So yesterday I decided to pick a new template for the blog as I got kind of sick of the plain Jane one I originally launched with all those many, many months ago. But I'm still not 100% convinced I like this one either. And I noticed that I picked the same one as Kate's Book Blog, which was unintentional, of course, but I'm giving her props anyway for working the template to the best of its ability over there. Gosh, I love her blog.
Annnywaaay. I've been toying with the idea of late of migrating everything over to Typepad and paying for the blog just to be able to use a slightly better behind the scenes system. Who knows. The summer's so busy so far that by the time I actually get around to customizing a look and feel, the internet might have blown up.
Monday, June 25, 2007
Sunday, June 24, 2007
#43 - A Thousand Splendid Suns
Khaled Hosseini's new novel, A Thousand Splendid Suns, takes its name from a poem by a 17th century Persian poet Saeb-e-Tabrizi, and focuses on the life stories of two Afghan women, Mariam and Laila. The lives of both women, despite their very different beginnings, are fraught with tragedy, oppression, dignity and finally redemption throughout the almost 400 pages of this book.
Mariam, the illegitimate daughter of a wealthy man from Herat, lives in a poor kolba, a roughshod mud hut outside of town with her mother. The product of an affair between her mother, a housekeeper, and her father, who comes to visit once a week, Mariam grows up with the stigma of being a harami. Her father is ashamed of her and her mother, to an extent, resents her presence, despite the keening kind of love she feel for her daughter. After the death of her mother, Mariam is sent by her father's many wives to Kabul, where she's forced to marry the brutish, and much older, Rasheed. Their union is not a happy one. For one thing, Mariam is a teenager, and her new 'husband' is not only much older, but much more strict. He expects Mariam to be a proper wife, wear a birka, and be obedient.
Years pass, and the marriage between Rasheed and Mariam deteriorates, but by this time, Hosseini has introduced the novel's other main character: Laila. A beautiful, blonde-haired, light-eyed girl, Laila's family dotes on her, and she's raised by a dutiful father who feels that everything in life stems from having an education. Laila, of course, excels at the top of her class. And then, as the Soviet regime ends, and the country collapses once again, bombs fall around Laila's life, pulling away her dearest friend Tariq, and destroying as much of her world as she could touch by spreading her arms out beside her.
The lives of these two women, who live as neighbours in Kabul, are set against these types of incidents, as the war-torn history of Afghanistan plays out in an extremely personal way. Rasheed takes centre-stage again, now husband to Mariam and Laila, and the two women slowly learn to navigate their lives around his brutish, slavenly behaviour.
A Thousand Splendid Suns isn't as strong a novel as The Kite Runner and a number of parts feel forced. But like in The Kite Runner, there are serious elements in this book that build nicely from beginning to end. As the Afghanistan stop in my Around the World in 52 Countries, it's a worthy novel just for giving me an inside look at life in a war-torn country. But without the central essence say found in the main characters of a book like Camilla Gibb's exquisite Sweetness in the Belly, the first two-thirds of A Thousand Splendid Suns lacks in emotional depth or understanding, especially in the context of the women's lives.
In a sense, to sweep the broad swath of history from 1964 until the years just after 9/11, Hosseini gives up some of Laila and Mariam's own stories, and fits them into the major events that changed the country's landscape. I'm not suggesting that's a bad thing nor is this a bad book, not by any means, and the ending is particularly wonderful and has magical, even redemptive qualities, but it all feels kind of Hollywood. It feels like the book set out to prove to the rest of the world how awful life was for those women, and while it achieves that goal, I think it would have been even more effective had it not lacked a certain something when it came to their characterization. To an extent, I feel like Hosseini himself sacrificed these women in order to get his own point across, despite his obvious respect and admiration for both Mariam and Laila. But even despite my criticism, I really did enjoy reading this novel. And boy am I happy to at least be able to cross off one more country; it's a just such a treat to keep my challenge alive.
