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.
Sunday, January 23, 2011
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.
Friday, December 31, 2010
Cannonball Read III
So! Despite the fact that they watch too much television, don't like Russell Crowe, and think skinny, nerdy guys like David Tennant are sexy (they also loooove RDJ and Fillion, in their defense),I spend a lot of time over at Pajiba. It's a fun site, and keeps me largely up-to-date on movie goings-on. Anyway.
In honor and memory of a former Pajiban, the site hosts an annual Cannonball Read. Basically, people "sign up" to read books (I think we're shooting for 52?) and write reviews of them. And then the site donates money to AlabamaPink's son's college fund. Sounds kinda cool, right? I thought so ... I thought, "Hey. I read a lot of books. I'm always (lazily) trying to find things to practice writing about. And this is for a good cause!" So, I'm signed on. Seeing as there is a new, small person in my life, I'm not entirely sure I can get through 52 books this year, but it's possible. I checked out three from the library yesterday.
So, stay tuned for book reviews! Who knows, maybe you'll see something interesting. :) You know, for those 2 people who still check this site sometimes.
In honor and memory of a former Pajiban, the site hosts an annual Cannonball Read. Basically, people "sign up" to read books (I think we're shooting for 52?) and write reviews of them. And then the site donates money to AlabamaPink's son's college fund. Sounds kinda cool, right? I thought so ... I thought, "Hey. I read a lot of books. I'm always (lazily) trying to find things to practice writing about. And this is for a good cause!" So, I'm signed on. Seeing as there is a new, small person in my life, I'm not entirely sure I can get through 52 books this year, but it's possible. I checked out three from the library yesterday.
So, stay tuned for book reviews! Who knows, maybe you'll see something interesting. :) You know, for those 2 people who still check this site sometimes.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Proposed:
That those members of our society who are so inclined embark upon a national campaign to ignore a certain family of individuals who hail from the northernmost state of our country. This family of individuals (who will not be named) are most known and represented by the matriarch of the family, who is ostensibly involved in political activities; however, these people are little more than the latest in a long line of "reality celebrities," and as such, do not deserve the attention that we heap upon them.
To the media: stop writing about them. To the rest of us: stop reading about them. Stop watching things about them on television and the internet. Stop commenting about them. Please pass this message on.
IF WE IGNORE THEM LONG ENOUGH, MAYBE THEY WILL GO AWAY.
To the media: stop writing about them. To the rest of us: stop reading about them. Stop watching things about them on television and the internet. Stop commenting about them. Please pass this message on.
IF WE IGNORE THEM LONG ENOUGH, MAYBE THEY WILL GO AWAY.
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Us vs. them
Do you believe that we are all individuals? Like, really believe it? Or do you think that maybe, it's more likely that many of us are carefully, calculatedly individuals, having chosen to fit, more or less, into one of many molds of individuality so that we have people with whom we can identify, and friends with whom to "be individual"? So, my type of individual versus your type of individual?
That's how I feel most of the time. I was an outcast at a small school in a small town from the first grade through the eighth grade. When I got to high school, I finally found friends. This is not going to turn into a post about the recent social issue of bullying. I will keep my opinions to myself, but just know that boy, do I have them. No, the point that I'm trying to make (probably mostly for myself) here is that I question whether or not anyone who has been labeled "different" can ever truly escape that. They may become happy, productive, successful, or even famous, but I would argue that they will still go through life struggling against feeling excluded.
The question is whether or not that problem exists merely in their own heads, or in the greater reality, or some combination of both. I know that, for me, it's probably a combination. Even though I spent high school and college with a good group of close friends, and even though I now have a wonderful, loving husband and a moderately successful life, I would say that in the last 10 years or so, making/finding really close friends has become increasingly difficult. Part of that is my (our) fault: we have moved cross-country twice now to further our careers. We have lived and worked in different places, which makes meaningful social interaction difficult, not least of which because most people attach their own dislike of driving to us. We, on the other hand, are more than happy to drive 30 minutes if it means hanging out with fun people doing something we enjoy. But we're weird like that, I guess.
