timeless love

A Point of View: Is there still any point collecting books?

-Howard Jacobson

“floating in public drains” 

… that would contribute to the smell, for sure.

I have a house full on judgemental books that tell me to read them and I always reply “someday, my loves, someday” – but it doesn't much matter.  A house doesn't become a home until the books are there, keeping you warm and insulated from the brutish world.  And I loved the “detritus” comment too – my books are full of ticket stubs and train passes and upside-down notes of plans with friends long gone.  My books are, simply, mine – stocked full of the ephemera of a life lived often too quickly.   They are not precious museum pieces – they are battered, travelled, loved.  You can absolutely tell a book read from a book merely owned.  My collection would never be accepted at the public library.  I think the judgemental books are just jealous, wanting a dog-ear to call their own.

Anil's Ghost by Michael Ondaatje

I went to NYC for a brief 4-day stint for what should have been a joyous occasion.  More on that later.  What does this have to do with Anil’s Ghost by Michael Ondaatje?  Well, because of the combined seven hours in delays, I finished the bulk of the novel in an airport.  This was June’s Book Club pick, and since I’ve always loved Mr. Ondaatje’s work, I thought I would cruise through it.  What used to be prime reading time (before sleep, in bed) has now become an abbreviated five-to-ten minutes.  Makes any book a really long read.  I have totally trained myself to sleep – immediately – the minute I’m prone on my mattress.

Anyway.

Anil’s Ghost starts and ends abruptly.  I literally turned the last page and exclaimed, out loud, “that’s it?”  The passengers next to me thought I was reacting to the amount on our meal voucher.  In between, there is the usual poetry, gripping eloquence, dry charm, and almost-hostile affection: who else but an Ondaatje protagonist would stab a long-time lover in the arm and still hope that same lover will pursue?  And how I fell in love with the abandoned Buddhist Grove of Ascetics, with its deep thoughts and slow-moving colours.  If you’re looking for a mystery that solves satisfactorily, don’t look here.  This is a story told in fragments, in brief flashes, that demands the reader to put together the puzzle without a box.  And if you do put it together, neither the story nor the author tell you whether you go it right.

Truthfully, for me, the question upon which this novel turns is this: who, or what, is Anil’s Ghost?
Depending on when you ask me, I’ll answer differently.

When I’m feeling sentimental, I’ll say it is the ghost of her lost cultural identity, epitomised by the struggle of her Sri Lankan heritage to be in harmony with her Western education.  The ghost of her parents and the life and dreams they would have had for their daughter, so blatantly pushed aside for something so completely alien.

When I’m feeling hard-nosed, I’ll say it’s the pressing need for an elusive justice, the desire to find those who murder and obfuscate truth in the pursuit of power, cloaked by bureaucracy.  The ghost of Sailor and his compatriots (Tinker, Soldier and Spy) crying out for vengeance.

When I’m feeling contemplative, I’ll say it’s ghost of history and philosophy struggling through time to remain relevant.  While greed and desecration has been around for millennia, it is the apathy that erodes reverence, not modernity.  It’s just that the tools have gotten so much more efficient, so much more brutal.

And when I’m feeling like a Librarian, preparing for a book talk, I’ll say this: it’s an absorbing read, but not a light one.  If you like complex characters with equally facetted motives, you may like this.  If you appreciate the evocative nature of poetry and the moody ambience of a dark and stormy night, you may like this.  It’s the kind of book made for rainy days and long train rides.  And maybe even airport waiting lounges.

christianity (in a nutshell)

From: Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ's Childhood Pal
By: Christopher Moore


Joshua's ministry was three years of preaching, sometimes three times a day, and although there were some high and low points, I could never remember the sermons word for word, but here's the gist of almost every sermon I ever heard Joshua give.
You should be nice to people, even creeps.

And if you:
a) believed that Joshua was the Son of God (and)
b) he had come to save you from sin (and)
c) acknowledged the Holy Spirit within you (became as a little child, he would say) (and)
d) didn't blaspheme the Holy Ghost (see c)

then you would:
e) live forever
f) someplace nice
g) probably heavan

However, if you:
h) sinned (and/or)
i) were a hypocrite (and/or)
j) valued things over people (and)
k) didn't do a, b, c, and d,

then you were:
l) fucked.

[“This story is not and never was meant to challenge anyone's faith; however, if one's faith can be shaken by stories in a humorous novel, one may have a bit more praying to do.”]

