, imaginative writer, and if his Gothic sensibility, his rather adolescent views on love, and his linguistic acrobatics sometimes are more of a negative than a positive, well, you didn't want to read another book about middle-class midwesterners experiencing spiritual malaise anyway, did you?

The Shadow of the Wind is set in Barcelona in the forties and fifties: a bleak place, ravaged by the Spanish Civil War, which is an enduring darkness in the background of the story. It's a story about a boy who finds a book called (eponymously) The Shadow of the Wind in a mysterious library called The Cemetery of Forgotten Books. One of the rules of the cemetery is that the first time you go there, you pick out a book that becomes yours forever: it's your job not to forget it. The copy of The Shadow of the Wind that Daniel (that's the boy, our narrrator) finds turns out to be extra-special, because it's the only existing copy. It was written by a man called Julian Carax, who may or may not be dead. In any case, someone has definitely been going around burning his books. Why this should be is the first mystery Daniel encounters, and it leads him to unravel the larger mystery of Carax's tragic life and possible death. The more Daniel learns about Carax over several years (he's an adult by the time we get to the meat of the story), the more the two men's lives come to resemble each other. Zafon's book is a lot about loving books, and about how they come to shape our lives in both abstract and concrete ways. It sounds pretty great, doesn't it? It is.

What I didn't love about the book: the characters can be a little one-note, especially the women, who have little to do aside from love and be loved. No one seems to have any serious ambition aside from the single, consuming romantic passion. And once you go evil, there's nothing about you that can be redeemed. Technically speaking, Zafon often has a character gives us some information that, though relevant, the character shouldn't or couldn't know. The supernatural explanations for some of the plot points struck me as a little lazy (I mean, a Cemetery of Forgotten Books? How? Why?). His metaphors are just awful (maybe it's the translation?). Like a fat man in a tutu dancing in an otherwise normal performance of Swan Lake. See what I did there?    

Still, I had a hard time putting it down once I got over the little flaws I mention above. I'm excited to see what Zafon does next.

1491 by Charles C. Mann

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This was actually quite a different experience from reading 1493. For one thing, it had a lot more material to cover, and as such, compared to the other book, I was left with so many more questions (I guess it's not really a bad thing per se when a book makes you want to learn more about whatever topic it covers, though). It was also more...political, I guess, is the word I would use. I feel like before Mann wrote this he must often have thought "If I had a nickel for every time someone regurgitated some completely wrong-headed notion about Native Americans, I could definitely break a coinstar machine." I also have a complicated relationship with coinstar machines, so Imaginary Charles Mann has my sympathy. And he's right: everything you've learned in school about Native Americans is probably pretty wrong.

There's a little passage early on in the book, when Mann is describing the Siriono people of Bolivia, that I'm going to quote here because it so perfectly encapsulates what I think is the main argument of 1491: 

"Before Columbus, Holmberg [who first sudied the Siriono in the early 20th century] believed, both the people and the land had no real history. Stated so baldly, this notion--that the indigenous peoples of the Americas had floated changelessly through the millennia until 1492--may seem ludicrous. But flaws in perspective often appear obvious only after they are pointed out. In this case they took decades to rectify."

Native civilizations of the Americas were largely exterminated by European diseases, often before making contact with European people (diseases moved across the continent faster than the Europeans themselves), and so the accounts that we have of these societies are often those written by Europeans, and are descriptions of these peoples after they'd been devastated by various epidemics. What seemed to Europeans to be a virgin, untouched wilderness (both in North and South America) was often the result of millenia of Native American stewardship that had only recently been disrupted by societal breakdown.

It's only in the last century that we've begun to get a better picture of what the Americas were like before the Europeans arrived here. Complex societies to rival those of the Old World flourished and passed into obscurity many times over before Columbus ever set foot on Hispaniola. For centuries, much of this history has been obscured, much of it lost. Who knows what those cultures and their people would have contributed to humanity if they'd ever been able to interact in the same way that European, Middle-Eastern, and Asian cultures did over so many centuries? That loss is, as Mann himself says, a tragedy on a scale that is probably unequaled in history.