The problem, too, is exacerbated by social media. Yes, I know you've heard this rant before. It's hard hearing about the fun things your group of friends back in [insert state here] is doing that you obviously cannot partake of. But harder still is hearing about something fun that the group of people you sometimes hang out with nearby did that you somehow missed out on. Maybe at age 35 I'm not supposed to care anymore. Oops. Guess my growth is stunted, since it still makes me curl up like a little child and bawl for about 5 minutes (something I actually didn't do much of when I was a child and really was excluded from pretty much everything, actually. I believe in making up for lost time).
I think that the problem starts in one's own head and extends into the greater world. I think that, for me, I spent so long learning how to function on my own, or with a very small group of friends (which I do have, but they live far away, yes, my own fault) that I ... I don't know, give off a vibe? Do people look at me and think "Oh, she doesn't need us"? With my self-esteem I tend to assume that it is more likely people think I am any combination of the following: loud, obnoxious, not funny, uncool, rude, etc. etc. but that doesn't explain why we (my husband and I) both feel very isolated, because he, at least, is the nicest person on the planet, and I don't understand how anyone could not like him. Maybe they have no respect for that guy who puts up with that insufferable woman.
The truth is that my self-confidence isn't actually that bad. More often what I assume is that those other people are merely part of a different "group of individuals," and that I (of course) am the true individual who does not fit in. And thereagain, I think that's something that has come about independent of me. Sam in high school and college prided herself on being different from everyone. She didn't seek it out, exactly ... she just was, and back then that seemed to still gain her friends and admirers. These days, though, adults seem to have different values, and suddenly, Samantha finds herself just wanting to be liked. It's a reversion, actually, back to grade school, when little Sammi (ugh) just wanted to fit in. The difference is that the goals are somewhat at odds. I really like being myself. I'm a work in progress, a practicing human, as I like to say. And I'm fine with what I like, what I think (and what I think about), how I dress, and so on. But I still want to be liked, and have friends who call on a Friday and say "Hey, what are you doing tonight?" or write on my Facebook wall that they're just checking in to see how I'm doing (although at 8 mos. pregnant I am a bit tired of the question "How are you feeling?"), or post a funny picture of something inane we all did last weekend.
I just want to know what I'm doing wrong. Because all we have in our own lives is ourselves, right? We are the constant. Therefore experience would lead us to believe that, if the same thing seems to happen to us over and over again, it must be me, right?
Nobody really likes being alone.
That's how I feel most of the time. I was an outcast at a small school in a small town from the first grade through the eighth grade. When I got to high school, I finally found friends. This is not going to turn into a post about the recent social issue of bullying. I will keep my opinions to myself, but just know that boy, do I have them. No, the point that I'm trying to make (probably mostly for myself) here is that I question whether or not anyone who has been labeled "different" can ever truly escape that. They may become happy, productive, successful, or even famous, but I would argue that they will still go through life struggling against feeling excluded.
The question is whether or not that problem exists merely in their own heads, or in the greater reality, or some combination of both. I know that, for me, it's probably a combination. Even though I spent high school and college with a good group of close friends, and even though I now have a wonderful, loving husband and a moderately successful life, I would say that in the last 10 years or so, making/finding really close friends has become increasingly difficult. Part of that is my (our) fault: we have moved cross-country twice now to further our careers. We have lived and worked in different places, which makes meaningful social interaction difficult, not least of which because most people attach their own dislike of driving to us. We, on the other hand, are more than happy to drive 30 minutes if it means hanging out with fun people doing something we enjoy. But we're weird like that, I guess.
The problem, too, is exacerbated by social media. Yes, I know you've heard this rant before. It's hard hearing about the fun things your group of friends back in [insert state here] is doing that you obviously cannot partake of. But harder still is hearing about something fun that the group of people you sometimes hang out with nearby did that you somehow missed out on. Maybe at age 35 I'm not supposed to care anymore. Oops. Guess my growth is stunted, since it still makes me curl up like a little child and bawl for about 5 minutes (something I actually didn't do much of when I was a child and really was excluded from pretty much everything, actually. I believe in making up for lost time).
