Wow. I haven't actually posted in a really long time. Life is busy, but pretty decent. Not to be terribly obvious, but life changes a lot when there's suddenly a very small person who is wholly dependent upon you. And of course, because I never do things the easy way, I've decided to make myself even more busy by taking up a few hobbies; one old, one new. I've gone back to singing in a choir (that's the old) and, the point of this particular post, I've taken up running.
I really love to run. I loved it when I was a kid. I wasn't really much for actual athletic effort, though, until I started fencing at the end of high school. For a long time, that was enough to keep me in decent shape, but as I got older, I needed more exercise to feel my best. Off and on I would go out and trot around, but stuff hurt, and I just didn't commit myself. Fast forward to a few years ago, when I started having a lot of trouble with my hip. It took me a couple of orthopedists to figure out that I had arthritis caused by dysplasia. But I also took away something important from the last guy I saw. We were talking about running, and the common excuse from a lot of people about how it's bad for your knees. He said "You know, it's not the running that's bad, actually. It's when you run for a long time, and then stop, and then start again." Essentially, he made me realize that stuff hurts in the beginning, but it ought to stop hurting as you go on, since it's all getting stronger.
Fast forward again, though, to early this summer. I have had a baby, and I am struggling, a bit, to lose the weight. I've never actively tried to "lose weight" before ... I always just exercised and felt good with where I was. Feeling at the end of my rope, and having had a great conversation w/some friends who are runners while on vacation, I made a decision: it was time to "become a runner."
I came home from vacation at the beginning of June, and decided that my plan, to start out with, was that I would run 2 miles three times a week. In July I would up it to 2.5, in August 3.0, and so on, and just see where it took me. I decided if it went well, I would look for a 5k (3.2ish miles) in September.
It's now October. I get up at 5 am at least three days a week (and I'm gunning for 4) and run 2.25 miles, which is a convenient loop near my house that includes one painful and one slightly painful hill. On Saturdays, I'm now trying to go for a "long run," which for this month is the originally planned 4 miles. Basically, there's not enough time in my regular day for anything much past 3 miles.
I'm having a great time. Getting up really early kind of sucks, but there's the awesome feeling of having already exercised when you "officially" start your day. Plus when I get home at night I'm not trying to juggle spending time w/baby AND getting dinner AND cleaning up afterward AND THEN trying to decide if there's still enough time to go out for a run. Oddly enough (not really), I feel more tired and low-energy on days when I don't run. I'm actually a few pounds below pre-baby weight now, looking for a few more. And yes, I did run my first 5K at the end of September.
I ran the "Hoof it for Haiti" event in Rocky Hill, CT. I looked for a cause that would be more personal, but this particular event was about 15 minutes away from home, so that was the deciding factor. Despite the threat of rain, my husband and daughter came with and cheered me on. My goal, officially, was just to run it and finish. Unofficially, though, I had this arbitrary notion of finishing it in under 30 minutes. I hadn't done any sort of speed training, or any "training" at all besides just going out and running, but I just thought 30 minutes sounded like a pretty good time. My only strategy was to run at my own pace for the first mile or half-mile, and then pick and choose people to see if I could pass them.
People seemed very cliqueish at the starting line, but since I was nervous, I didn't really mind much. As is universally advised, I moved to the back of the pack. I saw a tall guy who might as well have been wearing a sign that said "SERIOUS RUNNER" staying loose way behind everyone else before the start, and I thought "Ok, Red Shirt Guy's going to win." He just had that look. I tried to stay calm and relaxed, and to remind myself that I had been running 3.5 miles for the previous month, so this would be no problem.
And we're off. The first bit was a small downhill, and I made a crack to the lady next to me that it was designed that way to make us feel better. After that, I got into my usual pace and tried to treat it like just another Saturday run. The first half was through a residential area, and it was fun to see people coming out of their houses to watch all the crazy runners go by. I was pleased to note that at the first uphill stretch, I didn't really have to slow down much, and that even with my moderate, comfortable pace I was passing plenty of people, including a few that I thought looked like more serious contenders.
I think I may have sped up a little bit when I passed the first mile marker, but I tried to calm that down a bit. We passed back across the starting line and I waved at my fans and had some lady offer me encouragement by telling me I had a good pace. On we go. I passed fewer people the further on I went and was sort of bummed when I saw people walking who would then start running again a few minutes later. It seemed sort of like cheating to me. A little less than halfway through I started focusing on a woman a ways in front of me, who seemed to be moving at a decent speed. Passing her became my goal, but she stayed well ahead of me until about 2.5 miles. After I passed her I felt like it was time to go for a more full-on run, even though I was definitely starting to feel it. Managed to successfully snag some water from a Boy Scout on my way past; that felt like an accomplishment. As I moved back up a small rise and started to pass a few more people, it got exciting. I was sucking wind but I was almost through! I came around a curve and could see the finish line and my husband cheering, and then I saw the big digital clock at the finish. It said 29:32, or something close to that. I WAS GOING TO DO IT. I've long been a believer in the idea of "always saving something for the end," and this was the perfect time to find that reserve and go for it.
When I passed the clock, it said 29:42, although the official results would add 10 seconds to that for whatever reason. Either way, it was under 30 minutes, so that's a win in my book. I grabbed the proffered bottle of water at the finish and walked for a bit before turning back to catch up with the family. I felt AWESOME, if rather tired. Walked around some (we were trying to get the young lady to go to sleep in her stroller), wandered over and got some food, kind of wasn't sure what to do. I learned from my husband that Red Shirt Guy came in second. He finished about 20 seconds behind some teenager who'd been in the lead the whole way. Didn't look too bummed about it, though. Hung out for a while before wandering over to check the official times, and learned that I'd finished in the top half. Also a good feeling when all I'd really intended to do was get out there and do the thing.
Overall, it was fun. I was a little disappointed that I felt as tired as I did, but I chalk that up to probably keeping a bit of a faster pace than I usually do, and speeding up a fair amount toward the end. I felt a little bit of a let-down at having completed the goal, and of just no longer being able to say "Hey, I'm going to run my first ever 5K next weekend," but later in the day I started thinking about the next one, so I guess that means I'm hooked, huh?
Right now I'm trying to up the pace a little bit to see if I can finish the next one stronger. Planning on one in Middletown at the end of this month, and am tentatively thinking I'll do a Turkey Trot when we're down South for Thanksgiving. Bigger races and distances are a thought for the future (Hartford Half-Marathon in a year?), but for now I'm enjoying myself and not really looking to push things that much. I feel strong and healthy and like I'm accomplishing something, and that's a pretty awesome feeling. I'll let you know how 5K Number Two goes. I've got a PR to beat, now.
Friday, October 07, 2011
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Book reviews
Der. I've gotten lazy about reposting reviews here. I am still going along, though, so I'll just post links here, and if you're interested, click away!
#20, Atonement, Ian McEwan.
#21, The Ghost of Blackwood Hall, Carolyn Keene. (Nancy Drew)
#22, Sunshine, Robin McKinley.
#23, The Fire, Katherine Neville.
#24, The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian, Sherman Alexie.
#25, Russian Winter, Daphne Kalotay.
#26, Spoiled, Heather Cocks & Jessica Morgan.
#27, A Good Year, Peter Mayle.
#28, Gods Behaving Badly, Marie Phillips.
#29, Born to Run ... , Christopher McDougall.
#30, Wicked, Gregory Maguire.
#31, The Invention of Hugo Cabret, Brian Selznick.
#32, The Historian, Elizabeth Kostova.
#33, The Girl with the Pearl Earring, Tracy Chevalier.
#34, Run Like a Mother, Dimity McDowell and Sarah Bowen Shea.
#35, Shakespeare's Wife, Germaine Greer.
#36, Breadcrumbs, Anne Ursu.
#37, The Woman in Black, Susan Hill.
#38, The Time Machine, H.G. Wells.
#39, The Lady in the Tower: The Fall of Anne Boleyn, Alison Weir.
#40, Matilda, Roald Dahl.
#41, Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children, Ransom Riggs.
#42-52, Our favorite board books.
Whee.
#20, Atonement, Ian McEwan.
#21, The Ghost of Blackwood Hall, Carolyn Keene. (Nancy Drew)
#22, Sunshine, Robin McKinley.
#23, The Fire, Katherine Neville.
#24, The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian, Sherman Alexie.
#25, Russian Winter, Daphne Kalotay.
#26, Spoiled, Heather Cocks & Jessica Morgan.
#27, A Good Year, Peter Mayle.
#28, Gods Behaving Badly, Marie Phillips.
#29, Born to Run ... , Christopher McDougall.
#30, Wicked, Gregory Maguire.
#31, The Invention of Hugo Cabret, Brian Selznick.
#32, The Historian, Elizabeth Kostova.
#33, The Girl with the Pearl Earring, Tracy Chevalier.
#34, Run Like a Mother, Dimity McDowell and Sarah Bowen Shea.
#35, Shakespeare's Wife, Germaine Greer.
#36, Breadcrumbs, Anne Ursu.
#37, The Woman in Black, Susan Hill.
#38, The Time Machine, H.G. Wells.
#39, The Lady in the Tower: The Fall of Anne Boleyn, Alison Weir.
#40, Matilda, Roald Dahl.
#41, Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children, Ransom Riggs.
#42-52, Our favorite board books.
Whee.
Thursday, May 05, 2011
CBR Book 19: Mansfield Park
Mansfield Park, by Jane Austen
Ok, so this is a re-read. I took a Jane Austen course in college, in which we read all six of her novels, and this was one of my least favorite. Since I took that course about six years ago, and at the urging of a friend who loves it, I decided to give it another try.
Mansfield Park tells the story of Fanny Price, a poor girl who is sent off to live with wealthy relations. She is brought up at Mansfield Park by her Uncle and Aunt Bertram, and her aunt Mrs. Norris, alongside her cousins Tom, Edmund, Maria, and Julia. As they all enter adulthood, their personalities and manners all prove to be the making (or unmaking) of them, especially when they make new friends in brother and sister Henry and Mary Crawford. Maria Bertram marries Mr. Rushworth even while carrying on a dangerous flirtation with Mr. Crawford, Julia chafes at being the younger sister, Tom indulges in wild behavior, and Edmund struggles between his plans to go into the clergy, and his wish to marry the worldly and wealthy Miss Crawford. Fanny, meanwhile, is audience to all these goings-on, until Mr. Crawford turns his attentions to her, and she must fend off his advances while keeping her own heart a secret. In the end, everyone learns a lesson and/or gets their comeuppance, and it all concludes quite tidily indeed.
When I brought Mansfield Park home from the library, my husband asked me, "Why isn't this one as well known as some of the others?" and my response was "Because it's boring." Having read it a second time, that's not entirely fair, although it's a reasonably accurate assessment of why fewer people have probably read this one than, say, Pride & Prejudice. If all of Austen's novels highlight the social behaviors and activities of the time, Mansfield Park focuses on them primarily. It's really the most moralizing of them all. When her uncle agrees to take her in, it is his intention to not accentuate the social differences between Fanny and her cousins, but this does not come to pass. The entire novel is essentially a narrative of how Fanny's behavior is far superior to that of all her cousins (save Edmund, who nevertheless has his own stumbling-blocks), and the implication is that the difference is due to the inherent nature of the difference in their social status. Fanny is brought up in wealth and comfort, but she is always reminded to feel grateful for what she has been given, whereas her cousins are, in essence, spoiled, and take everything for granted. As a poor girl with very little expectations for her future, it is much more incumbent upon Fanny to behave in the most proper manner possible. In contrast, her cousins can expect to continue to live in style regardless of their behavior ... to a point, as we eventually learn.
The language and the writing here are, of course, gorgeous. It's very enjoyable to read, even if it is a litany of manners. The biggest problem for me is that really, all of the characters, well-behaved or not, aren't particularly likeable. Fanny herself is a good character; a fairly typical Austen heroine. She has a bit more spine than might be otherwise expected, but so much of her story is internal that she's still not that interesting. Edmund, the other "good" character, is actually kind of insufferable. He preaches to Fanny throughout, "leading her" as it were, but when he gets distracted by a pretty girl, a lot of his own behavior falls by the wayside, yet Fanny still finds him to be an ideal specimen. The Bertram sisters are pretty annoying, and the Crawfords are interesting in their moral difference, but are sort of summarily dismissed when their behavior is finally proved to be undesirable to everyone who hadn't seen it before.
I think I can now say that I don't dislike Mansfield Park so much as I simply don't find it as enjoyable as the other novels. The story is a good one, but the characters are a little more allegorical (for lack of a better word) than usual, and the proselytizing just overpowers the narrative to too high a degree. It doesn't move in my overall hierarchy of Austen's work, but I am willing to give it more credit now for its good points. If you're looking to read some Austen, though, I don't recommend starting here. Try Emma or P&P, and then if you like those, keep going.
Ok, so this is a re-read. I took a Jane Austen course in college, in which we read all six of her novels, and this was one of my least favorite. Since I took that course about six years ago, and at the urging of a friend who loves it, I decided to give it another try.
Mansfield Park tells the story of Fanny Price, a poor girl who is sent off to live with wealthy relations. She is brought up at Mansfield Park by her Uncle and Aunt Bertram, and her aunt Mrs. Norris, alongside her cousins Tom, Edmund, Maria, and Julia. As they all enter adulthood, their personalities and manners all prove to be the making (or unmaking) of them, especially when they make new friends in brother and sister Henry and Mary Crawford. Maria Bertram marries Mr. Rushworth even while carrying on a dangerous flirtation with Mr. Crawford, Julia chafes at being the younger sister, Tom indulges in wild behavior, and Edmund struggles between his plans to go into the clergy, and his wish to marry the worldly and wealthy Miss Crawford. Fanny, meanwhile, is audience to all these goings-on, until Mr. Crawford turns his attentions to her, and she must fend off his advances while keeping her own heart a secret. In the end, everyone learns a lesson and/or gets their comeuppance, and it all concludes quite tidily indeed.
When I brought Mansfield Park home from the library, my husband asked me, "Why isn't this one as well known as some of the others?" and my response was "Because it's boring." Having read it a second time, that's not entirely fair, although it's a reasonably accurate assessment of why fewer people have probably read this one than, say, Pride & Prejudice. If all of Austen's novels highlight the social behaviors and activities of the time, Mansfield Park focuses on them primarily. It's really the most moralizing of them all. When her uncle agrees to take her in, it is his intention to not accentuate the social differences between Fanny and her cousins, but this does not come to pass. The entire novel is essentially a narrative of how Fanny's behavior is far superior to that of all her cousins (save Edmund, who nevertheless has his own stumbling-blocks), and the implication is that the difference is due to the inherent nature of the difference in their social status. Fanny is brought up in wealth and comfort, but she is always reminded to feel grateful for what she has been given, whereas her cousins are, in essence, spoiled, and take everything for granted. As a poor girl with very little expectations for her future, it is much more incumbent upon Fanny to behave in the most proper manner possible. In contrast, her cousins can expect to continue to live in style regardless of their behavior ... to a point, as we eventually learn.
The language and the writing here are, of course, gorgeous. It's very enjoyable to read, even if it is a litany of manners. The biggest problem for me is that really, all of the characters, well-behaved or not, aren't particularly likeable. Fanny herself is a good character; a fairly typical Austen heroine. She has a bit more spine than might be otherwise expected, but so much of her story is internal that she's still not that interesting. Edmund, the other "good" character, is actually kind of insufferable. He preaches to Fanny throughout, "leading her" as it were, but when he gets distracted by a pretty girl, a lot of his own behavior falls by the wayside, yet Fanny still finds him to be an ideal specimen. The Bertram sisters are pretty annoying, and the Crawfords are interesting in their moral difference, but are sort of summarily dismissed when their behavior is finally proved to be undesirable to everyone who hadn't seen it before.