PHOTO IN CONTEXT: I read the last 100 or so pages of the book this morning in bed while my RRHB slept after his show in Brantford last night. You can see the tail of the cat who kindly took up my position after I left. He's keeping the home fires burning. And he's a good excuse not to make the bed, just yet.
Friday, June 22, 2007
Spell With Flickr
#42 - Run
Ann Patchett's latest novel, Run, isn't coming out until October, which places me a bit between a rock and a hard place in terms of writing about it, because I think this is one of the books I'll be recommending full-on this fall. And I want to tell everyone to go out and read it right now, but it's not in stores. Regardless, it's the best American novel I've read in ages, if not the best book I've read over the last few months. Trust me: it's that good.
Set on a snowy day in Boston, probably in the same neighbourhood that was home to Jack Madigan's crumbling Town House, Run follows a 24-hour period in the lives of the Doyle family. Doyle Sr., a former mayor, has raised his two adoptive sons, Tip and Teddy, by himself since they were young and their mother died from throat cancer. An older brother, Sullivan, returns to the fold on the very day all of the events in the novel take place; he was exorcising his own demons in Africa.
The mixed races within the Doyle family (white father, white older brother, black, adoptive sons), has always been a fact, but never truly an issue until the day that Tip, the middle son, finds himself on the wrong side of a road all whited-out from the snow. If it were not for a mysterious woman pushing him out of the way of an oncoming SUV, getting dangerously hurt herself in the process, Tip would have died from his injuries (a broken ankle). The woman's 11-year-old daughter Kenya stands by and witnesses the entire accident, and when it's obvious that she has no one to call and no where to go, she comes back to stay with Doyle and the rest of his family until her mother is well enough to go home.
While Tennessee fights for her life in the hospital, requiring further surgeries and more medical attention, the Doyles come to terms with the fact that all is not quite as it seems. Essentially, sometimes a coincidence is more then just chance, and in this book, it's plain fate. Patchett's ultimate skill as a novelist rolls out all over this novel as she unveils, slowly, how the character's lives are intertwined. There's a lovely other-worldly aspect to the book too, in the form of Teddy's favourite uncle Sullivan, an aging priest who has healing abilities within his hands. Issues of race, of class, of education, of the importance of family, of motherless sons, of politics, are explored but never with the hammer-over-the-head mentality you might see if this was a movie of the week, but with spirit and empathy, with love and adoration, and with integrity and hope.
Also, it's a bloody good thing that Patchett knows how to hold together a narrative. She has a skill for swapping point of view all over the chapters, sometimes within pages, and yet I never felt adrift. Her voice, from character to character, is so strong that you never get lost, and instead find yourself drawn even further into the story as the book moves along. Sometimes she uses sentence structure to intimate a change, sometimes it's voice and dialogue, but you never feel like she's forced herself into the head of a character where she shouldn't—because so much of Run just reads right (if that makes any sense).
My goodness when I finished this book I bawled like a baby. I stayed for an extra half-hour at work last night just to finish it so I could ride home thinking about it. There are so many quotable passages, but as I don't have a photo in context for this particular book because I forgot my camera at home, I am going to leave you with these words instead:
Set on a snowy day in Boston, probably in the same neighbourhood that was home to Jack Madigan's crumbling Town House, Run follows a 24-hour period in the lives of the Doyle family. Doyle Sr., a former mayor, has raised his two adoptive sons, Tip and Teddy, by himself since they were young and their mother died from throat cancer. An older brother, Sullivan, returns to the fold on the very day all of the events in the novel take place; he was exorcising his own demons in Africa.
The mixed races within the Doyle family (white father, white older brother, black, adoptive sons), has always been a fact, but never truly an issue until the day that Tip, the middle son, finds himself on the wrong side of a road all whited-out from the snow. If it were not for a mysterious woman pushing him out of the way of an oncoming SUV, getting dangerously hurt herself in the process, Tip would have died from his injuries (a broken ankle). The woman's 11-year-old daughter Kenya stands by and witnesses the entire accident, and when it's obvious that she has no one to call and no where to go, she comes back to stay with Doyle and the rest of his family until her mother is well enough to go home.