I think that the problem starts in one's own head and extends into the greater world. I think that, for me, I spent so long learning how to function on my own, or with a very small group of friends (which I do have, but they live far away, yes, my own fault) that I ... I don't know, give off a vibe? Do people look at me and think "Oh, she doesn't need us"? With my self-esteem I tend to assume that it is more likely people think I am any combination of the following: loud, obnoxious, not funny, uncool, rude, etc. etc. but that doesn't explain why we (my husband and I) both feel very isolated, because he, at least, is the nicest person on the planet, and I don't understand how anyone could not like him. Maybe they have no respect for that guy who puts up with that insufferable woman.
The truth is that my self-confidence isn't actually that bad. More often what I assume is that those other people are merely part of a different "group of individuals," and that I (of course) am the true individual who does not fit in. And thereagain, I think that's something that has come about independent of me. Sam in high school and college prided herself on being different from everyone. She didn't seek it out, exactly ... she just was, and back then that seemed to still gain her friends and admirers. These days, though, adults seem to have different values, and suddenly, Samantha finds herself just wanting to be liked. It's a reversion, actually, back to grade school, when little Sammi (ugh) just wanted to fit in. The difference is that the goals are somewhat at odds. I really like being myself. I'm a work in progress, a practicing human, as I like to say. And I'm fine with what I like, what I think (and what I think about), how I dress, and so on. But I still want to be liked, and have friends who call on a Friday and say "Hey, what are you doing tonight?" or write on my Facebook wall that they're just checking in to see how I'm doing (although at 8 mos. pregnant I am a bit tired of the question "How are you feeling?"), or post a funny picture of something inane we all did last weekend.
I just want to know what I'm doing wrong. Because all we have in our own lives is ourselves, right? We are the constant. Therefore experience would lead us to believe that, if the same thing seems to happen to us over and over again, it must be me, right?
Nobody really likes being alone.
Friday, September 03, 2010
Things I miss
- Wine (WINE.)
- Sushi
- My feet. They're down there somewhere.
- "Real" yoga. The difference is sort of...the difference between constantly improving/perfecting your actions, vs. what feels like merely a holding pattern.
- Sleeping on my back, which I wasn't even aware I really did that much of. But boy, do I miss it.
- Serious workouts/cardio. Like, a lot.
- My brain. I'm pretty spacey these days.
- My ability to walk up a flight of stairs without becoming winded. I'll never take that for granted again.
- Did I already say wine?
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Happiness is...
This is a meme. Do it yourself, if you'd like. I was tagged by RTM over at FlixChatter, and I'm going to do it here in order to keep the more personal blogging separate from the movie blogging. Ten things that make me happy. Here we go...
1. My husband. He makes me happy, even when he doesn't. He's my best friend, and I would rather hang out with him than anyone else. Good thing, since he's pretty much the only person I have to hang out with.
2. My cats. We call 'em monkeys. They're hard work sometimes, and they're often obnoxious, but they're also big and fuzzy, endlessly amusing, and surprisingly loving.
3. Helping out friends. It just puts a big old smile on my face.
4. Randomly hearing a song I love on the radio. Sometimes, that can just make your whole day.
5. Mail. I love getting mail, if it's actually FOR ME, as opposed to a bill or a junk mailing. I even get excited about magazines that come every month, and those little red envelopes from Netflix.
6. Food. I could narrow it down, but why bother?
7. Hearing good things about people I like/care about. Yes, that includes celebrities.
8. Tea. I drink it hot every morning. I like various kinds, mostly black, and I am not a snob about tea bags. Yes, I drink it even in the summer, but it's best when it's fall/winter, I have nowhere to be, and I can linger over a crossword puzzle whilst sipping.