I think I can now say that I don't dislike Mansfield Park so much as I simply don't find it as enjoyable as the other novels. The story is a good one, but the characters are a little more allegorical (for lack of a better word) than usual, and the proselytizing just overpowers the narrative to too high a degree. It doesn't move in my overall hierarchy of Austen's work, but I am willing to give it more credit now for its good points. If you're looking to read some Austen, though, I don't recommend starting here. Try Emma or P&P, and then if you like those, keep going.
Friday, April 22, 2011
CBR Book 18: Territory
Territory, by Emma Bull
Regardless of what I say about this book, the following sentence will either sell you or not. Ready? Here goes. Territory by Emma Bull is a fantasy novel, set in the wild West. No, seriously. It's set in Tombstone. The characters include Doc Holliday and his woman, most of the Earp clan, and pretty much everyone else who was involved in the shootout at the O.K. Corral. And guess what? Some of them are sorcerers.
Jesse Fox (the main characters are fictional) arrives in Tombstone in the midst of turmoil. There's been an attempted robbery of a stagecoach and consequent murder of two men, and one of the escaping would-be bandits has stolen his horse. He shoots the guy, who eventually dies, and retrieves his horse, but gets caught up in the subsequent mess before he can leave continue on his way.Turns out a friend of his, Chow Lung, a Chinese magician, is in town, and he wants Jesse to use his latent-but-denied powers to set things straight in Tombstone. Somebody's been using magic to control events (and people's lives), and Jesse and Lung have to figure out who. It's not really giving much away to say that the ultimate culprit is pretty obvious. What's interesting is that there are various other individuals in town who have the power but are unaware of it, or how to use it. One such is Mildred Benjamin, an attractive widow who works as a typesetter for The Nugget by day and as a writer of dime serial novels by night. She and Jesse strike up an uneasy friendship, and she uses her developing skills as a reporter to unravel the complex thread of events and murders that surround the attempted stagecoach robbery. The ultimate "showdown" is not one of guns, but one of power. Lines are drawn, and the stage is set, to some degree, for the events of the famous shootout.
The biggest problem with Territory comes from the author's attempts to make the thing a sort of mystery. For the first third of the novel, the reader is picking through information and learning along with the characters, and it's all very confusing. The second third irons itself out a bit and focuses on other things, so it's more comfortable, and then the final third gets all convoluted again. I hesitate to say that there are too many threads; I think it's more an issue of how those threads are handled. For instance: the plot is moving along, and we are satisfied with the identity of the main perpetrator of various deeds. Then, suddenly, for reasons that are never made entirely clear, we are thrown the curveball of learning that someone else who has been merely peripheral up to this point has these magical powers as well, and may actually have been responsible for one previous deed in particular. I'm not sure why Ms. Bull got so enthusiastic about making every other person in Tombstone a magician, but I didn't personally feel that it was necessary. It's hard for me to admit that the plot of a novel is too convoluted: one of my favorite books is The Count of Monte Christo, which is sort of famously tangled, and that's part of what I love about it. But here, for whatever reason, it just wasn't working for me.
What was working, and what I always enjoy about magic in novels, is the way in which an individual author chooses to manifest the magic. Is it related to light, animals, water, will, or what? In this case, it's sort of earth magic. Tombstone is a silver mining town, and so the "magicians" drawn there are brought, whether or not they know it, by the energies in the earth itself. The earth is used for important "spells," and the characters feel a strong connection to the land. It's not the most original manifestation, but it worked well within the framework of this story.
So yeah. Cowboys plus magic plus mystery. A little bit of a mess plot-wise, reasonably entertaining character-wise, and actually really interesting in terms of the use of the historical elements present. I would suggest that if you don't know much about Tombstone, Holliday, Earp, and the famous shootout (like me), you might want to hit up Wikipedia before reading Territory. Or watch Tombstone, or something. Speaking of which, I need to go put that on my Netflix queue. Pardon me.
Regardless of what I say about this book, the following sentence will either sell you or not. Ready? Here goes. Territory by Emma Bull is a fantasy novel, set in the wild West. No, seriously. It's set in Tombstone. The characters include Doc Holliday and his woman, most of the Earp clan, and pretty much everyone else who was involved in the shootout at the O.K. Corral. And guess what? Some of them are sorcerers.
Jesse Fox (the main characters are fictional) arrives in Tombstone in the midst of turmoil. There's been an attempted robbery of a stagecoach and consequent murder of two men, and one of the escaping would-be bandits has stolen his horse. He shoots the guy, who eventually dies, and retrieves his horse, but gets caught up in the subsequent mess before he can leave continue on his way.Turns out a friend of his, Chow Lung, a Chinese magician, is in town, and he wants Jesse to use his latent-but-denied powers to set things straight in Tombstone. Somebody's been using magic to control events (and people's lives), and Jesse and Lung have to figure out who. It's not really giving much away to say that the ultimate culprit is pretty obvious. What's interesting is that there are various other individuals in town who have the power but are unaware of it, or how to use it. One such is Mildred Benjamin, an attractive widow who works as a typesetter for The Nugget by day and as a writer of dime serial novels by night. She and Jesse strike up an uneasy friendship, and she uses her developing skills as a reporter to unravel the complex thread of events and murders that surround the attempted stagecoach robbery. The ultimate "showdown" is not one of guns, but one of power. Lines are drawn, and the stage is set, to some degree, for the events of the famous shootout.
The biggest problem with Territory comes from the author's attempts to make the thing a sort of mystery. For the first third of the novel, the reader is picking through information and learning along with the characters, and it's all very confusing. The second third irons itself out a bit and focuses on other things, so it's more comfortable, and then the final third gets all convoluted again. I hesitate to say that there are too many threads; I think it's more an issue of how those threads are handled. For instance: the plot is moving along, and we are satisfied with the identity of the main perpetrator of various deeds. Then, suddenly, for reasons that are never made entirely clear, we are thrown the curveball of learning that someone else who has been merely peripheral up to this point has these magical powers as well, and may actually have been responsible for one previous deed in particular. I'm not sure why Ms. Bull got so enthusiastic about making every other person in Tombstone a magician, but I didn't personally feel that it was necessary. It's hard for me to admit that the plot of a novel is too convoluted: one of my favorite books is The Count of Monte Christo, which is sort of famously tangled, and that's part of what I love about it. But here, for whatever reason, it just wasn't working for me.
What was working, and what I always enjoy about magic in novels, is the way in which an individual author chooses to manifest the magic. Is it related to light, animals, water, will, or what? In this case, it's sort of earth magic. Tombstone is a silver mining town, and so the "magicians" drawn there are brought, whether or not they know it, by the energies in the earth itself. The earth is used for important "spells," and the characters feel a strong connection to the land. It's not the most original manifestation, but it worked well within the framework of this story.
So yeah. Cowboys plus magic plus mystery. A little bit of a mess plot-wise, reasonably entertaining character-wise, and actually really interesting in terms of the use of the historical elements present. I would suggest that if you don't know much about Tombstone, Holliday, Earp, and the famous shootout (like me), you might want to hit up Wikipedia before reading Territory. Or watch Tombstone, or something. Speaking of which, I need to go put that on my Netflix queue. Pardon me.
Thursday, April 14, 2011
CBR Book 17: Furious Love
Furious Love, by Sam Kashner & Nancy Schoenberger
In a book full of sad tales, the saddest comes from the acknowledgements section at the end. The writers, on telling a recently graduated theater major that they planned on writing a book about the world-famous Taylor-Burton relationship, received this response: "Oh, wow. I never know that Elizabeth Taylor and Tim Burton were married!" After being one-half of the most famous couple in the world, not to mention an acting giant, it's too bad that Richard Burton is somewhat forgotten in the realm of celebrity these days. I am forced to admit that I have not, as yet, even seen a movie in which Mr. Burton appears. I promise you that there are at least 5 currently on my Netflix queue, though, and I bumped a couple up after reading this fascinating story of Hollywood's royal couple.
Furious Love serves as sort of a dual biography, giving us a presumably abbreviated look at the lives of Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton before and after tumultuous relationship, as well as the full account of their years together. Elizabeth Taylor had been a movie star from childhood, whereas Burton was the most promising of stage actors until he answered the siren call of Hollywood. She had lived a life of privilege, while he was the 12th of 13 children born to a poor Welsh miner. When they began their affair on the set of Cleopatra in 1963, they were both married to other people: Taylor to Eddie Fisher (her fourth marriage) and Burton to Sibyl, who had weathered countless affairs before. Their relationship caused a sensation; scandalizing and fascinating the world, and engendering the landscape of celebrity obsession that we see today. Throughout their affair and their subsequent marriages (the first lasting ten years, the second a matter of months) they were alternately beloved and vilified by the public. They functioned almost entirely in the public eye, allowing the world to live vicariously through their extreme decadence. They purchased fabulous jewels, paintings, yachts, planes; they ate and drank to excess; they rubbed shoulders with everyone who was anyone. Oh, and they made a whole bunch of movies, too. In the end, their life was too extreme to maintain, both in terms of their relationship, and their health. They both suffered from uncountable health problems, many brought on by alcoholism and drug abuse (mostly in Taylor's case), and Burton died in 1984 at the age of 58.
This biography encapsulates two different stories. The first is that of Taylor and Burton's film careers. The list of people they worked with and movies they made is truly incredible. More interesting is the way in which they commanded their world: at the height of their stardom, and even when their shine had faded somewhat, they were capable of asking nearly anything of the studios and getting away with it. Elizabeth Taylor usually had full veto rights over everything from costume design to screenwriters and directors. Despite being remembered for a certain amount of high drama and camp today, Taylor and Burton worked hard to bring challenging, literary pieces to the screen; often adaptations of plays written by friends like Tennessee Williams and Noel Coward, not to mention classics like Shakespeare and Marlowe. They were conversely the critics' darlings or the laughingstock of the press, but they almost always did things the way they wanted to do them. The rise and fall of their Hollywood reign is a fascinating story to follow, and will certainly swell your Netflix queue beyond all reason (if it's not there already).
Darker, and much sadder (to me) is the story of their relationship. What existed in the Taylor-Burton romance was a situation wherein two people loved each other very much, but were living in such a fantasy world of movies, parties, and riches that they were rendered incapable of dealing with reality. I often think that we, as a society, become brainwashed by the romance of media. We believe in things like meet-cutes, last-minute reconciliations in airports, and happily ever afters; and more importantly, we think that these things are all engineered by magic, rather than hard work and communication. And if the average Joe gets sucked in by all of those things, then the movie stars themselves are twice as susceptible. Taylor and Burton are a perfect example of this. They did whatever they wanted, often suffering the consequences but usually coming out ahead because they were so popular that they were guaranteed to make money for anyone they worked with or for. They lived a life of hedonism and never seemed to truly catch on that they were paying for it with their lives. Burton suffered a wide variety of health problems due to his (never acknowledged) alcoholism, but never truly got sober for more than a few months at a time. Elizabeth, and their entourage, were so busy having a good time that they never really supported his efforts. We would look with horror on a "regular" relationship in which one partner attempted to get sober while the other continued to booze it up, but this was simply par for the course where the Burtons were involved. Depicted in this book, that was their whole life. They got sucked in to the limelight, into their public personae, and they couldn't escape. It's not enough to say that they "weren't allowed" a normal life or relationship - it's more like a kind of Stockholm Syndrome, wherein they knew their life was destroying them, but they loved the poison.
This is a depressing and fascinating story of two people who only sort of existed, and of two people who weren't allowed to truly exist. "Liz and Dick," as opposed to Elizabeth and Richard, played out their every move for reporters. The situations and stories are presented so well here that in the end, instead of being envious of the fabulous life they lived, all you can really feel for them is a certain amount of pity. Sure, we'd all like to have enough money to casually drop 2 million on a massive diamond, but what price would we really pay? There are numerous references throughout to Faust (a role Burton played, naturally), and it's an apt comparison. Furious Love is a book about movie stars, yes, but I think it gives us many greater things to think about. If nothing else, you'll stop and feel grateful, at least once, for your comparatively quiet and sane existence.
In a book full of sad tales, the saddest comes from the acknowledgements section at the end. The writers, on telling a recently graduated theater major that they planned on writing a book about the world-famous Taylor-Burton relationship, received this response: "Oh, wow. I never know that Elizabeth Taylor and Tim Burton were married!" After being one-half of the most famous couple in the world, not to mention an acting giant, it's too bad that Richard Burton is somewhat forgotten in the realm of celebrity these days. I am forced to admit that I have not, as yet, even seen a movie in which Mr. Burton appears. I promise you that there are at least 5 currently on my Netflix queue, though, and I bumped a couple up after reading this fascinating story of Hollywood's royal couple.
Furious Love serves as sort of a dual biography, giving us a presumably abbreviated look at the lives of Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton before and after tumultuous relationship, as well as the full account of their years together. Elizabeth Taylor had been a movie star from childhood, whereas Burton was the most promising of stage actors until he answered the siren call of Hollywood. She had lived a life of privilege, while he was the 12th of 13 children born to a poor Welsh miner. When they began their affair on the set of Cleopatra in 1963, they were both married to other people: Taylor to Eddie Fisher (her fourth marriage) and Burton to Sibyl, who had weathered countless affairs before. Their relationship caused a sensation; scandalizing and fascinating the world, and engendering the landscape of celebrity obsession that we see today. Throughout their affair and their subsequent marriages (the first lasting ten years, the second a matter of months) they were alternately beloved and vilified by the public. They functioned almost entirely in the public eye, allowing the world to live vicariously through their extreme decadence. They purchased fabulous jewels, paintings, yachts, planes; they ate and drank to excess; they rubbed shoulders with everyone who was anyone. Oh, and they made a whole bunch of movies, too. In the end, their life was too extreme to maintain, both in terms of their relationship, and their health. They both suffered from uncountable health problems, many brought on by alcoholism and drug abuse (mostly in Taylor's case), and Burton died in 1984 at the age of 58.
This biography encapsulates two different stories. The first is that of Taylor and Burton's film careers. The list of people they worked with and movies they made is truly incredible. More interesting is the way in which they commanded their world: at the height of their stardom, and even when their shine had faded somewhat, they were capable of asking nearly anything of the studios and getting away with it. Elizabeth Taylor usually had full veto rights over everything from costume design to screenwriters and directors. Despite being remembered for a certain amount of high drama and camp today, Taylor and Burton worked hard to bring challenging, literary pieces to the screen; often adaptations of plays written by friends like Tennessee Williams and Noel Coward, not to mention classics like Shakespeare and Marlowe. They were conversely the critics' darlings or the laughingstock of the press, but they almost always did things the way they wanted to do them. The rise and fall of their Hollywood reign is a fascinating story to follow, and will certainly swell your Netflix queue beyond all reason (if it's not there already).