The Woman in Black by Susan Hill

I really, really, really tried to like Susan Hill’s The Woman in Black. Really. I did. I had hoped for a lovely little Gothic Horror (with some good old fashioned spooks); I am bitterly disappointed. Hill’s melodramatic writing makes me throw up a little in my mouth out of pure disgust; her attempts to emulate the fantastic writing of Henry James’ The Turn of the Screw fail spectacularly.

Anyway, I gave it the old college try - I even read the damned thing! – but alas. I hated it. No, despised it. It felt contrived, silly, and, at some points, boring. A horror/suspense should never be boring. I’m sure the movie will be better, though plotline was pretty weak to begin with. It had none of suspense of The Thirteenth Tale.

The most offensive part, however, has to be the lack of varied diction. Here’s the sentence that many love and at which I cringe: “[i]t was a yellow fog, a filthy, evil-smelling fog, a fog that choked and blinded, smeared and stained.” I feel, as a writer, it’s your job - nay, your obligation! - to dazzle me with verbiage, serenade me with soliloquy, seduce me with your perspicacity. When you, as a writer, fail to do this, I am not just disappointed, I am outraged. In other words: fog can’t smell evil. It can smell bad, putrid, rotten, desiccated, stale, foul, disgusting, revolting, bilious… but it can’t smell evil. Evil doesn’t have a smell. If you can't effect a sinister atmosphere without using the word "sinister", you need to hand in your writer’s credentials.  Immediately.

For those of you who will actually read this tripe, stop here. Spoilers abound below. I would urge you to read something else though. Seriously.

Between the Assassinations by Aravind Adiga

September’s Book Club pick was Aravind Adiga’s The White Tiger; having already read it, I decided to tackle Adiga’s followup, Between the Assassinations.  Having just gone from an admittedly light and fluffy read to Assassinations was, well, jarring to say the least. Still: loved it.

Set up as a series of short stories all taking place in tiny port town Kittur, the entire book is almost a character sketch of place instead of people.  Which makes sense, as each chapter begins with a tongue-in-cheek travel-brochure introduction to a part of the town.  It spans the time period between the assassination of Indira Gandhi and her son Rajeev, serving up weighted book ends for quick glimpses into Indian life.  The characters weave in and out of the stories, sometimes having a direct impact and sometimes a mere spot of colour for the background.  And what characters they are!  Covering from young to the old, rich to destitute, malicious to officious to naïve, it’s a true ensemble.  There are no neat and tidy endings, each story serving as a literal snapshot instead, capturing what is happening in that moment alone. 

I think some people judge a book by how much they like the characters they’re reading about; if that’s you, don’t read this. There are no “likeable” characters to be found; only compelling ones. Even the one I cheer for at the start makes me rethink my assessment of his character by the end. If you like White Tiger at all, you’ll like Between the Assassinations, despite the different format and delivery.

The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency by Alexander McCall Smith

September’s Book Club pick! (So, if you’re a SociaLit, stop reading.)

I was a disappointed in Alexander McCall Smith’s The No.1 Ladies’ Detective Agency. Though I found the characters charming I find them to be slightly flat. With the exception of Precious, who surprised me twice, the people in the stories seem to be easily manipulated and lacking in any real bite (even the sinister ones). Precious and her relationship with Note really threw me. I did not expect that at all.

The real drawback for me were the plots. Perhaps I think too much while reading or perhaps this is not meant to be a hardcore whodunit – either way, I “solved” most of the mysteries within a paragraph or two. And the ones that were more about proving than solving, I found stretched my suspension of disbelief far too much. In real life, I think Precious would have been killed or silenced.

Unnatural Selection by Mara Hvistendahl

Our annual non-fiction pick for Book Club was inspired by a book review at my staff meeting.  And with a very preggers Cyn around, who wouldn't want to read about "choosing boys over girls and the consequences of a world full of men"?

Enter Mara Hvistendahl's Unnatural Selection.  What began as a cultural study of why certain cultures continue to covet males over females turns into a statistical nightmare that reveals humanity's  dirtiest secret: our technology has surpassed our ability to control the repercussions of using that very same technology.

The crux of Hvistendah's is this: parents, even in modern-day societies, still have a "son preference' which leads to many families having babies until they have a bouncing baby boy.  (Do a quick, informal survey of your own: who many families do you know that have the older-girl-younger-boy makeup?  Look at single-child homes: how many are single boys versus single girls?  How many families do you know where the son is the youngest of the brood?  It's fascinating.)  In fact, this trending towards having as many kids as possible until you have a son is what led to the one-child-rule in China and the scores of abandoned female babies in other countries.