10. Exercise. Yeah, I know, I'm a weirdo. I promise I still have days where I am too lazy to do anything, but more often than not, I love a good work-out. If I haven't worked out in a while, I don't even have to do anything fancy...30 minutes on an elliptical machine will have me grinning from ear to ear.
(I'll tell you a secret: unfortunately, that was more difficult than I would have guessed.)
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Career decisions
Recently, I've been thinking about my career. More specifically, about what I would do if I decided to no longer be a rare book cataloger. Now, don't get me wrong. I really like my job, and I have no intention of leaving the profession any time soon. I do have some fears, I guess, about the longevity of rare book cataloging, though, and I think often about that most dreaded of interview questions: Where do you see yourself in 5-10 years?
Someone, during an interview actually, gave me a great answer to that question recently: "In 5-10 years, I hope to be the best cataloger I can be." The lip-service answer, of course, is something about moving up into administration, being the head of a department, supervision, blah blah blah. That's just ... so not me. Realistically, I sort of imagine I will end up in that kind of role someday, but it's not what I'd want. I actually want to be one of those crusty old types who just catalogs the books. Knows everything. Follows orders. That would make me happy.
But. What would I do if I weren't a cataloger? I have no idea. I really can't come up with anything, mostly because I'm lazy, and until someone is going to pay me to sit around and read books, or exercise, or watch movies, I don't have any brilliant ideas. Teacher? Critic? Editor? That last is perhaps the most reasonable, but the publishing industry is scrambling these days, and besides. My grasp of grammar isn't really that great. Some type of journalism? I dunno. I need to write a lot more, and a lot more regularly, before I really get the sense that anyone would want to read what I write. And what would I write about?
Not so long ago, I pondered what I might go back to school for, if not my dream MA in English lit. I came up with linguistics. I like languages and learning about languages, and how we use language ...
Basically, I think I have skills, interests, and inclinations in things that aren't terrifically lucrative, or even conducive to "real" jobs.
Something to continue pondering, I suppose...hopefully, the world will still need catalogers for a little while longer.
Someone, during an interview actually, gave me a great answer to that question recently: "In 5-10 years, I hope to be the best cataloger I can be." The lip-service answer, of course, is something about moving up into administration, being the head of a department, supervision, blah blah blah. That's just ... so not me. Realistically, I sort of imagine I will end up in that kind of role someday, but it's not what I'd want. I actually want to be one of those crusty old types who just catalogs the books. Knows everything. Follows orders. That would make me happy.
But. What would I do if I weren't a cataloger? I have no idea. I really can't come up with anything, mostly because I'm lazy, and until someone is going to pay me to sit around and read books, or exercise, or watch movies, I don't have any brilliant ideas. Teacher? Critic? Editor? That last is perhaps the most reasonable, but the publishing industry is scrambling these days, and besides. My grasp of grammar isn't really that great. Some type of journalism? I dunno. I need to write a lot more, and a lot more regularly, before I really get the sense that anyone would want to read what I write. And what would I write about?
Not so long ago, I pondered what I might go back to school for, if not my dream MA in English lit. I came up with linguistics. I like languages and learning about languages, and how we use language ...
Basically, I think I have skills, interests, and inclinations in things that aren't terrifically lucrative, or even conducive to "real" jobs.
Something to continue pondering, I suppose...hopefully, the world will still need catalogers for a little while longer.
Monday, July 19, 2010
Still here!
I guess it says something sad about the fact that I haven't really blogged here since starting the movie blog, huh? That is, I think, going quite swimmingly ... at least I'm enjoying myself. My current schedule doesn't allow me to watch quite as many movies as I'd like, but I'm still managing to find things to blog about there.