I mean, at least we still have the Mayan calendar, though! Happy investiture of Bolon Yakte' K'uh next year, guys! I hope a meteorite doesn't kill us!

(Yes, that prophecy thing is also nonsense.)

Evenings Alone/ Review: In Other Rooms, Other Wonder by Daniyal Mueenuddin

Because I live with my boyfriend, it's only about once or twice a week that I have dinner by myself. The result of this sudden onset of absolute freedom is that I get really giddy and always make the wrong choice. My thought process goes like this:

"C isn't home! I could eat ANYTHING. ANYTHING in the WORLD. I could drive to Huntersville and eat there."

*Spend twenty minutes researching restaurants at a totally unrealistic distance from house*

"ANYTHING AT ALL."

*Spend another twenty minutes looking up a really complicated recipe for souffle and writing down ingredients. As soon as that is done, lose desire to cook.*

"I mean REALLY. I could eat a raccoon and no one would even know. I could throw the bones in the creek that runs past the back of the house."

*Wonder why that would even occur to anyone. Possibly, hunger is making me delirious? Look at watch, realize it's 9:30 and too late to eat out. Get angry.*

"I mean, everyone is so unreasonable."

*Eat junk food. Feel ill. Am full of regret. The end.*

 

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Anyway, let's talk about books. I finally, finally finished the totally wonderful Mueenuddin short stories. This book was shortlisted for the Pulitzer last year, and even though I usually end up sort of hating (because I'm a contrary, obstinate person) the books they pick, this was great. It's a series of short stories about all kinds of different characters associated with a Pakistani feudal family: the Harounis. Mueenuddin is equally effective and sensitive whether he's describing KK Harouni (the family patriarch), or an old gardener on one of the Harouni estates. To me, this ability to see people so clearly across class lines, living such radically different lives, was what was most impressive about the book; the naturalness with which he inhabited such a wide variety of characters (especially considering that this is Mueenuddin's first book). I was full of envy, because this is actually exactly the sort of book I'd like to write. 

The stories are tied together thematically as well: there's a strong current of manipulation. Everyone seems to have two faces: one for ingratiating themselves to the people around them, and another truer one. Desire and ambition are something to be kept secret, to be quietly held in some hidden corner of the self, until an opportunity for realization has been painstakingly extracted. This is especially true for the women (there's many more women characters, as I remember, than men). The other theme here is the static nature of Pakistani life. Maybe static isn't the right word...immobile, maybe. To strive for change or improvement is totally futile. None of the characters that do are able to escape their old selves, their places in the world (to which they were born) for very long. So there's all this manipulation, all this pent-up want, continually wrecking itself against the difficulty of life in Pakistan.

Still, along with this aching longing that is at the heart of the book, there is always some measure of hope, and love. Even if they can't last, those things deserve someone like Mueenuddin to record their passing. 

Some Disapointments.

Sometimes I read books and I don't like them, but I don't think that's reflected very well in the blog. I guess I don't think it's fair to review a book I didn't finish, and why would I finish something I don't love? I mean, life is short or something else equally cliche. Anyway, just in time for X-mas, here are some books that disappointed me this year:

-The Life and Opinions of Tristam Shandy, Gentleman. I want to love this book; so many people love this book! But no. I'll try again next year.

-Lord Jim. Again, I am disappointed mainly in myself. I guess coming of age in the era of Everyone With Money or Power is an Ammoral Sack of Flesh (and we all know about it thanks to the internet), I have a hard time really grasping the concept of dishonor. I mean, just donate some money to charity and issue a public apology, gaaaawd.

-I didn't love Because They Wanted To. Everyone loves Mary Gaitskill! Objectively, she's phenomenal, but to me personally something about her writing is just very... it's as if her characters are being dissected under a harsh lab light. On the one hand, she sees them (and we see them) so clearly...on the other hand, there's something about it that's a little bit like a violation. I mean, she's amazing. I just prefer, I guess, a softer gaze; incisiveness that does not take so much pleasure in the ability to expose.