We Need to Talk about Kevin by Lionel Shriver

Last month’s Book Club pick: We Need to Talk about Kevin by Lionel Shriver. Honestly, I had a lot of preconceptions about what this book was about and, since I always read the last sentence of a novel but never the back, I really thought I had a handle on it.

Honestly, nothing could have prepared me.

A (new) friend described the novel as “earth-shattering”; I would have to agree. It was so well written, with genuine intrigue and mystery, that I felt compelled to find out exactly what Kevin did that needed any more talking about. The characters seem …real. Eva, as cold-fish mom, was in equal turns adorable and abhorrent. Her self-flagellating style (as the entire book is written in letters to her husband, Franklin) is so brutally honest that I can’t help but wonder: is she exaggerating? does she really think this? is she making herself to be worse than she really is? All the other characters are seen through Eva’s eyes, and yet she paints them with the same unyielding honesty so they too seem true.

Through Black Spruce by Joseph Boyden

I was supposed to have read Through Black Spruce by Joseph Boyden for January's Book Club.  I confess to have taken almost three months to finish it.  Now that I'm done, I have mixed feelings.  TBS is the 2008 Giller Prize winner, a prize that has given me such gems as A Fine Balance, Late Nights on Air and The In-Between World of Vikram Lall.  Excellent - and intimidating - company indeed.

As per usual, spoilers abound and I can't help it.  A more cogent reviewer will be able to talk about this book, its high and lows, without ruining plot, but I make no such promises.

Should you read it?  Yes.  Should it be the very next book you pick up?  Probably not - especially if you haven't read those listed above.

Mockingjay by Suzanne Collins

The third instalment, devoured in 72 hours flat, of the Hunger Games trilogy: Mockingjay.  A perfect example of the imperfect endings of real life. Seriously, you need to read this trilogy.  Like, now.

SPOILERS!


Katniss - boy, is she flawed.  And I like that Collins is not afraid to show it.  That conversation between Peeta an Gale on page 328?  I can't imagine it ever happening between two men given the situation they're in - but I do appreciate the candid assessment of the Mockingjay.  I find her selfish, easily addicted and generally morose.  I guess the parallel story is that of her on-TV personality which is what the people fell in love with and who the people decided to follow.  Had the public seen her meltdowns and general apathy, would they have loved her?  I didn't.  In fact, I always thought it shouldn't have been her at all.

Catching Fire by Suzanne Collins

Wow.  I haven't done this is in a very long time.  I actually stayed up all night reading.  That's right: all.  night.  There is definitely something to be said about plot-driven novels.  They're intense, suspenseful and downright gut-wrenching.  Not to say that there is no character development to be found in Collins' work - there is, certainly!  I think, however, it's the plot that propels us through it.  By the time I got to the end of Catching Fire, I was almost rabid for the third instalment; it wasn't until I turned off my beside lamp that I realised it was well past sunrise; my alarm ten minutes later confirmed it.  And you know what, poppets?  It was all worth it.  I look forward to Mockingjay.

Fool by Christopher Moore

I read Fool in record time - just under 2 days!  I won't make it a long review, as my feelings for Christopher Moore are widely known.  Suffice it to say that if you're looking for a faithful rewriting of Shakespeare's King Lear, look elsewhere.  If you're looking for a serious post-modern retelling, look elsewhere.  Hell, if you're hoping that these intense characters will not be fucked with sideways and left bewildered by the shagging, that the historical context will be coherent or that even the story begins and ends the same... well, don't pick up this book.  This is a complete departure from the original play, with heroes becoming villains, extra characters appearing, entire plotlines added and best/worst of all, a copious amount of cursing.  This is an absolute romp!  I giggled and winced and wholeheartedly enjoyed myself through it all.  The word "irreverent" doesn't even begin to cover it.

massive love affair

There have been very few bands that have completely changed my life.  I will be the first to admit that I'm not an audiophile.  I listen to one radio station in the car, I own a dozen or so CDs, and I can't name anything new or hip.  I like dancing and I like music, but I'm not an aficionado by any stretch.  I like what I like and I LOVE Massive Attack.