And here? Well, let's see. Summer in CT has been ridiculously hot so far. Work is work - I enjoy it but don't like the logistics of it. We made a week-long trip to MN back in June to see friends get married, and friends get ordained, visit w/family and friends, and see a Twins game at shiny new Target Field. We also made a trip down to NYC to see the Twins v. the Mets at Citi Field. They won both games, so we're 2-2 this year. Yay! We also traveled to Vermont over the 4th of July weekend. Neither of us had ever been there, so we wanted to visit, and since we have friends who live in Montpelier (more or less) and Burlington, we had good excuses. Good food was had, good conversation, and an excellent hike. And now, we stay put for a while. Last weekend actually featured some fun activities, though - CAKE was playing in Danbury, on Andrew's birthday, no less, so we caught their excellent show. They played all of my favorites, because, of course they did! We also saw Inception (excellent!) and went to Shakespeare in the Grove for an al fresco performance of As You Like It (because really, is there any other way to see it?) Hoping to get to a Rockcats game (local triple-A team, Twins affiliate) this weekend, perhaps.
Otherwise, all is well.
Oh, and uh ... the elephant in the room? For those who may not know, we are expecting the debut of "Rock Star Klein" in December. All going swimmingly so far. Recommend keeping a look-out on Facebook for more information, as blogs are not the most private things ever. Or shoot me a message if you'd like to be included in any emailings that happen. :)
So yeah. How are you?
And here? Well, let's see. Summer in CT has been ridiculously hot so far. Work is work - I enjoy it but don't like the logistics of it. We made a week-long trip to MN back in June to see friends get married, and friends get ordained, visit w/family and friends, and see a Twins game at shiny new Target Field. We also made a trip down to NYC to see the Twins v. the Mets at Citi Field. They won both games, so we're 2-2 this year. Yay! We also traveled to Vermont over the 4th of July weekend. Neither of us had ever been there, so we wanted to visit, and since we have friends who live in Montpelier (more or less) and Burlington, we had good excuses. Good food was had, good conversation, and an excellent hike. And now, we stay put for a while. Last weekend actually featured some fun activities, though - CAKE was playing in Danbury, on Andrew's birthday, no less, so we caught their excellent show. They played all of my favorites, because, of course they did! We also saw Inception (excellent!) and went to Shakespeare in the Grove for an al fresco performance of As You Like It (because really, is there any other way to see it?) Hoping to get to a Rockcats game (local triple-A team, Twins affiliate) this weekend, perhaps.
Otherwise, all is well.
Oh, and uh ... the elephant in the room? For those who may not know, we are expecting the debut of "Rock Star Klein" in December. All going swimmingly so far. Recommend keeping a look-out on Facebook for more information, as blogs are not the most private things ever. Or shoot me a message if you'd like to be included in any emailings that happen. :)
So yeah. How are you?
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Open letter, # I forgot
Dear Javier Bardem,
Could you please do more accessible movies, and fewer heavy, serious ones, so that I can see more of you? My Top Five list has a vacancy, and you're the front-runner.
Thank you!
Love,
me
Could you please do more accessible movies, and fewer heavy, serious ones, so that I can see more of you? My Top Five list has a vacancy, and you're the front-runner.
Thank you!
Love,
me
Friday, June 04, 2010
Blog news
By posting it here, I'll feel more held to it.
I am planning on starting a new blog devoted to movies/film. Haven't fully nailed down a name yet, haven't started writing posts - it's just in the works. I'll let you know when it's going to happen. Right now I've got a week before I go on vacation for a week, so not really sure if it'll happen before then.
At that time, several of the posts here regarding movies (and books about movies) will be moved (I hope) to said new blog, and this blog will return to its uninteresting stream of consciousness litany of opinions.
As such - here's what I'm thinking about this week.
*Oil spill. The !@%!@#^% oil spill. My god. There are no words.
*Peripherally, I am good with the fact that Obama is not "venting" his frustration. That's not his job, people. I think it says a lot about our tabloid culture that we ... what, exactly? Just want Obama to stand at a platform and struggle with showing his anger while not cursing? What would that solve, precisely?
*That whole "ruined perfect game" thing. Look, I've been a fencer for 17 years. I've seen bouts won and lost on "bad calls". I've seen directors look at video after the fact and say "Oops. Yeah, I was wrong." It's part of the game - ANY game. Let's move on, shall we?