While Tennessee fights for her life in the hospital, requiring further surgeries and more medical attention, the Doyles come to terms with the fact that all is not quite as it seems. Essentially, sometimes a coincidence is more then just chance, and in this book, it's plain fate. Patchett's ultimate skill as a novelist rolls out all over this novel as she unveils, slowly, how the character's lives are intertwined. There's a lovely other-worldly aspect to the book too, in the form of Teddy's favourite uncle Sullivan, an aging priest who has healing abilities within his hands. Issues of race, of class, of education, of the importance of family, of motherless sons, of politics, are explored but never with the hammer-over-the-head mentality you might see if this was a movie of the week, but with spirit and empathy, with love and adoration, and with integrity and hope.
Also, it's a bloody good thing that Patchett knows how to hold together a narrative. She has a skill for swapping point of view all over the chapters, sometimes within pages, and yet I never felt adrift. Her voice, from character to character, is so strong that you never get lost, and instead find yourself drawn even further into the story as the book moves along. Sometimes she uses sentence structure to intimate a change, sometimes it's voice and dialogue, but you never feel like she's forced herself into the head of a character where she shouldn't—because so much of Run just reads right (if that makes any sense).
My goodness when I finished this book I bawled like a baby. I stayed for an extra half-hour at work last night just to finish it so I could ride home thinking about it. There are so many quotable passages, but as I don't have a photo in context for this particular book because I forgot my camera at home, I am going to leave you with these words instead:
The present life was only a matter of how things had stacked together in the past, and all Kenya knew for sure was that if she had the chance to hand over everything she had now in order to regain what was lost there would be no words for how fast she would open up her hands.
Monday, June 18, 2007
The Girl With High Cholesterol
So, I saw the kidney doctor on Friday for my bi-annual (yay!) check up. All my blood tests look great, and my creatinine is holding at 110-112-115, which is high, but stable, and the doctor is pleased. But he tested my cholesterol and it's high, which could cause a problem because youngish people like me with auto-immune diseases are apparently at a greater risk for heart disease.
So I said, "What do you recommend?"
He answered, "Well, we'd tell people to stop eating so much red meat and fried foods, and to control their drinking."
Considering a) I've been a vegetarian since I was 14 and b) I drink once a month at the most, figuring out where the high cholesterol is coming from is a bit tricky. It could be my diet, it could be genetics, it could be anything. What's even odder is the fact that my blood pressure is perfect, so he doesn't even have that test to go by.
Funny how I can't go a single doctor visit without something! But in the scheme of things, it's a pretty common test result, and maybe it just means I might have to alter my diet more than usual. No more muffins. God, I LOVE muffins. Anyway, he's sending me to a dietician. Who will tell me to eat more vegetables. I mean it's not like I don't know how to eat; it's just a matter of finding the energy to be more organized about it all. Therein lies the challenge.
For once it might not be the disease causing the wonky test results: it could be age-old genetics. Now that is something new.
So I said, "What do you recommend?"
He answered, "Well, we'd tell people to stop eating so much red meat and fried foods, and to control their drinking."
Considering a) I've been a vegetarian since I was 14 and b) I drink once a month at the most, figuring out where the high cholesterol is coming from is a bit tricky. It could be my diet, it could be genetics, it could be anything. What's even odder is the fact that my blood pressure is perfect, so he doesn't even have that test to go by.
Funny how I can't go a single doctor visit without something! But in the scheme of things, it's a pretty common test result, and maybe it just means I might have to alter my diet more than usual. No more muffins. God, I LOVE muffins. Anyway, he's sending me to a dietician. Who will tell me to eat more vegetables. I mean it's not like I don't know how to eat; it's just a matter of finding the energy to be more organized about it all. Therein lies the challenge.
For once it might not be the disease causing the wonky test results: it could be age-old genetics. Now that is something new.