-Memoirs of Hadrian by Marguerite Yourcenar. My dad loves this book. For me this is another try again next year book. I guess I was expecting something more like I, Claudius, or Gore Vidal's Julian (so much drama!). This was a little bit drier (at least, the part that I read). 

-The Hunger Games. I don't think this actually really belongs here, because I thought it was really good. But, at the same time, it's not essential for me. I don't know that I'm going to read the next two in the series. If I had to pick only one coming-of-age in dystopia book for you to read, it would still be The Golden Compass or The Giver. Maybe this would be totally different if I had read this as a teenager, but I didn't think it had anything all that interesting to say. Reality tv sucks, you know, and we're all exploitative jerks, etc. I feel like I've heard it/seen it before. If you really want to make that point, you make Man Bites Dog, which still holds the crown as the most traumatizing movie I have ever seen (that is not specifically a horror movie).

I wish I had read something I really hated so I could tell you about it. I would write something so nasty! But, if you'll allow me to humblebrag for a second, I am basically so good at screening books these days that I rarely get something that is a real dud. It's terrible!

Molly Recommends: Archeology

MOLLY

Today, I walked away from a plate of delicious spicy hummus for 5 minutes and when I came back, that plate was as clean as if I'd washed it and NO ONE was in the room. Was it magic? Am I living among magicians and mages?

No.

There was a more sinister explanation: it turns out that The Squirrel Invasion (TM) has begun. They're making their home in the walls, from where they sneak out on all sorts of secret sabotage missions against the hummus-eating faction of this household. Molly saw them! She told me so.

She also told me she's been reading the Amelia Peabody mysteries, and that they are delightful, in much the same way as I Capture the Castle was delightful. Just a lovely bit of fluff if you need such a thing in the middle of winter. They're parodies of the type of adventure novel that was popular in the late 19th century, and they're set mostly in Victorian England and Egypt. You know Molly loves a good parasol. The main characters are archeologists digging up the Valley of the Kings and getting into it with mummies and criminals (as you do, when you're a Victorian archeologist or a character on Scooby Doo). Personally, I have been reading non-fiction (1491!). Nothing like the decimation of the native peoples of the Americas to brighten your winter. There have been so many fascinating discoveries both in archeology and anthropology that have revolutionized our understanding of the civi...wait, wait, don't go.

Anyway, I'm off to tie Molly up and cover her in nuts and honey. The Squirrels (TM) will never be able to resist. I'm going to be hiding in the laundry closet with a sharp knife in one hand and a heavy bit of wood in the other. Don't be nervous Molly! I've done this before, in my dreams.

1493 by Charles C. Mann

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I found this book the old fashioned way: I saw it in the window of a bookshop! And then...I bought it on my Kindle because that thing was like five hundred pages long and I was taking it to China.

This is a wonderful book that will turn you into a totally obnoxious jerk every time you read it with someone else in the room, because you'll be compelled to shout out interesting facts. The thing is, they're interesting in context, but probably not to someone sitting across the room trying to read Murakami's new book? Watever, boyfriend, you needed to know that there were exiled Samurais in colonial Mexico, because everyone needs to know that.

The book essentially covers the rise (so far!) of what the author calls the "homogecene era", and which you and I better know as "kudzu". Basically, since Columbus sailed across the ocean sea and everyone in the world became involved in a single economic system, our distinct cultures and ecosystems have been on an inexorable march towards uniformity. Did you ever wonder whether malaria and yellow fever are inextricably linked to the rise of chattel slavery in the Americas? You should! Did you know there were no earthworms in America before 1492? I mean, RIGHT? That's super-weird. Did you know there was a confederate colony in Brazil, at one point? They didn't put that in my American history book!

So, it's full of obscure little bits of fascinating history and also tells an important (crucial) story that helps make sense not only of what is happening to us environmentlly, but politically and culturally. I can't recommend it enough if you're looking for some historical non-fiction that's broad in scope and will make you feel like a smarty-pants.

A Brief (Not Really) Update.