The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins

Here's how I came about reading The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins:

On a beautiful morning in Stratford, walking through the non-chain book stores, VeCe looks at me all incredulous that I haven't read this book - just read the first page,she says, and you won't be able to stop.  I do and it's okay so I buy it.  Two weeks later, Jadek is asking me what he should read on the R66 trip and, being a good librarian girlfriend, I open my own shelves and hand this one over.  I convince him it's really good, even though I've only read the first chapter.  He finishes it and gives it back with glowing reviews.  I mean, he goes out and buys the trilogy in hardcover... that's commitment!  Two week after that and we're discussing a October's Book Club pick , trying to find something Halloween-themed but that isn't horror (our newest member was a bit squeamish and we didn't want to scare her away).  We settle on Hunger Games.  luckily, I had just finished my last book so I could get started.  Four days later, I was finished.  Poppets, you know how long it takes for me finish a book.  That should be testimonial in and of itself; but, in case it isn't....

book fest

A mere four months into my new manager-ship, my boss says to me “I think you would be the perfect person to take on the annual literary festival” – by which, of course, she meant that “no one else wants to go through that hell again and, being lowest on the totem pole, you’re it, kiddo” … yikes.  There is no doubt in my head that the first emotion I felt upon that pronouncement was, well, fear.  I didn’t even know how to do anything in my own department yet, forget taking on a huge system-wide event.  An event that would soon be linked with the national Culture Days movement.  An event that, despite the best of intentions always seems to be a lot of work for very little recognition.  Double yikes.  But what does one say to one’s boss in this situation?  The only thing there is to say: “sure!”

Fast forward three months and we’ve got a newly christened event (the more casual and family-friendly “Book Fest” replaces the rather snobby “Literary Festival”) in a new venue (home turf!) with a new way of doing things.  As usual, my motto of “go big or go home” is the driving force behind all my planning.  The building we’re hosting the event in is turning 20 years old this year, so I went with a birthday theme.  Here’s some of what went down:

• Three different tours are offered as part of our Doors Open commitment.
• Fifteen local authors set up tables and mingled with each other and the public
• Twenty exhibitors, from Anime Clubs to publishers, lined the atrium
• A huge Book Sale doubled as a fundraiser for the library
• Storytimes were held every half-hour
• 20 book trucks were decorated and paraded around the brand new Celebration Square
• An edible display of a 135-pound birthday cake and 499 cupcakes was wheeled out and thousand-plus people sing Happy Birthday to the Library.
• The mayor says some very kind words and cuts the cake
• Jeremy Tankard wraps it all up with a great talk to 150+ kids.

I was so exhausted after it all, I actually went to bed at 1800, woke up around 2030 for some soup and went back to bed.  I spent most of Sunday napping, reading and doing homework.

I took Monday off but I can’t help check my work emails – thankfully they’re full of congratulations.  My only worry now is that I’ll be asked to do it all over again next year.  At first, all I can think is "no thank you!"; now that it's a few days past, however, I'm thinking "why not?"

The Help by Kathryn Stockett

I had to take a book with me on Route 66 and I chose to bring along Kathryn Stockett's The Help.  Did I read it at all while on the Mother Road?  Hellz no.  What with the average 5 hours of sleep per night and the thousand kilometres of driving a day, let's just say that sleep trumped all other basic needs.

So I read this in the comfort of my bed at home over the entire month of September, with some guilt.  See, September's Book Club was a non-fiction selection of our choosing, as long as it answered the question of "why is the world the way it is" in some fashion.  I totally cheated and read the Philosophy chapters in An Incomplete Education instead.  (it is how I got by at Queen's and it's still how I maintain a my thin veneer of sophistication).

The other major impetus for reading the books was the fact that I wanted to see the movie and I hate reading books after I see the flick.

Anyway!  The Help.  Spoilers abound below, so take heed.

Clara Callan by Richard B. Wright

Last month's Book Club pick was Clara Callan, the 2001 Giller Award winner.  I will admit to judging this book by its cover and thinking "oh, God, this looks boring."  I was very wrong. 

Synopsis: small-town sisters Clara and Nora lead very different lives.  Clara is a school teacher in the village of Whitfield, lives alone and is generally living out her days quietly.  Nora heads to the Big Apple to pursue her dream of radio stardom, banking on her looks, charm and talent to pave the way for her.  Clara worries about Nora in the big city - worries that she will be taken advantage of or will be forced to have her illusions shattered by nasty show business.  Sadly, it is Clara who has her world shattered.  The story quickly takes unexpected turns, leaving the reader breathless and slightly dazed by what they see unfolding before them. 