Darker, and much sadder (to me) is the story of their relationship. What existed in the Taylor-Burton romance was a situation wherein two people loved each other very much, but were living in such a fantasy world of movies, parties, and riches that they were rendered incapable of dealing with reality. I often think that we, as a society, become brainwashed by the romance of media. We believe in things like meet-cutes, last-minute reconciliations in airports, and happily ever afters; and more importantly, we think that these things are all engineered by magic, rather than hard work and communication. And if the average Joe gets sucked in by all of those things, then the movie stars themselves are twice as susceptible. Taylor and Burton are a perfect example of this. They did whatever they wanted, often suffering the consequences but usually coming out ahead because they were so popular that they were guaranteed to make money for anyone they worked with or for. They lived a life of hedonism and never seemed to truly catch on that they were paying for it with their lives. Burton suffered a wide variety of health problems due to his (never acknowledged) alcoholism, but never truly got sober for more than a few months at a time. Elizabeth, and their entourage, were so busy having a good time that they never really supported his efforts. We would look with horror on a "regular" relationship in which one partner attempted to get sober while the other continued to booze it up, but this was simply par for the course where the Burtons were involved. Depicted in this book, that was their whole life. They got sucked in to the limelight, into their public personae, and they couldn't escape. It's not enough to say that they "weren't allowed" a normal life or relationship - it's more like a kind of Stockholm Syndrome, wherein they knew their life was destroying them, but they loved the poison.
This is a depressing and fascinating story of two people who only sort of existed, and of two people who weren't allowed to truly exist. "Liz and Dick," as opposed to Elizabeth and Richard, played out their every move for reporters. The situations and stories are presented so well here that in the end, instead of being envious of the fabulous life they lived, all you can really feel for them is a certain amount of pity. Sure, we'd all like to have enough money to casually drop 2 million on a massive diamond, but what price would we really pay? There are numerous references throughout to Faust (a role Burton played, naturally), and it's an apt comparison. Furious Love is a book about movie stars, yes, but I think it gives us many greater things to think about. If nothing else, you'll stop and feel grateful, at least once, for your comparatively quiet and sane existence.
Sunday, April 03, 2011
CBR Book 16: Last Voyage of the Valentina
Last Voyage of the Valentina, by Santa Montefiore
I decided to read this book because a friend of mine wrote a blog post dream-casting the movie adaptation, and it sounded like brain candy. Everyone needs brain candy sometimes, right? There are lots of problems with candy, though, and so too this novel. It's basically a dressed-up romance novel with all the schmoopy writing and dialogue, a fair amount of sex (though not particularly well-written) and not much in the way of interesting character development or even sympathetic characters. The "mystery" at the heart of the novel isn't much either; half of it is easily solved, and the other half offers no clues whatsoever. But, if you're looking for something relatively mindless with which to pass the time, you could probably do much worse than this.
Alba Arbuckle (oy) is a spoiled playgirl who doesn't work, spends all of her money on clothes, and is so beautiful as to have men at her feet wherever she goes. She's got a distant but doting father, an "evil stepmother," and a mysterious, Italian mother for whom the houseboat on which she lives is named. When Alba discovers a portrait of her mother, Valentina, drawn by her father, she decides it's high time she went in search of her roots. To do this, she disrupts and upsets her family, enlists the help of a poor sap literary agent named Fitz who is in love with her (apparently he finds her brattiness charming?), and eventually sets off for Italy to find out about her mother's life and death. Along the way, I'm sure you'll be surprised to learn, she finds herself.
Seriously, Alba is one of the worst heroines I've ever come across. Everything she does is for herself, and everything that doesn't go her way is clearly done with malice, to ruin her life. She's twenty-six going on fifteen. Her cast of supporting characters are painted in such broad strokes, perhaps to make her seem more interesting?, so as to be hardly worth mention. Montefiore is going for a sort of "English values" vs. "Italian passion" idea, but her stolid English types come off as stodgy and boring, and her passionate Italians just come off as annoying. While Alba learns to embrace both sides of her heritage, her transformation is so hurried and so rote that there's no journey to be witnessed, no soul-searching or realizations. One minute spoiled brat, the next, lovely human being.
The novel is two stories entwined: Alba's own story, and that of her parents, told in flashback. The structure of the novel works fine, and I do think that it could actually be made into a creditable movie (although I disagree with most of my friend's casting choices). As a novel, though, it's strictly treacle. The language is truly florid and ridiculous. Everyone either is (or was) devastatingly gorgeous or grotesquely unattractive. All of the plot points get neatly tied up with a bow at the end, except for the love story between Alba and Fitz, which gets built up for a while but then unceremoniously dumped. It turns out that even though Alba has "changed," she's still going to get her own way, and the truest love extant in the novel is that of Alba for herself. What a beautiful thing.
I decided to read this book because a friend of mine wrote a blog post dream-casting the movie adaptation, and it sounded like brain candy. Everyone needs brain candy sometimes, right? There are lots of problems with candy, though, and so too this novel. It's basically a dressed-up romance novel with all the schmoopy writing and dialogue, a fair amount of sex (though not particularly well-written) and not much in the way of interesting character development or even sympathetic characters. The "mystery" at the heart of the novel isn't much either; half of it is easily solved, and the other half offers no clues whatsoever. But, if you're looking for something relatively mindless with which to pass the time, you could probably do much worse than this.
Alba Arbuckle (oy) is a spoiled playgirl who doesn't work, spends all of her money on clothes, and is so beautiful as to have men at her feet wherever she goes. She's got a distant but doting father, an "evil stepmother," and a mysterious, Italian mother for whom the houseboat on which she lives is named. When Alba discovers a portrait of her mother, Valentina, drawn by her father, she decides it's high time she went in search of her roots. To do this, she disrupts and upsets her family, enlists the help of a poor sap literary agent named Fitz who is in love with her (apparently he finds her brattiness charming?), and eventually sets off for Italy to find out about her mother's life and death. Along the way, I'm sure you'll be surprised to learn, she finds herself.
Seriously, Alba is one of the worst heroines I've ever come across. Everything she does is for herself, and everything that doesn't go her way is clearly done with malice, to ruin her life. She's twenty-six going on fifteen. Her cast of supporting characters are painted in such broad strokes, perhaps to make her seem more interesting?, so as to be hardly worth mention. Montefiore is going for a sort of "English values" vs. "Italian passion" idea, but her stolid English types come off as stodgy and boring, and her passionate Italians just come off as annoying. While Alba learns to embrace both sides of her heritage, her transformation is so hurried and so rote that there's no journey to be witnessed, no soul-searching or realizations. One minute spoiled brat, the next, lovely human being.
The novel is two stories entwined: Alba's own story, and that of her parents, told in flashback. The structure of the novel works fine, and I do think that it could actually be made into a creditable movie (although I disagree with most of my friend's casting choices). As a novel, though, it's strictly treacle. The language is truly florid and ridiculous. Everyone either is (or was) devastatingly gorgeous or grotesquely unattractive. All of the plot points get neatly tied up with a bow at the end, except for the love story between Alba and Fitz, which gets built up for a while but then unceremoniously dumped. It turns out that even though Alba has "changed," she's still going to get her own way, and the truest love extant in the novel is that of Alba for herself. What a beautiful thing.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
CBR Book 15: The Hunger Games
The Hunger Games, by Suzanne Collins
Let's just get this out of the way, first thing, so that those of you who are so inclined can declare me insane and go on with your lives: I thought this book was very mediocre.
Yeah, sorry. I really did try. I will admit that I tend to avoid things that are insanely hyped up. I've also recently become very tired of reading books in a series; the commitment is sometimes exhausting. And so, I have been avoiding these books like the plague for a while. But, as often happens, I decide to stop being a curmudgeon and see what all the fuss is about. And just so you know that I am always willing to admit when I'm wrong: I started reading the Harry Potter books after #4 came out, and became a huge fanatic. I mean, I can admit now that they're fun and inventive, but not necessarily terribly good from a literary standpoint, but I do love 'em dearly. But anyway. Back to the present day.
The Hunger Games is the first book in the new YA series hotness. It depicts a dystopian, post-apocalyptic state in the mid-Atlantic region of what was once the United States. The denizens of the Twelve Districts are poor, hungry, and extremely repressed by the people of the Capitol, who are effete and shallow. The worst of the situation is the annual Hunger Games, in which twenty-four children (a boy and a girl from each district) are thrown into an arena and forced to fight to the death. The game ends when there's one contestant left standing. The winner is set for life: returned to his or her district, given a large house and large sums of money. It's crowd-control at its most sadistic: the people are forced to first watch as their children are randomly selected as participants (called tributes), and then the games are televised as "entertainment". It's really a pretty disturbing, albeit interesting, concept for the central idea of a young adult fantasy novel.
Our main character is Katniss Everdeen, a teenager who lives with her mother and younger sister in the lowest district of them all, District Twelve. Katniss is the street-savvy one: she illegally hunts game and trades it on the black market in order to provide for her family. When her little sister, Prim, is selected as a tribute, Katniss of course volunteers to take her place. She is joined by a young man named Peeta, who showed her a kindness long ago. They journey to the Capitol, where they are paraded around, celebrated, and trained to survive. They are naturally at a disadvantage, being from the poorest District, which has only ever had two winners in the history of the Games. The lone surviving winner is their coach, Haymitch, and he's a drunken lout.
Now, let me ask you this: is there really anyone that doesn't think they don't already know how this is going to end?
I'm not suggesting that a predictable storyline is enough to ruin a novel, and in fact, one of the things Collins does best is keep the tension running high. She also succeeds in using first-person narrative (the story is told by Katniss) to really bring home the sense of isolation and danger that exists for the tributes. Katniss struggles constantly with the question of who to trust and how her own feelings are going to affect her chances.
For me, though, the first person narrative is also the main weakness of the novel. Katniss, despite her clear bad-assness, is kind of a bore. The language and descriptive passages are very terse. I do acknowledge that this brevity adds to the picture being painted, but being descriptive with fewer words is an enviable skill, and I'm not sure Ms. Collins has it as much as, say, Hemingway. I know, I know, it's "only YA". But so are some really excellent pieces of work, like the Narnia Chronicles. A book can be for young adults and still be beautifully literary. I found the writing to be rather uneven, as well. Throughout, Collins managed to keep the excitement and thrill of danger moving at a good pace, but in the final chapters, it's as though she realized she was two days away from her deadline, so decided to rush. The climax barely even gives you time to catch your breath, nor does it measure up to the events of the Hunger Games up to that point. Collins seems in a hurry to lay the groundwork for the rest of the series, which is understandable, but perhaps not worth rushing the end for. The foundation's laid pretty well throughout the novel, I think.
The last thing I'll say, and this is truly nit-picky, is that somebody needs to lay off the commas, or be less concerned about her word count, or something. Part of the problem with the writing style is that it is trying to be brief and to the point, but is also trying to sound conversational. Again, that's a hard skill to master, and I think that had Ms. Collins chose to be the tiniest bit more free with her words (say, using an "and" instead of merely a comma) the result would be more enjoyable and natural to read.
As I said before, I'm a little over YA fantasy fiction, so feel free to discount my opinions here. The Hunger Games was a fine way to spend a couple of afternoons, but I didn't feel that it was particularly deserving of all the hype. Maybe the next two books get better? I'm not really sure I'm inclined to find out, and that's kind of the gist of what I have to say about this novel. If a first book doesn't truly compel me to want to read the others, then it hasn't done its job.
PS: Jennifer Lawrence is, IMO, a really crappy choice as the star of the inevitable and upcoming film adaptation. I wish her luck.
Let's just get this out of the way, first thing, so that those of you who are so inclined can declare me insane and go on with your lives: I thought this book was very mediocre.
Yeah, sorry. I really did try. I will admit that I tend to avoid things that are insanely hyped up. I've also recently become very tired of reading books in a series; the commitment is sometimes exhausting. And so, I have been avoiding these books like the plague for a while. But, as often happens, I decide to stop being a curmudgeon and see what all the fuss is about. And just so you know that I am always willing to admit when I'm wrong: I started reading the Harry Potter books after #4 came out, and became a huge fanatic. I mean, I can admit now that they're fun and inventive, but not necessarily terribly good from a literary standpoint, but I do love 'em dearly. But anyway. Back to the present day.
The Hunger Games is the first book in the new YA series hotness. It depicts a dystopian, post-apocalyptic state in the mid-Atlantic region of what was once the United States. The denizens of the Twelve Districts are poor, hungry, and extremely repressed by the people of the Capitol, who are effete and shallow. The worst of the situation is the annual Hunger Games, in which twenty-four children (a boy and a girl from each district) are thrown into an arena and forced to fight to the death. The game ends when there's one contestant left standing. The winner is set for life: returned to his or her district, given a large house and large sums of money. It's crowd-control at its most sadistic: the people are forced to first watch as their children are randomly selected as participants (called tributes), and then the games are televised as "entertainment". It's really a pretty disturbing, albeit interesting, concept for the central idea of a young adult fantasy novel.
Our main character is Katniss Everdeen, a teenager who lives with her mother and younger sister in the lowest district of them all, District Twelve. Katniss is the street-savvy one: she illegally hunts game and trades it on the black market in order to provide for her family. When her little sister, Prim, is selected as a tribute, Katniss of course volunteers to take her place. She is joined by a young man named Peeta, who showed her a kindness long ago. They journey to the Capitol, where they are paraded around, celebrated, and trained to survive. They are naturally at a disadvantage, being from the poorest District, which has only ever had two winners in the history of the Games. The lone surviving winner is their coach, Haymitch, and he's a drunken lout.
Now, let me ask you this: is there really anyone that doesn't think they don't already know how this is going to end?
I'm not suggesting that a predictable storyline is enough to ruin a novel, and in fact, one of the things Collins does best is keep the tension running high. She also succeeds in using first-person narrative (the story is told by Katniss) to really bring home the sense of isolation and danger that exists for the tributes. Katniss struggles constantly with the question of who to trust and how her own feelings are going to affect her chances.
For me, though, the first person narrative is also the main weakness of the novel. Katniss, despite her clear bad-assness, is kind of a bore. The language and descriptive passages are very terse. I do acknowledge that this brevity adds to the picture being painted, but being descriptive with fewer words is an enviable skill, and I'm not sure Ms. Collins has it as much as, say, Hemingway. I know, I know, it's "only YA". But so are some really excellent pieces of work, like the Narnia Chronicles. A book can be for young adults and still be beautifully literary. I found the writing to be rather uneven, as well. Throughout, Collins managed to keep the excitement and thrill of danger moving at a good pace, but in the final chapters, it's as though she realized she was two days away from her deadline, so decided to rush. The climax barely even gives you time to catch your breath, nor does it measure up to the events of the Hunger Games up to that point. Collins seems in a hurry to lay the groundwork for the rest of the series, which is understandable, but perhaps not worth rushing the end for. The foundation's laid pretty well throughout the novel, I think.
The last thing I'll say, and this is truly nit-picky, is that somebody needs to lay off the commas, or be less concerned about her word count, or something. Part of the problem with the writing style is that it is trying to be brief and to the point, but is also trying to sound conversational. Again, that's a hard skill to master, and I think that had Ms. Collins chose to be the tiniest bit more free with her words (say, using an "and" instead of merely a comma) the result would be more enjoyable and natural to read.
As I said before, I'm a little over YA fantasy fiction, so feel free to discount my opinions here. The Hunger Games was a fine way to spend a couple of afternoons, but I didn't feel that it was particularly deserving of all the hype. Maybe the next two books get better? I'm not really sure I'm inclined to find out, and that's kind of the gist of what I have to say about this novel. If a first book doesn't truly compel me to want to read the others, then it hasn't done its job.
PS: Jennifer Lawrence is, IMO, a really crappy choice as the star of the inevitable and upcoming film adaptation. I wish her luck.
Sunday, March 20, 2011
CBR Book 14: The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society
The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society, by Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows
The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society is a reasonably touching historical fiction about the German Occupation of the Channel Islands during World War II, disguised as a charming little story about quirky people who like to read and write letters. Juliet Ashton is a young authoress in London immediately following the events of the war. She's just come off a book tour for a series of vignettes regarding the war, and is burned out by it all when she receives a letter from a man who has somehow come across a book that once belonged to her. Soon she is corresponding with various members, and is drawn into the world of the Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society, and is fascinated by their stories of the occupation. Eventually, she reaches the determination to write about the experiences of the people of Guernsey, and goes there to do further research. What she finds is much more than anticipated: friends, family, and love.