#41 - Effigy
Weeks have passed since I started reading Alissa York's intense new book Effigy. Set on a Mormon (who like to be referred to as 'Saints') ranch in the middle of the last century, Effigy is a stunning book that explores life for the Hammer family after the Mountain Meadows Massacre of 1857. A diverse group of people in a plural family, Brother Hammer and his four wives, his multiple children, and the hired hands (an Indian tracker named, well, Tracker, and Bendy, who takes care of the animals) live in Utah on a gorgeous plot of land where they raise horses.
Keen on hunting and going blind, Hammer relies upon the Tracker to help him with his kills. His first wife, Ursula, rules the household; his second, Ruth, has a colony of silk worms that demand her attention; Thankful remains barren, but holds all the others somewhat hostage when it comes to Hammer's lustful appetite; and Dorrie, or Sister Eudora, his youngest wife, was married for her hands alone, for it's her skill he covets: she's a taxidermist. And all Hammer's concerned about is keeping his kills alive, in a way, for all to see.
Effigy remains a complex novel throughout, with York's skill as a writer glaringly apparent at each turn: nothing is necessarily as it appears, and the story-behind-the-story with each of these characters pulls you in chapter after chapter. Rich with historical facts and with York's attention to detail, especially around Dorrie and her particular skills, the novel seems to take on a life of its own that's sort of akin to watching Deadwood, but not as foul-mouthed, obviously. As a reader, you're absorbed by the time and the place here, and I appreciated that over the last few weeks.
In some places I felt as though the story sort of got away from the author, but it was never enough to make me put the book down, just the opposite in fact. It's a broad novel, one that takes patience and understanding, and I for one appreciate being made to work a bit harder by a writer. All in all, I'd highly recommend this book, I loved Mercy so much and I'm glad to see York ever-expanding her already great skills as a novelist with Effigy.
Keen on hunting and going blind, Hammer relies upon the Tracker to help him with his kills. His first wife, Ursula, rules the household; his second, Ruth, has a colony of silk worms that demand her attention; Thankful remains barren, but holds all the others somewhat hostage when it comes to Hammer's lustful appetite; and Dorrie, or Sister Eudora, his youngest wife, was married for her hands alone, for it's her skill he covets: she's a taxidermist. And all Hammer's concerned about is keeping his kills alive, in a way, for all to see.
Effigy remains a complex novel throughout, with York's skill as a writer glaringly apparent at each turn: nothing is necessarily as it appears, and the story-behind-the-story with each of these characters pulls you in chapter after chapter. Rich with historical facts and with York's attention to detail, especially around Dorrie and her particular skills, the novel seems to take on a life of its own that's sort of akin to watching Deadwood, but not as foul-mouthed, obviously. As a reader, you're absorbed by the time and the place here, and I appreciated that over the last few weeks.
In some places I felt as though the story sort of got away from the author, but it was never enough to make me put the book down, just the opposite in fact. It's a broad novel, one that takes patience and understanding, and I for one appreciate being made to work a bit harder by a writer. All in all, I'd highly recommend this book, I loved Mercy so much and I'm glad to see York ever-expanding her already great skills as a novelist with Effigy.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Yoga Made Me Cry
For the past couple weeks my life has been so busy that I've felt like I might crack in two. Weekends spent with not one, not two, but sometimes three and four social commitments; work days crammed full of meetings, lunches and actual work; evenings filled with chores, classes, homework, writing, and sometimes abridging, I feel outside myself these days because I'm not used to the frenetic pace of it all. Even with catching that bad cold a couple weeks ago, my life refused to slow down, with the sickness sort of evaporating itself up inside another busy day complete with brain fog instead of real rest.