*Vacation! We are going to MN for a week to attend a wedding, attend an ordination, see a Twins game in their shiny new stadium, see lots of friends, hopefully meet some cool bloggers, and just generally enjoy ourselves. Woot.
*I'm reading a new book about movies, (It's about John Hughes, mostly, and the impact of the great "teen" films of the 80s) but I won't go into that. Suffice it to say I am craving lots of James Spader and RDJ. :D
Glad it's Friday. Enjoy the weekend!
I am planning on starting a new blog devoted to movies/film. Haven't fully nailed down a name yet, haven't started writing posts - it's just in the works. I'll let you know when it's going to happen. Right now I've got a week before I go on vacation for a week, so not really sure if it'll happen before then.
At that time, several of the posts here regarding movies (and books about movies) will be moved (I hope) to said new blog, and this blog will return to its uninteresting stream of consciousness litany of opinions.
As such - here's what I'm thinking about this week.
*Oil spill. The !@%!@#^% oil spill. My god. There are no words.
*Peripherally, I am good with the fact that Obama is not "venting" his frustration. That's not his job, people. I think it says a lot about our tabloid culture that we ... what, exactly? Just want Obama to stand at a platform and struggle with showing his anger while not cursing? What would that solve, precisely?
*That whole "ruined perfect game" thing. Look, I've been a fencer for 17 years. I've seen bouts won and lost on "bad calls". I've seen directors look at video after the fact and say "Oops. Yeah, I was wrong." It's part of the game - ANY game. Let's move on, shall we?
*Vacation! We are going to MN for a week to attend a wedding, attend an ordination, see a Twins game in their shiny new stadium, see lots of friends, hopefully meet some cool bloggers, and just generally enjoy ourselves. Woot.
*I'm reading a new book about movies, (It's about John Hughes, mostly, and the impact of the great "teen" films of the 80s) but I won't go into that. Suffice it to say I am craving lots of James Spader and RDJ. :D
Glad it's Friday. Enjoy the weekend!
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
More movies
I'm reading a book right now entitled Hellraisers: The Inebriated Life and Times of Richard Burton, Peter O'Toole, Richard Harris & Oliver Reed, and it's lead me to realize that I have never seen a Richard Burton film, and have really only seen O'Toole, Harris, and Reed in more modern things. I don't remember Camelot (Harris) or Oliver! (Reed). The only thing I can think of having seen w/O'Toole in it is Stardust, although someday we'll get around to Lawrence of Arabia. I love Harris and Reed in Gladiator, and truthfully, I have loved Reed ever since, and only because of, Black Arrow, which is lamentably unavailable on DVD. WTF, Disney??
All of this is just to comment on my increasing commitment to movie geekdom. In the last year or so I read a Gene Kelly bio and a Judy Garland one, and have plans to read one on Chaplin at some point ... Hollywood's fascinating. I think we forget that the antics of the obnoxious celebutantes and crazy actors of today is truthfully nothing new. Seriously, read Hellraisers and you'll realize that today's gang is pretty tame by comparison. The writing's kind of a mess, but it's terribly entertaining.
At any rate, I've now added Becket, Cleopatra, and Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? to the old Netflix queue ... Camelot's already on it, as is A Lion in Winter and Oliver!. Fun times ahead! Any recommendations to add?
All of this is just to comment on my increasing commitment to movie geekdom. In the last year or so I read a Gene Kelly bio and a Judy Garland one, and have plans to read one on Chaplin at some point ... Hollywood's fascinating. I think we forget that the antics of the obnoxious celebutantes and crazy actors of today is truthfully nothing new. Seriously, read Hellraisers and you'll realize that today's gang is pretty tame by comparison. The writing's kind of a mess, but it's terribly entertaining.
At any rate, I've now added Becket, Cleopatra, and Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? to the old Netflix queue ... Camelot's already on it, as is A Lion in Winter and Oliver!. Fun times ahead! Any recommendations to add?
Monday, May 10, 2010
New focus?