When my trusty old gateway laptop died a couple of months ago, it really took the winds out of my blogging sails. I don't know if you've ever tried to do anything on an Ipad, but don't. I mean, I love my Ipad for writing my stories, because I can't do anything on it but write and read worthless home decoration blogs and those are super-boring after a while, not like Hulu. Oh, Hulu! You are the only thing standing between me and being Sylvia Plath (also, a brain). Anyway, I have this fancy new Mac (I keep thinking something is wrong with it, because I spent so much stupid money on it and why isn't it doing my work for me?) and all this time I've been reading things, and also writing them down and then writing words about those things, but a lot of that got lost in the Great Water Glass Disaster of 2011, so here's this instead.

Things I Seem to Remember Reading in the Last Few Months:

-Remembrance of Things Past-- the key to reading Marcel Proust is to listen to Marcel Proust instead, which I did and it was wonderful. Walking on the greenway, listening to his description of a walk through the French countryside somehow brought both things to life for me. They sort of merged into this lovely, sensual whole. Also, some of the time I zoned out and that made the book go faster?

-The Private Patient, A Taste for Death, Devices and Desires, Cover Her Face, The Lighthouse, all by PD James-- well, of course I did. My very favorite of these was A Taste for Death

-The Likeness by Tana French-- this was a really well written mystery with a totally absurd premise. It was like she finished her first novel and thought "I am really, super-good at writing. I'm going to write something with a ludicrous, almost Shakespearean premise (sidebar: I have never met a convincing transvestite, and yet Ye Olden Times were apparently full of them), and see how it goes." I just couldn't buy the set-up (which is: a woman, Lexie Madison, is murdered and Detective Cassie Maddox looks so like her that she goes undercover as the woman to find her killer. Also, the dead woman stole her identity from a previous Cassie Maddox undercover job. Lexie Madison, per say, never existed. What?)

-The Looming Tower-- a fascinating account of the rise of Al-Qaeda. It was incredibly frustrating to realize all the opportunities there were to prevent or limit the events of 9/11.

-Under the Banner of Heaven-- I actually had to stop reading this half-way through because I got so depressed. As a history of Mormonism, and especially, of the shortcomings and missteps of early Mormon leaders, this is a really riveting story. As a case study of religious extremism and how a religion is actually made: great stuff. As an account of the 1984 murder of a woman and her child by Mormon fundamentalists: intensely depressing. I mean really, really desperately sad. I may take it up again, I'm not sure? I've been reading (on and off because it's a tough read) Bartolome De Las Casas's writings on the early Spanish colonies in the new world, and I've realized that the entire world of fervent faith and religion is outside my understanding. I just don't get it (and I'm not saying that's a good thing, actually, just that it's totally diferent from my own experience). 

-The Franchise Affair by Josephine Tey-- Tey is a lesser-known writer from the golden age of British mysteries (Agatha Christie is probably the best known writer from this period). This was the first novel of hers I've read. I loved this, are you kidding? It's a mystery without a murder. I always think it's a little bit morally suspect that I get such pleasure out of reading murder mysteries, you know? 

-Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy-- I think I like the idea of Le Carre better than actual Le Carre. So many names. So many names! How am I supposed to follow the story, since I have no memory and can't pick up a pen due to this crippling laziness?!

But: SPIES.

-A Dance With Dragons by George R.R. Martin-- OHMYGAH. I mean, I know I already said this, but whatever.

I think that's it. That's probably it?

 

CBR III Week 15: A Dance with Dragons by George R R Martin

Dance

It's finally here! Now we can all talk about it! I mean, right? No?

So you know how one of Martin's favorite things in this world is killing off important characters?

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via PinkIndiaInk

Right. I like that he's willing to go there, you know? I really do. It's annoying to read a book where the main characters have plot armor. Here's the thing though: at what point does killing people off lose its shock value and become a "really, again?" thing? Sure, the world is a bleak and horrible place where stupidity and violence tend to triumph over all good things and...

Wait, where was I going with this? All those things are true. I wonder if Martin's concern with duty in this novel and specifically the way power and responsibility constrain those who would have them is a result of the struggle he's had pleasing fans and finishing this massive installment. A bridge too far?

Anyway, I read this, fangirled so hard I died, and then I came back to life. I think George would approve.