And then last night I kind of had a break through. I was at my Pilates Fusion class, a combination of pilates and yoga taught through Liberty-Movement Studio in Liberty Village. Over the last two weeks it's just been me in my class, so I've been getting somewhat private lessons from Elle, who is a magnificent teacher. She tailored the workout to me, with a lot of hip-openers, to try and get at the permanent problems with my tragic hip, and wow, did we ever hit a nerve. I started to cry. In class. While lunging. Sniffling like a baby. Tears. Rolling down my face. Elle said it was because muscles have memory, and they were releasing their scar tissue. But goodness, it was a freeing kind of feeling, as if my body, little by little, with the biking, the pilates, the yoga, the dancing, is finally recognizing the toll the disease has taken and decided to let it all go in one big breath last night.
Regardless, I'm calmer today. I'm letting the quickness of it all kind of wash over me and work through my to-do lists carefully, with as little stress as possible. And will ride my bike slowly home tonight after dance class as if I don't have a care in the world. I'm frustrated, still, that I can't lose any weight, but I'm guessing that it's probably just another thing my body doesn't want to let go, hanging on to the disease for dear life because it's existed in that state for so many years, it just doesn't know how else to be.
But I'm slowly learning that change doesn't happen overnight as much as I'd like it to. Funny how it doesn't take long at all to contemplate change, to even make the decision to change, but it takes a hell of a long time to put your thoughts into actions and actually see the results.
And then last night I kind of had a break through. I was at my Pilates Fusion class, a combination of pilates and yoga taught through Liberty-Movement Studio in Liberty Village. Over the last two weeks it's just been me in my class, so I've been getting somewhat private lessons from Elle, who is a magnificent teacher. She tailored the workout to me, with a lot of hip-openers, to try and get at the permanent problems with my tragic hip, and wow, did we ever hit a nerve. I started to cry. In class. While lunging. Sniffling like a baby. Tears. Rolling down my face. Elle said it was because muscles have memory, and they were releasing their scar tissue. But goodness, it was a freeing kind of feeling, as if my body, little by little, with the biking, the pilates, the yoga, the dancing, is finally recognizing the toll the disease has taken and decided to let it all go in one big breath last night.
Regardless, I'm calmer today. I'm letting the quickness of it all kind of wash over me and work through my to-do lists carefully, with as little stress as possible. And will ride my bike slowly home tonight after dance class as if I don't have a care in the world. I'm frustrated, still, that I can't lose any weight, but I'm guessing that it's probably just another thing my body doesn't want to let go, hanging on to the disease for dear life because it's existed in that state for so many years, it just doesn't know how else to be.
But I'm slowly learning that change doesn't happen overnight as much as I'd like it to. Funny how it doesn't take long at all to contemplate change, to even make the decision to change, but it takes a hell of a long time to put your thoughts into actions and actually see the results.
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Book Expo Canada
After a whirlwind few days, the dust has settled, all the booths are now packed away, and this year's Book Expo Canada (BEC) is over. We were so busy in our own booth that I barely managed to find the time to walk the show floor. Personally, this was my favourite of all the expos I've attended, even though last year I met Kim Cattrall, and the year before that had a funny signing experience with Michael Winter. My one disappointment was not having time to go and introduce myself properly to Chantal Simmons, who signed on Sunday, right when our booth was cracking with appearances by Clive Barker (who is AMAZING), Susan Juby and James Rollins.
But the trade show proper aside, what I really want to talk about today is the now-annual online conference presented in part by Humber College called Devices and Desires. Despite some fairly interesting speakers, including the two Terrys (McBride and O'Reilly), and an exceptional presentation about Web 2.0 by Wayne MacPhail, which included real-world examples from the book universe, including our wiki, I found much of the conference both tiresome and uninspiring.
I think the trouble might be that much of the conference isn't geared to people like me who work for books online already. And it's hard, especially, to sit through question after question from people who either a) don't respect blogs (Mary Lou Finlay, I'm looking at you) or b) are still labouring under the notion that blogging, facebook, delicious, flickr, myspace, etc., are simply passing fancies. My favourite part of Terry McBride's very down-to-earth panel participation, was when he tried to make the point clear that you can't legislate behaviour, you can only adapt, and if you don't, you'll become obscure or obsolete.