Written in the fashion of letters and journal entries, I found it fascinating to have Clara and Nora's life stretch out before us almost as it happens, in the moment, despite it being seventy years in the past.  Large and small events, both familiar and unbeknownst to us, are treated with the casual air of someone who really is watching it happen without prior knowledge.  I was kind of expecting some heavy-handed foreshadowing, but no - just a gentle unfolding.  The often jarring stop and start of something - well, that's life isn't it?  How does one know that their her entire existence is about to change that afternoon when they wake up and make tea for breakfast?

I really did enjoy Wright's style and wit, his ability to give such unique voices to his characters (I didn't need to read the addresses in the top right corner - I could actually tell who was writing anyway).  A wonderful read and a worthy addition to the Giller shelf.

The Thirteenth Tale by Diane Setterfield

I have been neglecting Book Club reads for the last two months, ashamedly.  Instead, I've been indulging in yet another re-read of the Harry Potter series (which never fails to hook, line and sink me into reading oblivion).  Since I went to Cuba, however, I took with me this month's pick: The Thirteenth Tale by Diane Setterfield. 

In a neat blend of Victorian and Gothic literary styles (a hated and beloved genre, respectively), The Tale is quite the surprise.  I had expected a Zafón-esque adventure; I had expected a Brooks-ian love letter to readers.  What I got was a little of both and much more: a romantic mystery, full of plot twists and shocks, that were satisfying and terrifying.  When I read "beneath my fingers, the handle to the third room began to turn of its own accord" (p.133), my breathing went distinctly shallow.  Not since James' "The Turn of the Screw" have I been equally enamoured and petrified by the words I was reading.

I have very little to critique.  The plot is engaging, the characters grotesquely real, the diction compelling.  And yet, if I must find something to criticise, I would say that it is Setterfield's determination to leave no thread unknotted, applying reality and fantasy in equal measure to answer burning question.  Would I have left something out?  Would I have liked some stone to remain unturned and therefore tantalisingly mysterious?  I don't know - we shall have to discuss at Book Club.  Clearly, it is a novel that stays with you, as even I can see echoes of it in my own prose.

Read it!  Especially if you are visiting the Moors!

Let The Right One In by John Ajvide Lindqvist

Blood, murder, rape, transgender issues and vampires... must be the Christmas Book Club pick!  Yes, this year, we decided to keep up our annual tradition of being non-traditional and chose Let The Right One In, an English  translation of the original Swedish novel, which has gone on to win lauds and praises as a movie, both in English and Swedish. 

What can I tell you that the back of the book won't?  Well, BOB says it's chilling, a classic tale of horror, a roaring good story it has vampires at their best.  All true.  What I liked about it though were the not-so-obvious shocks to the system.  Oskar and his hellish existence at school, the drunken wastrels of the Chinese restaurant, the drugs, the booze and the copious amounts of blood.  This was not an easy book to read, not by a long shot.  Much harder to read at night with nothing but the humidifier to keep me company.  I actually had to put it down forcibly, often feeling a little ill in the stomach.  Lindqvist's (and his translator's) gift for description was often a little too good.  Like a horribly bloody car wreck, I couldn't help but crane my neck for a closer view of the gore and then shudder when I caught a glimpse of it.

Should you read it?  Yes.  Will it make you uncomfortable?  Most definitely.  Will you regret it?  i don't think so.

Dreams from My Father by Barack Obama

The full title of this book is Dreams from My Father: a Story of Race and Inheritance and was originally published in 1995 (who knew?) by Barack Obama, five years after he had foreshadowed greater things by becoming the first black president of the Harvard Law Review.  Others have elucidated better than I the fascinating publishing history of this particular work so I won't go into it.

If you, like me, watched the President-Elect on the night of his victory, perhaps you too felt a ridiculous rush of emotion watching him do so.  I had picked up Dreams when I headed to Vegas in September and finished it on a porch in Virginia last week.  At first, I was merely curious to see how this guy came to be.  I mean, he's just so interesting, with his globe-trotting activist-Mom, his Kenyan Dad and his Indonesian stepdad and his many African "aunties" and his struggle to be a "black" man raised predominantly by his white grandparents.  I love that this guy wandered about his youth just like we all did: experimenting, failing, doing stupid things, being a jerk.  It still blows my mind that this guy made it to where he is today.

The writing style can sometimes be a bit formal; for the most part, though, it's accessible and easy to read.  I'm sure much has been glossed over but I can't say that it detracts from the book at all.  If anything, the book is less about Obama himself and more about the perceptions of things: his perceptions of himself, of others; others' perceptions of him; America's perceptions of itself and others, etc.

Yes, it was a bit of a slow read.  I still think it's a worthwhile endeavour, especially for us Canadians.