What can I say? I love epistolary novels. I'm not sure why ... it might be because I find characters and character development to be the most important aspects of a novel, and when the story is told through the eyes of the characters themselves, you get so much of them along with the story. This novel is no exception. The characters are nothing particularly exciting, but they're warm and somehow familiar. The stories, though, are fascinating. I thought I was reading something light and fun, but the stories about the Germans, some good and some bad, are touching and poignant. The overall tenor of the novel is one of weariness and cautious emergence. People are almost afraid to hope again, to laugh and to love. In that sense, it seems as if there's almost an excuse for the characters to be slightly less than dynamic. They've shut their true selves away in order to survive the war, and they're just now starting to open up again.
All in all, a fun and thoughtful little read that will take you an afternoon. Charming and not without a couple of twists and turns to keep you guessing, at least a little bit.
The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society is a reasonably touching historical fiction about the German Occupation of the Channel Islands during World War II, disguised as a charming little story about quirky people who like to read and write letters. Juliet Ashton is a young authoress in London immediately following the events of the war. She's just come off a book tour for a series of vignettes regarding the war, and is burned out by it all when she receives a letter from a man who has somehow come across a book that once belonged to her. Soon she is corresponding with various members, and is drawn into the world of the Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society, and is fascinated by their stories of the occupation. Eventually, she reaches the determination to write about the experiences of the people of Guernsey, and goes there to do further research. What she finds is much more than anticipated: friends, family, and love.
What can I say? I love epistolary novels. I'm not sure why ... it might be because I find characters and character development to be the most important aspects of a novel, and when the story is told through the eyes of the characters themselves, you get so much of them along with the story. This novel is no exception. The characters are nothing particularly exciting, but they're warm and somehow familiar. The stories, though, are fascinating. I thought I was reading something light and fun, but the stories about the Germans, some good and some bad, are touching and poignant. The overall tenor of the novel is one of weariness and cautious emergence. People are almost afraid to hope again, to laugh and to love. In that sense, it seems as if there's almost an excuse for the characters to be slightly less than dynamic. They've shut their true selves away in order to survive the war, and they're just now starting to open up again.
All in all, a fun and thoughtful little read that will take you an afternoon. Charming and not without a couple of twists and turns to keep you guessing, at least a little bit.
Friday, March 18, 2011
CBR Book 13: Judi Dench: With a crack in her voice
Judi Dench: With a crack in her voice, by John Miller.
Were you aware that Judi Dench is awesome? You probably were, but if you'd like to know a little bit more about her awesomeness, you should read this biography. It's pretty interesting, but it does come with some caveats.
1. If you ever entertained any notions of a career in theater but went on to do something practical, like be a librarian, this book will make you regret this choice. 2. You will be forever regretful of all the amazing theatrical performances you had no opportunity of seeing. I'm not just talking about Dame Judi's (although, my god); she talks about seeing other performances as well. For instance: Did you know that Ciaran Hinds originated the role of Larry in Closer on the stage? Gah. 3. You will be sorely tempted to quit your job and spend the next six months reading all the plays that get talked about. You're still not all the way through the entirety of Shakespeare, and you've read almost no Chekhov and you're ashamed.
If you can get past all that, though, it's a good read. It's a little bit confusing organizationally, but it's mostly just amazing, the career that woman's had. It really speaks a lot to the differences, perhaps, in how acting and showbiz works in the UK as opposed to the US. Judi Dench was a tremendous deal over there (and to people really in the know here) long before she became a noted film actress. She had done practically everything there was to be done in terms of Shakespeare, and done it with everyone who was anyone. For her to become a noted film actress seems really almost like a postscript.
Perhaps my view is a little cynical, but that's a far cry from how it sometimes seems that actresses "make it big" here in the US ... somebody says "Gosh, you've got a pretty face," and the next thing you know, you're having a screen-test. That's not entirely fair, of course. In the last bio I read, of Katharine Hepburn, she'd certainly done a fair amount of stage work before she headed West. Still, she hadn't had the formal training that Dench did (she attended a dramatic arts school of note), and she hadn't been doing the really classic stuff. Her first major role wasn't Ophelia for the Old Vic. Ok, fine, maybe I'm just a snob.
Anyway, it's a really interesting glimpse into the life of Dame Judi. It's not at all a "sit down and talk to your subject" kind of thing, rather, the biographer, John Miller, followed Dench around and watched her rehearse, talked to her directors and her peers, and has composed his sense of who she is from the stories told by others. She's a born leader, a practical joker par excellence, and a force of nature on-stage, apparently. And she's played practically everything worth playing. She probably won an award for it. She didn't like being Portia or Regan. She was supposed to originate a couple of roles in Cats, but she tore her Achilles tendon. She has actually directed a fair amount of plays, the first being Much Ado About Nothing, starring Kenneth Branagh (for whose company she was asked to direct) and Samantha Bond.
Yeah, I'm kind of in awe now. In all honesty, she sounds like an amazing person, but I think the biography is much more interesting in its stories about acting and the British stage. If you have an interest in any of these things (and you're probably a Pajiban, so it's possible?), I'd recommend this book. But only if you've got time to read the entire works of Shakespeare afterward.
Were you aware that Judi Dench is awesome? You probably were, but if you'd like to know a little bit more about her awesomeness, you should read this biography. It's pretty interesting, but it does come with some caveats.
1. If you ever entertained any notions of a career in theater but went on to do something practical, like be a librarian, this book will make you regret this choice. 2. You will be forever regretful of all the amazing theatrical performances you had no opportunity of seeing. I'm not just talking about Dame Judi's (although, my god); she talks about seeing other performances as well. For instance: Did you know that Ciaran Hinds originated the role of Larry in Closer on the stage? Gah. 3. You will be sorely tempted to quit your job and spend the next six months reading all the plays that get talked about. You're still not all the way through the entirety of Shakespeare, and you've read almost no Chekhov and you're ashamed.
If you can get past all that, though, it's a good read. It's a little bit confusing organizationally, but it's mostly just amazing, the career that woman's had. It really speaks a lot to the differences, perhaps, in how acting and showbiz works in the UK as opposed to the US. Judi Dench was a tremendous deal over there (and to people really in the know here) long before she became a noted film actress. She had done practically everything there was to be done in terms of Shakespeare, and done it with everyone who was anyone. For her to become a noted film actress seems really almost like a postscript.
Perhaps my view is a little cynical, but that's a far cry from how it sometimes seems that actresses "make it big" here in the US ... somebody says "Gosh, you've got a pretty face," and the next thing you know, you're having a screen-test. That's not entirely fair, of course. In the last bio I read, of Katharine Hepburn, she'd certainly done a fair amount of stage work before she headed West. Still, she hadn't had the formal training that Dench did (she attended a dramatic arts school of note), and she hadn't been doing the really classic stuff. Her first major role wasn't Ophelia for the Old Vic. Ok, fine, maybe I'm just a snob.
Anyway, it's a really interesting glimpse into the life of Dame Judi. It's not at all a "sit down and talk to your subject" kind of thing, rather, the biographer, John Miller, followed Dench around and watched her rehearse, talked to her directors and her peers, and has composed his sense of who she is from the stories told by others. She's a born leader, a practical joker par excellence, and a force of nature on-stage, apparently. And she's played practically everything worth playing. She probably won an award for it. She didn't like being Portia or Regan. She was supposed to originate a couple of roles in Cats, but she tore her Achilles tendon. She has actually directed a fair amount of plays, the first being Much Ado About Nothing, starring Kenneth Branagh (for whose company she was asked to direct) and Samantha Bond.
Yeah, I'm kind of in awe now. In all honesty, she sounds like an amazing person, but I think the biography is much more interesting in its stories about acting and the British stage. If you have an interest in any of these things (and you're probably a Pajiban, so it's possible?), I'd recommend this book. But only if you've got time to read the entire works of Shakespeare afterward.
Friday, March 11, 2011
Open Letter, part 552?
Dear celebrities,
I like to look at pictures of you. It's mostly for the clothes. However, when recently perusing a gallery of "grocery store looks" (because I don't get outfit ideas from the gowns you wear to award shows), I noticed something. NONE OF YOU ARE USING REUSABLE BAGS. Really?? C'mon, now. Surely some of you drive a Prius and recycle a bit. God knows you can afford designer grocery bags, or some such nonsense, since you clearly all shop at Whole Foods. And yeah, you're shopping at Whole Foods. Theoretically that means you care about organic and/or sustainable food, although maybe that's just because it's trendy, and more expensive than shopping at Ralph's?
Anyway, get with the program. Reusable bags. Before long, teen-aged girls will be writing into People.com to ask where J-Lo got her adorable leopard-print shopping bag, and the world will be a better place. Seriously.
Kisses,
Me
I like to look at pictures of you. It's mostly for the clothes. However, when recently perusing a gallery of "grocery store looks" (because I don't get outfit ideas from the gowns you wear to award shows), I noticed something. NONE OF YOU ARE USING REUSABLE BAGS. Really?? C'mon, now. Surely some of you drive a Prius and recycle a bit. God knows you can afford designer grocery bags, or some such nonsense, since you clearly all shop at Whole Foods. And yeah, you're shopping at Whole Foods. Theoretically that means you care about organic and/or sustainable food, although maybe that's just because it's trendy, and more expensive than shopping at Ralph's?
Anyway, get with the program. Reusable bags. Before long, teen-aged girls will be writing into People.com to ask where J-Lo got her adorable leopard-print shopping bag, and the world will be a better place. Seriously.
Kisses,
Me
Saturday, March 05, 2011
CBR Book 12: Among Others
Among Others, by Jo Walton.
You would think that combining a love of science fiction, fairies, libraries, magic, and Wales would be a winning combination. At least it would be for me. But somehow, Jo Walton misses the mark. Perhaps she has read too much SF, which I generally find to be lacking in terms of the writing and characterization ... she should branch out and read more fantasy, or literature, or something.
Among Others is about Mori, a Welsh teenager in the late 70s/early 80s, who is adjusting to a new life. Her mother is, as she puts it, a "mad witch," she has lost her twin sister, and she has been more or less taken in by her estranged father and his three half-sisters, who send Mori to a snooty English private school. The things that make Mori tick are science fiction, magic, and interacting with fairies. The story is about Mori coming to terms with the loss of her twin, learning the boundaries of magic, and mostly just growing up and accepting herself.
Although Mori is rather an interesting character, her voice (the narrative is her diary) is not very compelling. Despite the nature of her adventures (fairies and magic and all), she's very dry. It's not that flowery language is a necessity when dealing with fantasy, but one just never feels that one really gets into Mori's head, somehow. The structure of the novel and the progression of the story does work well ... it is dryer and less interesting early on, but opens up as Mori herself grows and finds the places where she fits in.
Another issue is all the references. It's a very hard thing to use very specific knowledge in a novel, I think. If you throw in too much of it, and it's too esoteric, your reader is largely left scratching his (merely a literary pronoun, deal with it) head and wondering what on earth you're talking about. Mostly, it's just kind of annoying. I grew up with a lot of sci fi/fantasy, but I definitely moved more towards fantasy and "regular" literature as I grew up. I recognize most of the names of authors that Walton throws out, but I certainly haven't read all of their work, so I feel as though I'm missing some added depth to the novel. I think maybe what Walton was trying to do was negate the typical lumping together of sci fi and fantasy ... Mori definitely moves back and forth between a more practical, almost clinical view of the world and the sort of "old knowledge" of fairies and the connections between things.
All in all, a disappointment. It's as though Walton took that list of things: science fiction, magic, fairies, libraries, and decided to write a novel that somehow incorporated them. She more or less succeeded, but perhaps she spent more time developing on those subjects than on her characters themselves? In the end, it's clear that Mori has grown, that she's learned something, and so she's not a completely static character; but I wouldn't call her terrifically dynamic, either. It's interesting as a twist on the usual "coming of age" story, but it doesn't quite stand up on its own legs, in my opinion.
You would think that combining a love of science fiction, fairies, libraries, magic, and Wales would be a winning combination. At least it would be for me. But somehow, Jo Walton misses the mark. Perhaps she has read too much SF, which I generally find to be lacking in terms of the writing and characterization ... she should branch out and read more fantasy, or literature, or something.
Among Others is about Mori, a Welsh teenager in the late 70s/early 80s, who is adjusting to a new life. Her mother is, as she puts it, a "mad witch," she has lost her twin sister, and she has been more or less taken in by her estranged father and his three half-sisters, who send Mori to a snooty English private school. The things that make Mori tick are science fiction, magic, and interacting with fairies. The story is about Mori coming to terms with the loss of her twin, learning the boundaries of magic, and mostly just growing up and accepting herself.
Although Mori is rather an interesting character, her voice (the narrative is her diary) is not very compelling. Despite the nature of her adventures (fairies and magic and all), she's very dry. It's not that flowery language is a necessity when dealing with fantasy, but one just never feels that one really gets into Mori's head, somehow. The structure of the novel and the progression of the story does work well ... it is dryer and less interesting early on, but opens up as Mori herself grows and finds the places where she fits in.
Another issue is all the references. It's a very hard thing to use very specific knowledge in a novel, I think. If you throw in too much of it, and it's too esoteric, your reader is largely left scratching his (merely a literary pronoun, deal with it) head and wondering what on earth you're talking about. Mostly, it's just kind of annoying. I grew up with a lot of sci fi/fantasy, but I definitely moved more towards fantasy and "regular" literature as I grew up. I recognize most of the names of authors that Walton throws out, but I certainly haven't read all of their work, so I feel as though I'm missing some added depth to the novel. I think maybe what Walton was trying to do was negate the typical lumping together of sci fi and fantasy ... Mori definitely moves back and forth between a more practical, almost clinical view of the world and the sort of "old knowledge" of fairies and the connections between things.
All in all, a disappointment. It's as though Walton took that list of things: science fiction, magic, fairies, libraries, and decided to write a novel that somehow incorporated them. She more or less succeeded, but perhaps she spent more time developing on those subjects than on her characters themselves? In the end, it's clear that Mori has grown, that she's learned something, and so she's not a completely static character; but I wouldn't call her terrifically dynamic, either. It's interesting as a twist on the usual "coming of age" story, but it doesn't quite stand up on its own legs, in my opinion.
Friday, February 25, 2011
CBR Book 11: The Angel's Game
The Angel's Game, by Carlos Ruiz Zafon.
The Angel's Game is a puzzle; and it's one which I'm not entirely sure has an actual solution. It's ultimately so confusing that I'm not entirely sure whether or not I enjoyed it, or if I'm just colossally disappointed. I think it must be somewhere in between.
David Martin is an aspiring young writer who gets his start writing tawdry, sensationalist novels for a Barcelona newspaper. Even though his stories are wildly popular, he is still working his fingers to the bone for bread crumbs due to the political nature of such things: those with money and/or power are the ones who get credit for lesser works, while those with true talent and no name recognition stay in the gutter. Everything begins to change when he is approached by a mysterious foreign publisher who wants to pay him a fortune to write a great work. David's life becomes one of his novels, full of intrigue, violence, and consequences. As the story progresses, one finds that the narrator seemingly becomes less and less reliable, and in the end, the lines between fact and fiction are completely blurred.