I'm not necessarily turning into a movie blogger just yet, but when the fabulous RTM asked me to do a guest post about new favorite, up-and-comer Mark Strong, how could I say no? Read it here, and of course, many thanks to RTM for the honor!
Iron Man 2
Despite the amount of movies I see, I have long resisted writing reviews, for a variety of reasons. Mostly, I think I just don't have the attention span. However, I read a lot of reviews, and in this case, having seen the movie now, I feel the need to offer up my own opinion in order to set the record straight. I am not a snooty movie critic. My main desire in seeing a film is usually just to be entertained (although sometimes it's to see a specific actor). I am, admittedly, a huge fan of Robert Downey, Jr. I have what I consider to be a reasonable amount of geek cred, so I am usually down with the newest comic book film, and I do love a good popcorn flick. I hated The Dark Knight for being far too overwrought and overrated. So, with that disclosure, read on, if you wish.
We watched the first Iron Man movie on Friday night as a refresher course, and I think that was a good choice. It reminded me of the things I loved: the banter, RDJ, the scenes where it's just Tony Stark with his computers and robots, the sheer badassness of Iron Man himself, Jeff Bridges; and of the things I was less thrilled with: Terrence Howard (seriously, ugh) and the big finale fight scene, mainly.
SO, Iron Man 2. Let me start out by saying that, for my money, all of the things I liked about the first movie were still present. I had most feared for the "Stark working" scenes, thinking there just wouldn't be a need for them, but they're still there (along with Paul Bettany as Jarvis, who, seriously, I want to help walk me through my day). AND, they fixed the things I didn't like. Switching Don Cheadle for Terrence Howard was a brilliant move, IMO ... he just fits right in. And the final fight scenes were much better this time around. Good stuff. Now, as for the rest of the film.
First of all, one of the things that a lot of critics complained about was the slightly more serious tone of the second movie as compared to the first. I actually found this to be completely appropriate and enjoyable. In the first movie, Tony Stark had his world changed. He created a superhero suit that looks really fun, and he accordingly enjoyed it. For the second go-round, the bottom should drop out. Consequences should arise, troubles should multiply, characters (I'm looking at you, Pepper) should be more stressed out. All of that seemed completely natural to me, and completely understandable within a greater story arc. And there were still light/fun moments, heightened, I think, by a slightly more cohesive cast.
About that cast: Cheadle, as mentioned, is awesome. Paltrow's Potts has been accused of not being as "good" this time around, but again, I think that within the framework of the story, she was right on. Scarlett Johanssen, as Stark's new assistant/possible double agent, has been called "wooden" by numerous sources. There again, though, I would argue that to me, that just seemed like her character. She was supposed to be apart from "the gang" and of questionable motive. She delivered. Mickey Rourke was a fun bad guy. Maybe not as fun as Jeff Bridges, but so what? And finally, Sam Rockwell was just fabulous. He pulled off being a knock-off Tony Stark perfectly. Where Tony is charismatic enough to hardly ever seem slimy, Rockwell's Justin Hammer was a complete little shit, and I thought he was perfect. Bonus points for director Jon Favreau's slightly stepped-up role as Happy Hogan. About RDJ, I'm not sure what needs to be said. The man is a revelation. He can convey more in the blink of one eye than most actors can do in their entire body of work. Call me biased if you want, but the guy's incredible, and I love that we have a comic book franchise with a lead who can seriously act.
On to other matters -- like the plot/story. Critics complain here, but may I remind you that this is a comic book movie? Plots are always a bit ridiculous, maybe a little hole-y, usually fairly busy. This one is no exception, but I really didn't think it was overloaded. Didn't feel there were too many villains, really liked the character development (in terms of Stark) ... I actually wished they'd done a little bit more with Rourke's character. Overall, though, it was easy to follow (unlike some - *cough*Dark Knight*cough*), and it set up things to come while deepening what was already there. That equals success in my book.