Written in the first person, Zafon's protagonist is actually a pretty enjoyable character. He's clever, self-deprecating, and has a wonderfully sarcastic sense of humor. I think it's part of what really works, is that even while the action becomes more and more fantastical and far-fetched, David Martin's earnestness and candor keeps the reader believing his side of things. Most of the other characters are nicely drawn sketches, and we don't delve into them too much. Again, I think this helps the narrative along, as it keeps David isolated. He doesn't share his mystery with anyone for most of the novel, and when he finally does, it's a complete and utter mess.
I realize I'm probably not selling it, but it's really hard to talk about it without going into the plot in a more serious way, and I don't want to spoil anything for anyone. Here's what I'll say: it reminds me of the movie Memento. I think Zafon is playing with similar themes, questioning memory and perception, and wondering exactly how reliable our own senses are sometimes. Just when you think you've got things figured out, he turns them on their head, goes in another direction, and then does another 180 when you've gotten comfortable with a new theory.
The writing is excellent; descriptive without being verbose, which is just the way I like it. Once again, I don't know how I came across this book, but I think it was mentioned that it dealt with books and writers and things like that, so of course I was interested. While I am a bit frustrated and befuddled by it, it was still a very good read that I think almost anyone can enjoy, provided you're willing to devote a bit of time to a novel. Which, if you're reading this post at all, you probably are. Apparently there's a previous novel entitled The Shadow of the Wind that takes place after the events of this novel, but has much in common with it, both in terms of setting, characters, and style. I might be willing to give that one a try as well ... once I stop trying to dissect this one.
The Angel's Game is a puzzle; and it's one which I'm not entirely sure has an actual solution. It's ultimately so confusing that I'm not entirely sure whether or not I enjoyed it, or if I'm just colossally disappointed. I think it must be somewhere in between.
David Martin is an aspiring young writer who gets his start writing tawdry, sensationalist novels for a Barcelona newspaper. Even though his stories are wildly popular, he is still working his fingers to the bone for bread crumbs due to the political nature of such things: those with money and/or power are the ones who get credit for lesser works, while those with true talent and no name recognition stay in the gutter. Everything begins to change when he is approached by a mysterious foreign publisher who wants to pay him a fortune to write a great work. David's life becomes one of his novels, full of intrigue, violence, and consequences. As the story progresses, one finds that the narrator seemingly becomes less and less reliable, and in the end, the lines between fact and fiction are completely blurred.
Written in the first person, Zafon's protagonist is actually a pretty enjoyable character. He's clever, self-deprecating, and has a wonderfully sarcastic sense of humor. I think it's part of what really works, is that even while the action becomes more and more fantastical and far-fetched, David Martin's earnestness and candor keeps the reader believing his side of things. Most of the other characters are nicely drawn sketches, and we don't delve into them too much. Again, I think this helps the narrative along, as it keeps David isolated. He doesn't share his mystery with anyone for most of the novel, and when he finally does, it's a complete and utter mess.
I realize I'm probably not selling it, but it's really hard to talk about it without going into the plot in a more serious way, and I don't want to spoil anything for anyone. Here's what I'll say: it reminds me of the movie Memento. I think Zafon is playing with similar themes, questioning memory and perception, and wondering exactly how reliable our own senses are sometimes. Just when you think you've got things figured out, he turns them on their head, goes in another direction, and then does another 180 when you've gotten comfortable with a new theory.
The writing is excellent; descriptive without being verbose, which is just the way I like it. Once again, I don't know how I came across this book, but I think it was mentioned that it dealt with books and writers and things like that, so of course I was interested. While I am a bit frustrated and befuddled by it, it was still a very good read that I think almost anyone can enjoy, provided you're willing to devote a bit of time to a novel. Which, if you're reading this post at all, you probably are. Apparently there's a previous novel entitled The Shadow of the Wind that takes place after the events of this novel, but has much in common with it, both in terms of setting, characters, and style. I might be willing to give that one a try as well ... once I stop trying to dissect this one.
Friday, February 18, 2011
CBR Book 10: Live and Let Die
Live and Let Die, by Ian Fleming.
For the past several years, my husband and I have been involved in a James Bond movie-viewing project. We've got a few left to rewatch, but at this point, we've now seen all of them. You can read my wrap-up post here, but we're not talking about movies, right? So, when I finished the movies, I had various people tell me I should read the books. I actually read Casino Royale a few years ago, and quite enjoyed it. So, I decided to pick up where I left off, and the next book is Live and Let Die.
In this adventure, Bond is tasked with figuring out a gold-smuggling scheme and disposing of the mastermind of said scheme, who is also conveniently an agent of SMERSH, an organization against whom Bond has sworn revenge. He begins in Harlem, moves briefly through Florida, and ends up in Jamaica. His target is Mr. Big, perhaps "the first great African-American criminal," who has a nation-wide network of accomplices, all of whom are utterly terrified of him because he is believed to be the zombie of Baron Samedi, who is more or less the voodoo version of the devil. Bond is assisted by various people along the way, most notably Felix Leiter (who gets himself half-eaten by a shark) and Solitaire, who is initially Mr. Big's fortune-teller/fiancee, but who of course falls in love with Bond and changes allegiances.
The first thing to say about this novel (and possibly all Bond novels as opposed to the films) is that it was so much more subtle. In terms of plot, there are very few twists and turns. In terms of action, it's all very straightforward. There are gadgets, but they're really very practical things. A surprising amount of the narrative is Bond doing his homework - this novel deals a lot with voodoo, and with the behavior of ocean life, and Bond actually sits around reading books, learning about these things. Some of the descriptions of violence are surprisingly graphic.
Another interesting difference is that the character of Bond is much more layered and nuanced. He is genuinely fond of Leiter, in particular, and his interest in Solitaire is much more "romantic" (as opposed to purely lustful) than has ever been portrayed in film, with one or two exceptions. There's no sex at all in this novel. Bond and Solitaire discuss it several times, but generally he is too injured to make good. One gets much more of a sense that there are two sides to Bond - there's the human side and then the cold, analytical side that is the agent at work. It makes him a much more compelling character than one would expect.
The writing is fascinating. It's very straightforward, very economic, but also fairly descriptive, albeit in odd ways. I think that Fleming provides his readers with details in a way that closely mirrors what Bond himself is noticing - things that would be important for a spy to pick up on, and rhetoric that suits his experiences. Fleming himself was a Naval Intelligence Officer, and I feel as though that really comes through in his writing.
The last thing I want to say about this novel is that it's the kind of thing with which those people who get all in a huff about Tom Sawyer would have a field day. It deals very heavily with black culture, and not in a way that would be considered PC these days, having been written in 1954. There's all the talk of voodoo, lots of eye-rolling, use of the words "negro" and "negress" (only in one instance is "the n-word" used, and it's used as a slang term, not in a particularly derogatory fashion), and in particular, the speech patterns of many of the lesser characters is somewhat shocking. I don't personally find such things offensive because I feel that these depictions are merely showing us the attitudes of the time. It's all treated very matter of fact-ly, again because it's from the perspective of Bond and Leiter, who are merely doing their homework without passing any kind of judgment, but if you find such things unpalatable, Live and Let Die is not the Bond novel for you.
I, however, enjoyed it, and will look forward to reading (and reviewing!) more of Fleming's works in the future.
For the past several years, my husband and I have been involved in a James Bond movie-viewing project. We've got a few left to rewatch, but at this point, we've now seen all of them. You can read my wrap-up post here, but we're not talking about movies, right? So, when I finished the movies, I had various people tell me I should read the books. I actually read Casino Royale a few years ago, and quite enjoyed it. So, I decided to pick up where I left off, and the next book is Live and Let Die.
In this adventure, Bond is tasked with figuring out a gold-smuggling scheme and disposing of the mastermind of said scheme, who is also conveniently an agent of SMERSH, an organization against whom Bond has sworn revenge. He begins in Harlem, moves briefly through Florida, and ends up in Jamaica. His target is Mr. Big, perhaps "the first great African-American criminal," who has a nation-wide network of accomplices, all of whom are utterly terrified of him because he is believed to be the zombie of Baron Samedi, who is more or less the voodoo version of the devil. Bond is assisted by various people along the way, most notably Felix Leiter (who gets himself half-eaten by a shark) and Solitaire, who is initially Mr. Big's fortune-teller/fiancee, but who of course falls in love with Bond and changes allegiances.
The first thing to say about this novel (and possibly all Bond novels as opposed to the films) is that it was so much more subtle. In terms of plot, there are very few twists and turns. In terms of action, it's all very straightforward. There are gadgets, but they're really very practical things. A surprising amount of the narrative is Bond doing his homework - this novel deals a lot with voodoo, and with the behavior of ocean life, and Bond actually sits around reading books, learning about these things. Some of the descriptions of violence are surprisingly graphic.
Another interesting difference is that the character of Bond is much more layered and nuanced. He is genuinely fond of Leiter, in particular, and his interest in Solitaire is much more "romantic" (as opposed to purely lustful) than has ever been portrayed in film, with one or two exceptions. There's no sex at all in this novel. Bond and Solitaire discuss it several times, but generally he is too injured to make good. One gets much more of a sense that there are two sides to Bond - there's the human side and then the cold, analytical side that is the agent at work. It makes him a much more compelling character than one would expect.
The writing is fascinating. It's very straightforward, very economic, but also fairly descriptive, albeit in odd ways. I think that Fleming provides his readers with details in a way that closely mirrors what Bond himself is noticing - things that would be important for a spy to pick up on, and rhetoric that suits his experiences. Fleming himself was a Naval Intelligence Officer, and I feel as though that really comes through in his writing.
The last thing I want to say about this novel is that it's the kind of thing with which those people who get all in a huff about Tom Sawyer would have a field day. It deals very heavily with black culture, and not in a way that would be considered PC these days, having been written in 1954. There's all the talk of voodoo, lots of eye-rolling, use of the words "negro" and "negress" (only in one instance is "the n-word" used, and it's used as a slang term, not in a particularly derogatory fashion), and in particular, the speech patterns of many of the lesser characters is somewhat shocking. I don't personally find such things offensive because I feel that these depictions are merely showing us the attitudes of the time. It's all treated very matter of fact-ly, again because it's from the perspective of Bond and Leiter, who are merely doing their homework without passing any kind of judgment, but if you find such things unpalatable, Live and Let Die is not the Bond novel for you.
I, however, enjoyed it, and will look forward to reading (and reviewing!) more of Fleming's works in the future.
Wednesday, February 09, 2011
CBR Book 9: The Alchemyst
The Alchemyst, by Michael Scott
You know how the first Harry Potter book is Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone? (Or Sorcerer's Stone, for us silly Yanks)? If you recall, Dumbledore mentions Nicholas Flamel, who was the owner of the Stone, and his wife, Perenelle, who were six hundred-odd years old. Flamel being the philosopher in question, which in his times was more or less synonymous with a scientist or a magician, practically interchangeably. Well, Flamel is the titular Alchemyst of this book, which is the first of a series of YA fantasy.
Oh, YA fantasy. It gets so predictable after a while. There's magic, and danger, and there's a prophecy, and there's the normal, average person whose life gets turned upside down and they are the key to saving the world ... actually, that's pretty much all fantasy. Bonus points if the hero/ine is an orphan with no knowledge of his/her origins. In this case, the hero/ine is actually one of each (although not orphans) - fraternal twins Sophie and Josh, who get mixed up with the Flamels and suddenly find themselves in the company of immortals, sorcerers, and goddesses. The Flamels are the guardians of an ancient book of magic that contains, amongst other things, the recipe for immortality. More importantly, it contains (naturally) the means whereby to destroy the earth. What the twins learn is that everything we all know as a myth or legend is actually real. The earth was originally peopled by the Elder Race (which includes those entities later worshipped as gods, vampires, were-creatures, and so on and so forth), before the rise of the "humani". Many members of the Elder Race are still around. And many of them don't like humans so much. Dr. John Dee, also apparently immortal, is working for these "Dark Elders," trying to steal the Book of Abraham from Flamel and use it to bring about the destruction of the human race. Obviously, the Flamels and the twins must try to keep this from happening.
It's all pretty standard stuff. The fun/interesting part is the use of real people (the Flamels and Dee were all real) and the use of mythology and legend. It's sort of like American Gods without all the deep thoughts and Gaiman-esque smuggery. Yeah. I made up that word. Anyway. If you're into this type of thing, it's actually pretty good, if a bit busy. Apparently, at least according to the blurb on the jacket, Michael Scott is an authority on mythology and folklore, so he's qualified to bring in everyone from Bastet to Odin as characters. For myself, I just wanted to read this first one out of curiosity, but I've sworn off series (too much commitment) and I am not sure I feel the need to read the rest of the books. I mean, I can guess what'll happen, more or less. The characters are mostly enjoyable, and I always enjoy seeing what each writer brings to the table when working with legends, etc., so who knows? Maybe I'll break my no-series ban for these. If I do, I'll let you know.
You know how the first Harry Potter book is Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone? (Or Sorcerer's Stone, for us silly Yanks)? If you recall, Dumbledore mentions Nicholas Flamel, who was the owner of the Stone, and his wife, Perenelle, who were six hundred-odd years old. Flamel being the philosopher in question, which in his times was more or less synonymous with a scientist or a magician, practically interchangeably. Well, Flamel is the titular Alchemyst of this book, which is the first of a series of YA fantasy.
Oh, YA fantasy. It gets so predictable after a while. There's magic, and danger, and there's a prophecy, and there's the normal, average person whose life gets turned upside down and they are the key to saving the world ... actually, that's pretty much all fantasy. Bonus points if the hero/ine is an orphan with no knowledge of his/her origins. In this case, the hero/ine is actually one of each (although not orphans) - fraternal twins Sophie and Josh, who get mixed up with the Flamels and suddenly find themselves in the company of immortals, sorcerers, and goddesses. The Flamels are the guardians of an ancient book of magic that contains, amongst other things, the recipe for immortality. More importantly, it contains (naturally) the means whereby to destroy the earth. What the twins learn is that everything we all know as a myth or legend is actually real. The earth was originally peopled by the Elder Race (which includes those entities later worshipped as gods, vampires, were-creatures, and so on and so forth), before the rise of the "humani". Many members of the Elder Race are still around. And many of them don't like humans so much. Dr. John Dee, also apparently immortal, is working for these "Dark Elders," trying to steal the Book of Abraham from Flamel and use it to bring about the destruction of the human race. Obviously, the Flamels and the twins must try to keep this from happening.
It's all pretty standard stuff. The fun/interesting part is the use of real people (the Flamels and Dee were all real) and the use of mythology and legend. It's sort of like American Gods without all the deep thoughts and Gaiman-esque smuggery. Yeah. I made up that word. Anyway. If you're into this type of thing, it's actually pretty good, if a bit busy. Apparently, at least according to the blurb on the jacket, Michael Scott is an authority on mythology and folklore, so he's qualified to bring in everyone from Bastet to Odin as characters. For myself, I just wanted to read this first one out of curiosity, but I've sworn off series (too much commitment) and I am not sure I feel the need to read the rest of the books. I mean, I can guess what'll happen, more or less. The characters are mostly enjoyable, and I always enjoy seeing what each writer brings to the table when working with legends, etc., so who knows? Maybe I'll break my no-series ban for these. If I do, I'll let you know.
Monday, January 31, 2011
CBR Book 8: Daddy-Long-Legs
Daddy-Long-Legs, by Jean Webster
What is is about young, aspiring authoresses in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries? They all decide to write high-flying, romantic stories and novels, which are inevitably rejected by a bevy of publishers until the main male in their lives tells them to "write what they know," and then suddenly they're wildly successful? You would think that after a while they could figure that out for themselves. Interestingly enough, the three or four such examples (Jo March, Anne Shirley, Betsy Ray, Judy Abbott) I'm thinking of were themselves created by female writers, so perhaps there is something biographical at work in the revelation.
Jerusha "Judy" Abbott is the heroine of Jean Webster's Daddy-Long-Legs. She's an orphan (perhaps the single most utilized trope in YA fiction) who is "adopted" by one of the faceless trustees of the asylum in which she has grown up. This trustee, who wishes to remain anonymous, decides to send Judy to college so that she may become a writer. He is to pay for her room and board and provide her with an allowance, besides. In return, all she has to do is send him letters about her studies and progress. The catch is that she doesn't know who he is. He remains anonymous, known only as "Mr. John Smith," and he never returns any of her letters.
The novel, then, is epistolary, but entirely one-sided; comprised of Judy's letters to Mr. Smith (or Daddy-Long-Legs, as she decides to call him. All she knows about him is that he's very tall.) They follow her through four years of school as she learns to acclimate to the "real world," makes friends and gains a few admirers, struggles with her studies, does indeed manage to publish and gain notoriety as a writer and basically grows up. Her experiences as an orphan shape her view of the world, and as she matures, we begin to see a very independent and socially-conscious young lady emerge.
I'm not going to give away any more than that ... the denouement of the novel is, in my opinion, completely obvious to everyone but Judy throughout, so it's not worth spoiling. That could just be me, though. Jean Webster went to Vassar (on which Judy's school is clearly based), and I used to work there in Special Collections and Archives. They've got Webster's papers, and researchers were always coming to use them, so I knew a lot about this little story before I finally got around to reading it. But anyway.
I don't want to make Daddy-Long-Legs sound derivative at all. It's a really charming little story. It does seem to me to have various qualities of other novels like A Little Princess and the Anne of Green Gables stuff (although DDL predates Miss Shirley, just barely), but despite the similarities, Judy's voice is entirely her own. Because she is sent to a "nice" ladies' college, she rubs shoulders with more affluent peers, and so her thoughts about society are quite interesting. She notes that her friends take their happiness for granted because they've always had it, and she talks quite a lot about reform and running her own asylum someday, where instead of "duty" as the chief attribute to be molded in young people, she will stress the importance of "imagination". As her college career comes to an end, she begins to argue with her mysterious benefactor on points of funding - she receives scholarships and job offers which he doesn't want her to take advantage of, but she argues that she wishes to pay him back for his kindness and no to become used to having things handed to her. A very independent young lady, indeed!
I really like YA novels that were written during the turn of the century. The depictions of life during that period of time are always interesting, and one can sort of trace the changing role of women in society. In DDL, Judy often talks about "when women have the vote." Much like Louisa May Alcott, Webster was pushing her own social agenda with her fiction. Nowadays I think we take things like higher education and civic ability for granted, and it's good to be reminded that that wasn't always the case. I have a brand-new daughter, too, so I look forward to sharing these accounts of history with her as well.
What is is about young, aspiring authoresses in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries? They all decide to write high-flying, romantic stories and novels, which are inevitably rejected by a bevy of publishers until the main male in their lives tells them to "write what they know," and then suddenly they're wildly successful? You would think that after a while they could figure that out for themselves. Interestingly enough, the three or four such examples (Jo March, Anne Shirley, Betsy Ray, Judy Abbott) I'm thinking of were themselves created by female writers, so perhaps there is something biographical at work in the revelation.
Jerusha "Judy" Abbott is the heroine of Jean Webster's Daddy-Long-Legs. She's an orphan (perhaps the single most utilized trope in YA fiction) who is "adopted" by one of the faceless trustees of the asylum in which she has grown up. This trustee, who wishes to remain anonymous, decides to send Judy to college so that she may become a writer. He is to pay for her room and board and provide her with an allowance, besides. In return, all she has to do is send him letters about her studies and progress. The catch is that she doesn't know who he is. He remains anonymous, known only as "Mr. John Smith," and he never returns any of her letters.
The novel, then, is epistolary, but entirely one-sided; comprised of Judy's letters to Mr. Smith (or Daddy-Long-Legs, as she decides to call him. All she knows about him is that he's very tall.) They follow her through four years of school as she learns to acclimate to the "real world," makes friends and gains a few admirers, struggles with her studies, does indeed manage to publish and gain notoriety as a writer and basically grows up. Her experiences as an orphan shape her view of the world, and as she matures, we begin to see a very independent and socially-conscious young lady emerge.
I'm not going to give away any more than that ... the denouement of the novel is, in my opinion, completely obvious to everyone but Judy throughout, so it's not worth spoiling. That could just be me, though. Jean Webster went to Vassar (on which Judy's school is clearly based), and I used to work there in Special Collections and Archives. They've got Webster's papers, and researchers were always coming to use them, so I knew a lot about this little story before I finally got around to reading it. But anyway.
I don't want to make Daddy-Long-Legs sound derivative at all. It's a really charming little story. It does seem to me to have various qualities of other novels like A Little Princess and the Anne of Green Gables stuff (although DDL predates Miss Shirley, just barely), but despite the similarities, Judy's voice is entirely her own. Because she is sent to a "nice" ladies' college, she rubs shoulders with more affluent peers, and so her thoughts about society are quite interesting. She notes that her friends take their happiness for granted because they've always had it, and she talks quite a lot about reform and running her own asylum someday, where instead of "duty" as the chief attribute to be molded in young people, she will stress the importance of "imagination". As her college career comes to an end, she begins to argue with her mysterious benefactor on points of funding - she receives scholarships and job offers which he doesn't want her to take advantage of, but she argues that she wishes to pay him back for his kindness and no to become used to having things handed to her. A very independent young lady, indeed!
I really like YA novels that were written during the turn of the century. The depictions of life during that period of time are always interesting, and one can sort of trace the changing role of women in society. In DDL, Judy often talks about "when women have the vote." Much like Louisa May Alcott, Webster was pushing her own social agenda with her fiction. Nowadays I think we take things like higher education and civic ability for granted, and it's good to be reminded that that wasn't always the case. I have a brand-new daughter, too, so I look forward to sharing these accounts of history with her as well.
Sunday, January 30, 2011
CBR Book 7: The Weird Sisters
The Weird Sisters, by Eleanor Brown
There are, among the many, two subsets of fiction; one involves the lives of those immersed in academia, the other concerns itself with those who have left home to find themselves, only to discover that they must go back to move forward. If you combine these two subsets and throw in a fairly large smattering of Shakespearean quotes, you have the very excellent The Weird Sisters.
The weird sisters of literary fame are, as I'm sure you're aware, the three witches who appear in Shakespeare's Hamlet. Eleanor Brown's "weird sisters" are the Andreas girls: Rosalind (Rose), Bianca (Bean), and Cordelia (Cordy). Their father is a renowned Shakespearean scholar and professor, and so they have grown up with the Bard's works, and accordingly, whenever anyone in the family has something important to say, they borrow Shakespeare's words. Thus, the announcement that their mother has breast cancer comes from their father in the form of "Come, let us go; and pray to all the gods/For our beloved mother in her pains."
The three sisters are reunited, ostensibly to help care for their mother, but really to escape and/or muddle through their own problems. Rose, a mathematics professor, has never left the safe confines of her hometown (a lovely, idyllic little hippie-fied bubble of academia), and is struggling with the fact that her fiance (a chemistry professor) has been offered a three-year stint at Oxford, and wants her to join him there. Rose's bigger problem is that she's that kind of person who runs everyone else's lives for them, and is convinced that her family will crumble to pieces without her there. Bean, who ran away to New York City, returns when it has been discovered that she's been embezzling funds from the law firm at which she worked. She stole the money to fund her apparently glamorous lifestyle of booze, couture, and men. Cordy is a free-wheeling gypsy who realizes she must give up her rambling ways when she finds herself accidentally pregnant. While they're all under one roof again, they naturally learn about themselves, re-connect with each other, care for their mother (and father), and more or less solve all their problems. Hey, I didn't claim the novel was ground-breaking in any way.
Despite the straightforwardness of the story arcs, this is still a really enjoyable read, particularly if one is a) a reader, and b) a fan of Shakespeare. The various references and the explanation of the sisters' characters based on their namesakes are interesting and amusing. The characters are all reasonably realistic, and I think that most of us would find a bit of ourselves in each sister. The narrative voice, though, is what makes the novel really interesting: it's in first person plural - in essence as though the three sisters are narrating together. It's a bit confusing at first, but it really strengthens the idea that, although they are very different and they don't always like each other, they share a common bond and history that goes beyond their individual stories. I also really love stories that take place in academic settings. There's this notion that these people are all so terribly educated or smart or clever, but of course their lives are actually a mess, and they are often forced to find a way to perform life functions of the most practical and mundane kind. It's just always entertaining to me; I guess because I sort of wish I lived in that world, but I don't have the drive for a PhD.
Anyway, if you're looking for a good novel with interesting and mostly sympathetic characters, I'd recommend this one. I think I found it in the NYT Book Review ... it's new, and apparently Ms. Brown's first novel? It's probably safe to assume we will be seeing more of her. A very fun way to pass the time!
There are, among the many, two subsets of fiction; one involves the lives of those immersed in academia, the other concerns itself with those who have left home to find themselves, only to discover that they must go back to move forward. If you combine these two subsets and throw in a fairly large smattering of Shakespearean quotes, you have the very excellent The Weird Sisters.
The weird sisters of literary fame are, as I'm sure you're aware, the three witches who appear in Shakespeare's Hamlet. Eleanor Brown's "weird sisters" are the Andreas girls: Rosalind (Rose), Bianca (Bean), and Cordelia (Cordy). Their father is a renowned Shakespearean scholar and professor, and so they have grown up with the Bard's works, and accordingly, whenever anyone in the family has something important to say, they borrow Shakespeare's words. Thus, the announcement that their mother has breast cancer comes from their father in the form of "Come, let us go; and pray to all the gods/For our beloved mother in her pains."
The three sisters are reunited, ostensibly to help care for their mother, but really to escape and/or muddle through their own problems. Rose, a mathematics professor, has never left the safe confines of her hometown (a lovely, idyllic little hippie-fied bubble of academia), and is struggling with the fact that her fiance (a chemistry professor) has been offered a three-year stint at Oxford, and wants her to join him there. Rose's bigger problem is that she's that kind of person who runs everyone else's lives for them, and is convinced that her family will crumble to pieces without her there. Bean, who ran away to New York City, returns when it has been discovered that she's been embezzling funds from the law firm at which she worked. She stole the money to fund her apparently glamorous lifestyle of booze, couture, and men. Cordy is a free-wheeling gypsy who realizes she must give up her rambling ways when she finds herself accidentally pregnant. While they're all under one roof again, they naturally learn about themselves, re-connect with each other, care for their mother (and father), and more or less solve all their problems. Hey, I didn't claim the novel was ground-breaking in any way.
Despite the straightforwardness of the story arcs, this is still a really enjoyable read, particularly if one is a) a reader, and b) a fan of Shakespeare. The various references and the explanation of the sisters' characters based on their namesakes are interesting and amusing. The characters are all reasonably realistic, and I think that most of us would find a bit of ourselves in each sister. The narrative voice, though, is what makes the novel really interesting: it's in first person plural - in essence as though the three sisters are narrating together. It's a bit confusing at first, but it really strengthens the idea that, although they are very different and they don't always like each other, they share a common bond and history that goes beyond their individual stories. I also really love stories that take place in academic settings. There's this notion that these people are all so terribly educated or smart or clever, but of course their lives are actually a mess, and they are often forced to find a way to perform life functions of the most practical and mundane kind. It's just always entertaining to me; I guess because I sort of wish I lived in that world, but I don't have the drive for a PhD.
Anyway, if you're looking for a good novel with interesting and mostly sympathetic characters, I'd recommend this one. I think I found it in the NYT Book Review ... it's new, and apparently Ms. Brown's first novel? It's probably safe to assume we will be seeing more of her. A very fun way to pass the time!
Sunday, January 23, 2011
CBR Book 6: The Wolves of Andover
The Wolves of Andover, by Kathleen Kent
About halfway through The Wolves of Andover, my husband asked me what I thought of it, and I told him that it read sort of like a historical romance novel, just without all the sex. Upon finishing the book, I regret dismissing it in that fashion. It's a strong read, fascinating in its nods to actual history, and written in such a way so as to evoke the matter-of-factness of its world and the characters that inhabit it.
The novel takes place in colonial Massachusetts, and in Restoration-era London. It follows a strong-willed young woman sent to live and work for her cousin's family, and the machinations of a group of London criminals sent to the New World to track down and capture or kill a regicide: specifically, the man who actually beheaded Charles I under orders from Cromwell, who they believe to be "hiding in plain sight," like many of his compatriots, somewhere in New England.
The characters in the story, in addition to the larger, historical happenings, contend with all the usual problems of the day: the spread of disease, rough passage from England to America, Indian raids, weather, and so on. The writing style accordingly reflects the straightforward, slightly rough-hewn colonial lifestyle; it's not overly descriptive or florid, and what description there is definitely works to evoke the metaphor and simile that would be understood by the subjects themselves. The novel suffers only mildly in that this same rudimentary sketching is applied to the characters themselves. One might hope for a little more depth to the people one meets, but overall, somehow the style works for them, too. They are simpler people belonging to a simpler time, and despite its brutish and short nature, it's almost possible to envy them the simplicity of their lives. You know, when they're not all trying to kill each other.
The Wolves of Andover is a true work of historical fiction: many of the characters were real people (in fact, the author is descended from the two protagonists), although their roles within the story may or may not have been as depicted. It seems to me to be well-researched in its representations of the time period, both in the colonies and in England, and it's a quick and enjoyable read. I picked it up because I do rather like history, although I prefer it to be slightly dramatized, and therefore less dry, than straight non-fiction reading. Again, perhaps a bit more character development, and a little more use of a thesaurus (the author is given to one particular phrase quite a lot; I won't spoil it for you, though), but overall, no regrets. Apparently, this novel is sort of a prequel to the author's The Heretic's Daughter, and I'm undecided as to whether or not I'll give that one a try (I have sworn off series - too much commitment) but it also sounds fairly interesting.
About halfway through The Wolves of Andover, my husband asked me what I thought of it, and I told him that it read sort of like a historical romance novel, just without all the sex. Upon finishing the book, I regret dismissing it in that fashion. It's a strong read, fascinating in its nods to actual history, and written in such a way so as to evoke the matter-of-factness of its world and the characters that inhabit it.
The novel takes place in colonial Massachusetts, and in Restoration-era London. It follows a strong-willed young woman sent to live and work for her cousin's family, and the machinations of a group of London criminals sent to the New World to track down and capture or kill a regicide: specifically, the man who actually beheaded Charles I under orders from Cromwell, who they believe to be "hiding in plain sight," like many of his compatriots, somewhere in New England.
The characters in the story, in addition to the larger, historical happenings, contend with all the usual problems of the day: the spread of disease, rough passage from England to America, Indian raids, weather, and so on. The writing style accordingly reflects the straightforward, slightly rough-hewn colonial lifestyle; it's not overly descriptive or florid, and what description there is definitely works to evoke the metaphor and simile that would be understood by the subjects themselves. The novel suffers only mildly in that this same rudimentary sketching is applied to the characters themselves. One might hope for a little more depth to the people one meets, but overall, somehow the style works for them, too. They are simpler people belonging to a simpler time, and despite its brutish and short nature, it's almost possible to envy them the simplicity of their lives. You know, when they're not all trying to kill each other.