In summary, I think that in terms of critical reception, expectations were simply too high. I totally loved this movie, and my main complaints were that RDJ didn't spend enough time in a tank top, hammering things, and that ScarJo's fight sequences were a little too fast and blurry to be properly enjoyed. We need to remember that in good trilogies (see: Star Wars) the second act is always the dark one, and that's usually a good thing. If you liked the first one, go see this one with an open mind and/or lowered expectations, and I think you'll have a good time. Unless you liked Terrence Howard as Rhodes, in which case, I cannot help you.
We watched the first Iron Man movie on Friday night as a refresher course, and I think that was a good choice. It reminded me of the things I loved: the banter, RDJ, the scenes where it's just Tony Stark with his computers and robots, the sheer badassness of Iron Man himself, Jeff Bridges; and of the things I was less thrilled with: Terrence Howard (seriously, ugh) and the big finale fight scene, mainly.
SO, Iron Man 2. Let me start out by saying that, for my money, all of the things I liked about the first movie were still present. I had most feared for the "Stark working" scenes, thinking there just wouldn't be a need for them, but they're still there (along with Paul Bettany as Jarvis, who, seriously, I want to help walk me through my day). AND, they fixed the things I didn't like. Switching Don Cheadle for Terrence Howard was a brilliant move, IMO ... he just fits right in. And the final fight scenes were much better this time around. Good stuff. Now, as for the rest of the film.
First of all, one of the things that a lot of critics complained about was the slightly more serious tone of the second movie as compared to the first. I actually found this to be completely appropriate and enjoyable. In the first movie, Tony Stark had his world changed. He created a superhero suit that looks really fun, and he accordingly enjoyed it. For the second go-round, the bottom should drop out. Consequences should arise, troubles should multiply, characters (I'm looking at you, Pepper) should be more stressed out. All of that seemed completely natural to me, and completely understandable within a greater story arc. And there were still light/fun moments, heightened, I think, by a slightly more cohesive cast.
About that cast: Cheadle, as mentioned, is awesome. Paltrow's Potts has been accused of not being as "good" this time around, but again, I think that within the framework of the story, she was right on. Scarlett Johanssen, as Stark's new assistant/possible double agent, has been called "wooden" by numerous sources. There again, though, I would argue that to me, that just seemed like her character. She was supposed to be apart from "the gang" and of questionable motive. She delivered. Mickey Rourke was a fun bad guy. Maybe not as fun as Jeff Bridges, but so what? And finally, Sam Rockwell was just fabulous. He pulled off being a knock-off Tony Stark perfectly. Where Tony is charismatic enough to hardly ever seem slimy, Rockwell's Justin Hammer was a complete little shit, and I thought he was perfect. Bonus points for director Jon Favreau's slightly stepped-up role as Happy Hogan. About RDJ, I'm not sure what needs to be said. The man is a revelation. He can convey more in the blink of one eye than most actors can do in their entire body of work. Call me biased if you want, but the guy's incredible, and I love that we have a comic book franchise with a lead who can seriously act.
On to other matters -- like the plot/story. Critics complain here, but may I remind you that this is a comic book movie? Plots are always a bit ridiculous, maybe a little hole-y, usually fairly busy. This one is no exception, but I really didn't think it was overloaded. Didn't feel there were too many villains, really liked the character development (in terms of Stark) ... I actually wished they'd done a little bit more with Rourke's character. Overall, though, it was easy to follow (unlike some - *cough*Dark Knight*cough*), and it set up things to come while deepening what was already there. That equals success in my book.
In summary, I think that in terms of critical reception, expectations were simply too high. I totally loved this movie, and my main complaints were that RDJ didn't spend enough time in a tank top, hammering things, and that ScarJo's fight sequences were a little too fast and blurry to be properly enjoyed. We need to remember that in good trilogies (see: Star Wars) the second act is always the dark one, and that's usually a good thing. If you liked the first one, go see this one with an open mind and/or lowered expectations, and I think you'll have a good time. Unless you liked Terrence Howard as Rhodes, in which case, I cannot help you.
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