The Wolves of Andover is a true work of historical fiction: many of the characters were real people (in fact, the author is descended from the two protagonists), although their roles within the story may or may not have been as depicted. It seems to me to be well-researched in its representations of the time period, both in the colonies and in England, and it's a quick and enjoyable read. I picked it up because I do rather like history, although I prefer it to be slightly dramatized, and therefore less dry, than straight non-fiction reading. Again, perhaps a bit more character development, and a little more use of a thesaurus (the author is given to one particular phrase quite a lot; I won't spoil it for you, though), but overall, no regrets. Apparently, this novel is sort of a prequel to the author's The Heretic's Daughter, and I'm undecided as to whether or not I'll give that one a try (I have sworn off series - too much commitment) but it also sounds fairly interesting.
Monday, January 17, 2011
CBR Book 5: For All the Tea in China: How England stole the world's favorite drink and changed history
For all the tea in China: how England stole the world's favorite drink and changed history, by Sarah Rose
I love tea. Don't get me wrong, though: I'm not a tea snob. I actually find loose-leaf to be rather a pain in the rear, and sometimes I really just love a cup of Lipton's finest. But I drink a cup of hot tea nearly every morning, and when the weather's cold, I'll probably have more than one cup throughout the day. My point is, I'm a tea-drinker as opposed to a coffee-drinker, so when I heard about a book about the history of tea (sort of), I was pretty interested, and sure enough, this book does not disappoint.
For All the Tea in China ... describes a period of about 4-5 years in the mid 1800s, during which a naturalist by the name of Robert Fortune was hired by the East India Company to essentially "steal" tea from China. You see, England and China traded extensively in those days. England provided China with opium, grown in India; China provided England with tea. The East India Company, though, felt that if they only had the raw materials and the know-how, they could produce tea out of India instead. The problem was that the best tea all came from China, and the Chinese tea growers were the only ones who truly knew how to make it good. Thus, Robert Fortune, disguised as a mandarin, went deep into the Chinese interior, to the best green tea- and black tea-growing areas of the country, and stole tea plants, seeds, and any information regarding the production of tea that he could glean. Once he had the materials, he had to get them back to the coast, onto ships, and safely sent to India. He was also responsible for finding tea-makers and convincing them to go to India in order to grow tea for the East India Company. He was, ultimately, successful.
Sarah Rose's history mainly tells the story of Fortune's travels through China; stories that can be read in his own published memoirs. Also of interest, though, are the descriptions of the economic goings-on, the botanical innovations of the time, and the history that evolved out of these activities. The fact that England provided China with opium, for instance, was a fascinating realization to me. They actually fought wars over the stuff! And Mr. Fortune, in addition to bringing tea to India, was also responsible for bringing countless other types of still-popular flora to the Western world. He successfully proved that green tea and black tea come from the same plant (European botanists were convinced that they were merely cousins), and provided evidence that the Chinese green tea producers actually were poisoning their tea by adding Prussian blue and gypsum, which gave the tea a richer green color. He also revolutionized the way that plant life was transported by making important changes to Wardian cases (sealed glasses compartments, kind of like terrariums).
History is often dry stuff, even when a topic of interest is being discussed. By focusing primarily on Robert Fortune, Ms. Rose is able to provide a readable narrative of one man's "adventures," while providing the historic and economic context alongside it. Overall, an interesting read; I would have thought that corporate or industrial espionage was a fairly new concept, but it doesn't really come as a surprise to learn that the East India Company (the world's first global corporation) was engaging in it during the Victorian era. Also, even though I'm not much of a plant person, learning a bit about the economic importance and high aesthetic value of flora was equally interesting.
The verdict? Worth a read, and not just for tea-lovers. If you're looking for something easy and non-fiction, give it a try!
I love tea. Don't get me wrong, though: I'm not a tea snob. I actually find loose-leaf to be rather a pain in the rear, and sometimes I really just love a cup of Lipton's finest. But I drink a cup of hot tea nearly every morning, and when the weather's cold, I'll probably have more than one cup throughout the day. My point is, I'm a tea-drinker as opposed to a coffee-drinker, so when I heard about a book about the history of tea (sort of), I was pretty interested, and sure enough, this book does not disappoint.
For All the Tea in China ... describes a period of about 4-5 years in the mid 1800s, during which a naturalist by the name of Robert Fortune was hired by the East India Company to essentially "steal" tea from China. You see, England and China traded extensively in those days. England provided China with opium, grown in India; China provided England with tea. The East India Company, though, felt that if they only had the raw materials and the know-how, they could produce tea out of India instead. The problem was that the best tea all came from China, and the Chinese tea growers were the only ones who truly knew how to make it good. Thus, Robert Fortune, disguised as a mandarin, went deep into the Chinese interior, to the best green tea- and black tea-growing areas of the country, and stole tea plants, seeds, and any information regarding the production of tea that he could glean. Once he had the materials, he had to get them back to the coast, onto ships, and safely sent to India. He was also responsible for finding tea-makers and convincing them to go to India in order to grow tea for the East India Company. He was, ultimately, successful.
Sarah Rose's history mainly tells the story of Fortune's travels through China; stories that can be read in his own published memoirs. Also of interest, though, are the descriptions of the economic goings-on, the botanical innovations of the time, and the history that evolved out of these activities. The fact that England provided China with opium, for instance, was a fascinating realization to me. They actually fought wars over the stuff! And Mr. Fortune, in addition to bringing tea to India, was also responsible for bringing countless other types of still-popular flora to the Western world. He successfully proved that green tea and black tea come from the same plant (European botanists were convinced that they were merely cousins), and provided evidence that the Chinese green tea producers actually were poisoning their tea by adding Prussian blue and gypsum, which gave the tea a richer green color. He also revolutionized the way that plant life was transported by making important changes to Wardian cases (sealed glasses compartments, kind of like terrariums).
History is often dry stuff, even when a topic of interest is being discussed. By focusing primarily on Robert Fortune, Ms. Rose is able to provide a readable narrative of one man's "adventures," while providing the historic and economic context alongside it. Overall, an interesting read; I would have thought that corporate or industrial espionage was a fairly new concept, but it doesn't really come as a surprise to learn that the East India Company (the world's first global corporation) was engaging in it during the Victorian era. Also, even though I'm not much of a plant person, learning a bit about the economic importance and high aesthetic value of flora was equally interesting.
The verdict? Worth a read, and not just for tea-lovers. If you're looking for something easy and non-fiction, give it a try!
Saturday, January 08, 2011
CBR Book 4: Me: stories of my life
Me: Stories of my life, by Katharine Hepburn.
I love the old, classic movies. I have to admit that I am only a novice in terms of seeing a lot of them, but I'm working on it. You can snoop out my movie blog if you want to know more about that - I won't publicize it here. My absolute favorites are the musicals, and therefore Gene Kelly and Judy Garland. After that, though, I'm all about Cary Grant and Katharine Hepburn. If you haven't seen Bringing up Baby or The Philadelphia Story, I highly recommend them. Comedy genius.
As such, I've been meaning to read Ms. Hepburn's memoirs for several years, and just haven't gotten around to it until now. Having read them, I can't make up my mind as to whether or not I am disappointed. I suppose I was expecting a straightforward "biography," you know, ghost-written by someone else, just with the details filled in by the famous person. This book is not such a work. It's really basically Ms. Hepburn remembering things about her life. What this means is a bunch of random snippets about Connecticut and showbusiness and plays and mostly people, many of whom were apparently a big deal in their time but are not well-remembered today (at least I don't know who they were), provided in sentence fragments with lots of (apparently well-remembered) descriptions of buildings and places and conversations, all through the lens of what you'd expect, I suppose, of Hepburn's personality: blunt, matter-of-fact, and actually a little bit ditzy at times.
I would have wished for more trivia about Hollywood and the movies that Hepburn made, but it was still interesting to read about George Cukor's house and what kind of person Louis B. Mayer was. Hepburn's ruminations on the system of show business as it was in her day is also pretty interesting; it was apparently a lot less of a series of hoops to jump through than I would have thought. People had scripts and things written for them, people were seen in one play and immediately cast in another, and it was apparently no big thing to be seen in something on the East Coast and then immediately whisked off to the West Coast for a screen test. I've read bios of Garland and Kelly that seem to corroborate this, although both of them had more difficulty in some things than Hepburn admits to having had.
There is also, of course, plenty of time given to Hepburn's personal relationships: S. Ogden Ludlow and Howard Hughes and Spencer Tracy. She actually saves Tracy for the last, teasing the reader with it, as though she knows that's what we really wanted to read about. She doesn't shed a whole lot of light on the relationship, either. What I actually came away with was that Hepburn really kind of bought into the faux-romance of Hollywood, despite having come from forward-thinking parents who seem to have had a solid, realistic relationship. Her position on the relationship is one that I would have agreed with, say, 5-10 years ago ... she describes it as very one-sided, her being there and giving her all to Tracy without really knowing if he liked having her around. For 27 years? I'd hope he did. I think probably she just didn't want to share that much, or she didn't feel that giving "his side" of things was her place.
I guess I don't have much more to say about this book ... how does one analyze an autobiography, particularly one not by a literary figure? If you're interested in Hepburn, you ought to read it, otherwise I don't know why you would. It was fun to read, even if the structure left a little to be desired. I now feel the need to add to my Hepburn/Tracy repertoire. Maybe I'll go watch Hepburn's Little Women, currently sitting on my coffee table.
I love the old, classic movies. I have to admit that I am only a novice in terms of seeing a lot of them, but I'm working on it. You can snoop out my movie blog if you want to know more about that - I won't publicize it here. My absolute favorites are the musicals, and therefore Gene Kelly and Judy Garland. After that, though, I'm all about Cary Grant and Katharine Hepburn. If you haven't seen Bringing up Baby or The Philadelphia Story, I highly recommend them. Comedy genius.
As such, I've been meaning to read Ms. Hepburn's memoirs for several years, and just haven't gotten around to it until now. Having read them, I can't make up my mind as to whether or not I am disappointed. I suppose I was expecting a straightforward "biography," you know, ghost-written by someone else, just with the details filled in by the famous person. This book is not such a work. It's really basically Ms. Hepburn remembering things about her life. What this means is a bunch of random snippets about Connecticut and showbusiness and plays and mostly people, many of whom were apparently a big deal in their time but are not well-remembered today (at least I don't know who they were), provided in sentence fragments with lots of (apparently well-remembered) descriptions of buildings and places and conversations, all through the lens of what you'd expect, I suppose, of Hepburn's personality: blunt, matter-of-fact, and actually a little bit ditzy at times.
I would have wished for more trivia about Hollywood and the movies that Hepburn made, but it was still interesting to read about George Cukor's house and what kind of person Louis B. Mayer was. Hepburn's ruminations on the system of show business as it was in her day is also pretty interesting; it was apparently a lot less of a series of hoops to jump through than I would have thought. People had scripts and things written for them, people were seen in one play and immediately cast in another, and it was apparently no big thing to be seen in something on the East Coast and then immediately whisked off to the West Coast for a screen test. I've read bios of Garland and Kelly that seem to corroborate this, although both of them had more difficulty in some things than Hepburn admits to having had.
There is also, of course, plenty of time given to Hepburn's personal relationships: S. Ogden Ludlow and Howard Hughes and Spencer Tracy. She actually saves Tracy for the last, teasing the reader with it, as though she knows that's what we really wanted to read about. She doesn't shed a whole lot of light on the relationship, either. What I actually came away with was that Hepburn really kind of bought into the faux-romance of Hollywood, despite having come from forward-thinking parents who seem to have had a solid, realistic relationship. Her position on the relationship is one that I would have agreed with, say, 5-10 years ago ... she describes it as very one-sided, her being there and giving her all to Tracy without really knowing if he liked having her around. For 27 years? I'd hope he did. I think probably she just didn't want to share that much, or she didn't feel that giving "his side" of things was her place.
I guess I don't have much more to say about this book ... how does one analyze an autobiography, particularly one not by a literary figure? If you're interested in Hepburn, you ought to read it, otherwise I don't know why you would. It was fun to read, even if the structure left a little to be desired. I now feel the need to add to my Hepburn/Tracy repertoire. Maybe I'll go watch Hepburn's Little Women, currently sitting on my coffee table.
Tuesday, January 04, 2011
More CBR madness
Incidentally, if you are so inclined, there is a group blog where all (or rather, many) of the individuals participating in the Cannonball Read are posting their reviews, or links to reviews. Check it out!
CBR Book 3: Her Fearful Symmetry
Her Fearful Symmetry, by Audrey Niffenegger
HFS is what would happen if you slightly de-crazified Anne Rice and told her to write a ghost story. The twists and turns are very Rice-ian, but there's little to no sex (of any kind) and no overarching obsession to get caught up in. There are also no particularly sympathetic characters, no discernable point to the whole thing, and not enough development to prepare one for the climax of the novel. In one word, Meh.
Elspeth Noblin, a London-based rare book dealer, dies of leukemia and leaves her entire estate to the twin daughters of her estranged twin sister, Edie. Julia and Valentina (the twins) are stipulated to come and live in Elspeth's London flat for a year, together, before they can sell the place. So they do. There they meet Elspeth's neighbors, scholarly Robert (who was her lover) OCD Martin, and his fed-up wife, Marijke. Oh, they also live next door to Highgate Cemetery, the history of which Robert is writing a book about. The twins navigate London, make friends with Elspeth's old friends (Valentina becomes involved with Robert, and Julia appoints herself Martin's nursemaid after his wife leaves him), and attempt to uncover the secret of why Elspeth and Edie have not seen each other for nearly 20 years. They also get to know their Aunt Elspeth, as she is haunting the apartment. That's when the trouble begins.
I'm going to leave the synopsis at that in order to avoid spoilers. Although, as stated earlier, the climax and thrust of the novel really sort of seem to come from out of left field, and when they do, well, you don't really care a whole lot. Seriously, what a bunch of selfish and uninteresting characters. Julia and Valentina are 21 year olds who have done/are doing nothing with their lives. Valentina has aspirations of being a fashion designer, but she and her sister are so co-dependent that they are crippled in terms of actually having lives of their own. Elspeth was a rare book dealer, and OCD Martin is a crossword setter, while Robert gives tours of the cemetery (which is, in fact, quite famous and interesting) while studying the history of the place, and you would think that with these sort of random and quirky activities the characters (and the novel) might be more interesting. But it's not, really - the quirks provide no development and little movement in terms of the plot, so they mostly just feel like Niffenegger selected professions at random. It doesn't mean anything that Elspeth was a rare book dealer, beyond her agonizing about how the twins don't read any of the fabulous books she has in her flat, or how they've got a Hogarth Press first edition of To the Lighthouse in the bath. (The Hogarth Press was Leonard and Virginia Woolf's press, btw, so that's a pretty sweet book - we're talking close to $20k ... in the tub. Eep.)
Oh sorry, rare book nerd tangent. Ahem.
The book is just sort of meandering, I guess, and when the big reveal(s) come, they don't seem to mean anything. Perhaps there is some larger message and meaning that I'm just missing. The writing is quite nice, but ultimately boring. I'm all about characters, and if I don't care about any of 'em, well, then I just don't care. I was interested in the book I guess because of the potential for rare book nerdery and the fact that the title is a Blake quote. And even that is only relevant in the most superficial sense. The main characters are two sets of identical twins. Valentina and Julia are mirror-image twins, which means that they're totally inverted ... apparently down to their internal organs, or something. Also, I think the larger context of the Blake poem ("The Tyger"), dealing with the duality and symmetry of nature, is supposed to say something about the duality of the character's personalities. But that seems pretty peripheral. That point could have been developed throughout the novel, but it's really not.
You know, in thinking about it, I guess I could sort of argue for the main point of the novel being the double-sided nature of most human beings in terms of being selfish vs. putting the needs of others first. There is a lot of exploration there, I suppose. The twins want their own lives, but often put the perceived needs of the other first. Robert struggles between doing what he wants and doing what Elspeth wants/wanted. Marijke leaves Martin because she wants a normal, OCD-free existence, but she still misses him and ends up helping to take care of him from afar. Martin himself struggles between sort of wallowing (no offense to OCD sufferers, but that is how it is presented to a certain degree) in his disability and making the effort to be better in order to reunite with his wife. Elspeth and Edie, well ... let's just say they follow the trend.
So there you have it. As a good former English major, I have found a theme to talk about. It's just not a very satisfying theme, somehow. Alas, not a recommend. I think it's trying to be so deep that it's not even good for just a fun, quick read. One keeps waiting for something that never arrives. Certainly that would be a viable theme for a novel, but it doesn't really make for an enjoyable way to spend an afternoon or two.
Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
HFS is what would happen if you slightly de-crazified Anne Rice and told her to write a ghost story. The twists and turns are very Rice-ian, but there's little to no sex (of any kind) and no overarching obsession to get caught up in. There are also no particularly sympathetic characters, no discernable point to the whole thing, and not enough development to prepare one for the climax of the novel. In one word, Meh.
Elspeth Noblin, a London-based rare book dealer, dies of leukemia and leaves her entire estate to the twin daughters of her estranged twin sister, Edie. Julia and Valentina (the twins) are stipulated to come and live in Elspeth's London flat for a year, together, before they can sell the place. So they do. There they meet Elspeth's neighbors, scholarly Robert (who was her lover) OCD Martin, and his fed-up wife, Marijke. Oh, they also live next door to Highgate Cemetery, the history of which Robert is writing a book about. The twins navigate London, make friends with Elspeth's old friends (Valentina becomes involved with Robert, and Julia appoints herself Martin's nursemaid after his wife leaves him), and attempt to uncover the secret of why Elspeth and Edie have not seen each other for nearly 20 years. They also get to know their Aunt Elspeth, as she is haunting the apartment. That's when the trouble begins.
I'm going to leave the synopsis at that in order to avoid spoilers. Although, as stated earlier, the climax and thrust of the novel really sort of seem to come from out of left field, and when they do, well, you don't really care a whole lot. Seriously, what a bunch of selfish and uninteresting characters. Julia and Valentina are 21 year olds who have done/are doing nothing with their lives. Valentina has aspirations of being a fashion designer, but she and her sister are so co-dependent that they are crippled in terms of actually having lives of their own. Elspeth was a rare book dealer, and OCD Martin is a crossword setter, while Robert gives tours of the cemetery (which is, in fact, quite famous and interesting) while studying the history of the place, and you would think that with these sort of random and quirky activities the characters (and the novel) might be more interesting. But it's not, really - the quirks provide no development and little movement in terms of the plot, so they mostly just feel like Niffenegger selected professions at random. It doesn't mean anything that Elspeth was a rare book dealer, beyond her agonizing about how the twins don't read any of the fabulous books she has in her flat, or how they've got a Hogarth Press first edition of To the Lighthouse in the bath. (The Hogarth Press was Leonard and Virginia Woolf's press, btw, so that's a pretty sweet book - we're talking close to $20k ... in the tub. Eep.)
Oh sorry, rare book nerd tangent. Ahem.
The book is just sort of meandering, I guess, and when the big reveal(s) come, they don't seem to mean anything. Perhaps there is some larger message and meaning that I'm just missing. The writing is quite nice, but ultimately boring. I'm all about characters, and if I don't care about any of 'em, well, then I just don't care. I was interested in the book I guess because of the potential for rare book nerdery and the fact that the title is a Blake quote. And even that is only relevant in the most superficial sense. The main characters are two sets of identical twins. Valentina and Julia are mirror-image twins, which means that they're totally inverted ... apparently down to their internal organs, or something. Also, I think the larger context of the Blake poem ("The Tyger"), dealing with the duality and symmetry of nature, is supposed to say something about the duality of the character's personalities. But that seems pretty peripheral. That point could have been developed throughout the novel, but it's really not.
You know, in thinking about it, I guess I could sort of argue for the main point of the novel being the double-sided nature of most human beings in terms of being selfish vs. putting the needs of others first. There is a lot of exploration there, I suppose. The twins want their own lives, but often put the perceived needs of the other first. Robert struggles between doing what he wants and doing what Elspeth wants/wanted. Marijke leaves Martin because she wants a normal, OCD-free existence, but she still misses him and ends up helping to take care of him from afar. Martin himself struggles between sort of wallowing (no offense to OCD sufferers, but that is how it is presented to a certain degree) in his disability and making the effort to be better in order to reunite with his wife. Elspeth and Edie, well ... let's just say they follow the trend.
So there you have it. As a good former English major, I have found a theme to talk about. It's just not a very satisfying theme, somehow. Alas, not a recommend. I think it's trying to be so deep that it's not even good for just a fun, quick read. One keeps waiting for something that never arrives. Certainly that would be a viable theme for a novel, but it doesn't really make for an enjoyable way to spend an afternoon or two.
Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare sieze the fire?
And what shoulder, & what art.
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? & what dread feet?
What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?
When the stars threw down their spears,
And watered heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
Sunday, January 02, 2011
CBR Book 2: Identical
Identical, by Ellen Hopkins
My one-line summary of Identical is that it's pretty much When Rabbit Howls for the Twilight set. It's in a sort of a prose poem style, and it deals with pretty much any issue you can imagine a YA book dealing with: sexual abuse, incest, cutting, eating disorders, drugs, sexual promiscuity, love, rivalries, dysfunctional families ... you name it, these girls are dealing with it.
"These girls" are Raeanne and Kaeleigh (oy, those names) Gardella, twin daughters of a successful judge and a would-be Congresswoman, living "the good life" in mid-state California. Their family has its public side, and its private side, and guess what? The private side is pretty ugly. The girls have their means of coping - namely the aforementioned laundry list of issues. Clearly, the status is not quo, and as we follow the first person "poetic" narrative to the (somewhat predictable) denouement, we are treated to loads and loads of teenage angst, plus some fairly disturbing activity for 18 year olds to be engaged in. (Or at least it's disturbing from the viewpoint of someone with a 3 week old daughter.)
Honestly, I sort of wish Ms. Hopkins had just picked one or two issues and dealt with that. The book would be a lot less busy. But, she's apparently a fairly popular YA author, so what do I know? I'm not entirely sure how this one ended up on my "to-read" list ... I like looking at lists of books in newspapers and on NPR and so forth, and I will often just decide that some random list sounds fun and add a bunch of stuff to my own agenda, which I then promptly forget about.
I think that I must have been intrigued by the structure of the novel, which is admittedly somewhat interesting, if better manifested elsewhere (try Out of the Dust if you want novels in poem form). I am not, by any means, belittling the problems that teenagers face in this day and age, and I think it's great that a successful novel can address those issues, but I guess to me the inclusion of pretty much all of them just seemed kind of gimmicky. Still, I admit that I am not the target audience, and perhaps for a girl who's read Twilight and is looking for something with a little more substance, this would be the way to go.
This book is rated R for sexual content, drug use, and foul language. Some scenes may be disturbing for younger readers.
My one-line summary of Identical is that it's pretty much When Rabbit Howls for the Twilight set. It's in a sort of a prose poem style, and it deals with pretty much any issue you can imagine a YA book dealing with: sexual abuse, incest, cutting, eating disorders, drugs, sexual promiscuity, love, rivalries, dysfunctional families ... you name it, these girls are dealing with it.
"These girls" are Raeanne and Kaeleigh (oy, those names) Gardella, twin daughters of a successful judge and a would-be Congresswoman, living "the good life" in mid-state California. Their family has its public side, and its private side, and guess what? The private side is pretty ugly. The girls have their means of coping - namely the aforementioned laundry list of issues. Clearly, the status is not quo, and as we follow the first person "poetic" narrative to the (somewhat predictable) denouement, we are treated to loads and loads of teenage angst, plus some fairly disturbing activity for 18 year olds to be engaged in. (Or at least it's disturbing from the viewpoint of someone with a 3 week old daughter.)
Honestly, I sort of wish Ms. Hopkins had just picked one or two issues and dealt with that. The book would be a lot less busy. But, she's apparently a fairly popular YA author, so what do I know? I'm not entirely sure how this one ended up on my "to-read" list ... I like looking at lists of books in newspapers and on NPR and so forth, and I will often just decide that some random list sounds fun and add a bunch of stuff to my own agenda, which I then promptly forget about.
I think that I must have been intrigued by the structure of the novel, which is admittedly somewhat interesting, if better manifested elsewhere (try Out of the Dust if you want novels in poem form). I am not, by any means, belittling the problems that teenagers face in this day and age, and I think it's great that a successful novel can address those issues, but I guess to me the inclusion of pretty much all of them just seemed kind of gimmicky. Still, I admit that I am not the target audience, and perhaps for a girl who's read Twilight and is looking for something with a little more substance, this would be the way to go.
This book is rated R for sexual content, drug use, and foul language. Some scenes may be disturbing for younger readers.
Saturday, January 01, 2011
CBR Book 1: Ella Minnow Pea
Ella Minnow Pea: A progressively lipogrammatic epistolary fable, by Mark Dunn
Ella Minnow Pea (say it out loud if you don't get it) was recommended to me by a friend and co-worker, and I swear that when he was talking about it, it sounded fun and nerdy and mostly kind of silly. It is fun, and pretty darn nerdy, but it really isn't silly at all. In fact, it's a dystopian novel masquerading as word nerdery. Which, if you ask me, is seriously cool. I have a thing for dystopian novels, even though I find them extremely disturbing. And since this one deals in words and language, it's doubly excellent.
The story takes place on the island nation of Nollop, just off the coast of South Carolina. The island's most "famous" native son is Nevin Nollop, author of the pangram "The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog," which, if you're not familiar with it, utilizes each letter of the alphabet. The citizens of the island, accordingly, are word lovers of the first degree. Letters between cousins Ella and Tassie, along with various other people within their sphere, narrate the progressive deterioration of their society, due to the loss of lettered tiles on a memorial to Nollop. This loss (actually due to substandard glue) is interpreted by the powers-that-be as beyond the grave orders from Nollop, dictating the removal of the lost letters from use. What starts out innocently enough (Z is the first letter to go) becomes more and more alarming, due largely in part to the rather draconian punishments handed down for unauthorized use of the letters. Ultimately, in an attempt to save their home, the citizens of the island must attempt to outdo Mr. Nollop and create a new, shorter pangram in order to prove that the ability to do so is not divine.
Sounds kind of cute, right? What I didn't mention, though, is the punishments for using the taboo letters (public reprimand, then stocks or flogging, then banishment or death). Or the fact that the books disappear even along with the first letter. Or the way in which the High Council progressively starts abusing its power, first by reading the letters of the Nollopians in order to uphold their directives, then by seizing the property of banished citizens and those who eventually start to leave the island of their own accord. The progressive silencing of the citizens; those who choose to cease communicating for fear of punishment, and those for whom it becomes increasingly difficult. Those who go mad with the loss of communication. Those who die, all because of letters removed from use.
While I was reading this, I would often find myself in a panic. "Oh crap. Did I just use the letter D?" Seriously, it's really difficult to keep track of that sort of thing. At first the narrators of our story find it an interesting challenge, I think, given that they all have unreal vocabularies. But the fear and difficulty begins to affect the reader later on, as the letters become shorter and shorter, the vocabulary less and less exalted; ultimately, the missives become nearly impossible to read as the characters resort to using alternate spellings and letter combinations in order to communicate. The panic seeps in as the deadline for creating the new pangram looms. Perhaps one needs a somewhat cynical and overactive imagination to really consider what the world would be like if we lost our powers of communication. Perhaps it's a possible reality in today's world of text-speak and spellcheck. Either way, it's scary stuff, at least to me.
This novel is worth reading. It's an easy read that'll only take you a couple of hours, yet it packs a big punch. The epistolary nature of the book brings the subject to the reader in a very personal way, and it allows for a true understanding of what is lost when one removes letters from use. It'll also increase one's vocabulary - you might want to have a dictionary handy. I like to compare dystopian visions: Atwood to Huxley to Bradbury, and so on; Dunn's vision of a world without the alphabet fits right in, believe it or not. Give it a try! You'll gain a new appreciation for that pesky letter Q.
Ella Minnow Pea (say it out loud if you don't get it) was recommended to me by a friend and co-worker, and I swear that when he was talking about it, it sounded fun and nerdy and mostly kind of silly. It is fun, and pretty darn nerdy, but it really isn't silly at all. In fact, it's a dystopian novel masquerading as word nerdery. Which, if you ask me, is seriously cool. I have a thing for dystopian novels, even though I find them extremely disturbing. And since this one deals in words and language, it's doubly excellent.
The story takes place on the island nation of Nollop, just off the coast of South Carolina. The island's most "famous" native son is Nevin Nollop, author of the pangram "The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog," which, if you're not familiar with it, utilizes each letter of the alphabet. The citizens of the island, accordingly, are word lovers of the first degree. Letters between cousins Ella and Tassie, along with various other people within their sphere, narrate the progressive deterioration of their society, due to the loss of lettered tiles on a memorial to Nollop. This loss (actually due to substandard glue) is interpreted by the powers-that-be as beyond the grave orders from Nollop, dictating the removal of the lost letters from use. What starts out innocently enough (Z is the first letter to go) becomes more and more alarming, due largely in part to the rather draconian punishments handed down for unauthorized use of the letters. Ultimately, in an attempt to save their home, the citizens of the island must attempt to outdo Mr. Nollop and create a new, shorter pangram in order to prove that the ability to do so is not divine.
Sounds kind of cute, right? What I didn't mention, though, is the punishments for using the taboo letters (public reprimand, then stocks or flogging, then banishment or death). Or the fact that the books disappear even along with the first letter. Or the way in which the High Council progressively starts abusing its power, first by reading the letters of the Nollopians in order to uphold their directives, then by seizing the property of banished citizens and those who eventually start to leave the island of their own accord. The progressive silencing of the citizens; those who choose to cease communicating for fear of punishment, and those for whom it becomes increasingly difficult. Those who go mad with the loss of communication. Those who die, all because of letters removed from use.
While I was reading this, I would often find myself in a panic. "Oh crap. Did I just use the letter D?" Seriously, it's really difficult to keep track of that sort of thing. At first the narrators of our story find it an interesting challenge, I think, given that they all have unreal vocabularies. But the fear and difficulty begins to affect the reader later on, as the letters become shorter and shorter, the vocabulary less and less exalted; ultimately, the missives become nearly impossible to read as the characters resort to using alternate spellings and letter combinations in order to communicate. The panic seeps in as the deadline for creating the new pangram looms. Perhaps one needs a somewhat cynical and overactive imagination to really consider what the world would be like if we lost our powers of communication. Perhaps it's a possible reality in today's world of text-speak and spellcheck. Either way, it's scary stuff, at least to me.
This novel is worth reading. It's an easy read that'll only take you a couple of hours, yet it packs a big punch. The epistolary nature of the book brings the subject to the reader in a very personal way, and it allows for a true understanding of what is lost when one removes letters from use. It'll also increase one's vocabulary - you might want to have a dictionary handy. I like to compare dystopian visions: Atwood to Huxley to Bradbury, and so on; Dunn's vision of a world without the alphabet fits right in, believe it or not. Give it a try! You'll gain a new appreciation for that pesky letter Q.
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