Having worked on or around the internet for the better part of a decade now, I can see that this simple piece of advice shows his own innate business acumen in a way. The music industry has been hit hard and, to an extent, books haven't been hit the same way. Quite the opposite, I would argue. By discrediting or not opening yourself up to the world of books online, again, Mary Lou Finlay, I'm looking at you, you're closing yourself off to a world of intelligent, readerly, writerly people who have now found the space to expound, in many ways, about the words closest to their hearts. And not even 24 hours later were my thoughts about all of this confirmed when I sat down with a bunch of Toronto book bloggers for a lovely afternoon of chatting about books, blogs, authors, families, husbands, boyfriends, libraries and more books. It was a brilliant afternoon which made the previous day's conference seem even more redundant in terms of my actual real-life experience in the virtual world.
So much of what I hear at conferences like Devices and Desires stems from fear: fear about antiquated ideas of proprietary content, fear of changing tradition ways of doing business, fear of putting opinions out there that might rock the boat in terms of the book world. But mainly it's hard when all kinds of people get up there and spout on about the problems without necessarily taking the time to investigate any kind of solution (Wayne MacPhail being the obvious exception to that statement).
Anyway, fingers crossed I get to skip the conference next year.
But the trade show proper aside, what I really want to talk about today is the now-annual online conference presented in part by Humber College called Devices and Desires. Despite some fairly interesting speakers, including the two Terrys (McBride and O'Reilly), and an exceptional presentation about Web 2.0 by Wayne MacPhail, which included real-world examples from the book universe, including our wiki, I found much of the conference both tiresome and uninspiring.
I think the trouble might be that much of the conference isn't geared to people like me who work for books online already. And it's hard, especially, to sit through question after question from people who either a) don't respect blogs (Mary Lou Finlay, I'm looking at you) or b) are still labouring under the notion that blogging, facebook, delicious, flickr, myspace, etc., are simply passing fancies. My favourite part of Terry McBride's very down-to-earth panel participation, was when he tried to make the point clear that you can't legislate behaviour, you can only adapt, and if you don't, you'll become obscure or obsolete.
Having worked on or around the internet for the better part of a decade now, I can see that this simple piece of advice shows his own innate business acumen in a way. The music industry has been hit hard and, to an extent, books haven't been hit the same way. Quite the opposite, I would argue. By discrediting or not opening yourself up to the world of books online, again, Mary Lou Finlay, I'm looking at you, you're closing yourself off to a world of intelligent, readerly, writerly people who have now found the space to expound, in many ways, about the words closest to their hearts. And not even 24 hours later were my thoughts about all of this confirmed when I sat down with a bunch of Toronto book bloggers for a lovely afternoon of chatting about books, blogs, authors, families, husbands, boyfriends, libraries and more books. It was a brilliant afternoon which made the previous day's conference seem even more redundant in terms of my actual real-life experience in the virtual world.
So much of what I hear at conferences like Devices and Desires stems from fear: fear about antiquated ideas of proprietary content, fear of changing tradition ways of doing business, fear of putting opinions out there that might rock the boat in terms of the book world. But mainly it's hard when all kinds of people get up there and spout on about the problems without necessarily taking the time to investigate any kind of solution (Wayne MacPhail being the obvious exception to that statement).
Anyway, fingers crossed I get to skip the conference next year.
Thursday, June 07, 2007
Well, I'll Be Monkey's Uncle
I'm quoted in the freaking LA Times online. Um, that's one for Snag-It for sure.
High-larious.
(To borrow a term from an editor friend of mine).
Well, perhaps a shout-out is more accurate, but fascinating anyway.
Between that and the traffic coming from people searching out Rebecca Eckler, it's been an exciting couple of days here on TRH.
High-larious.
(To borrow a term from an editor friend of mine).
Well, perhaps a shout-out is more accurate, but fascinating anyway.
Between that and the traffic coming from people searching out Rebecca Eckler, it's been an exciting couple of days here on TRH.
Interview With Claire Cameron
We've started a really fun group in Facebook, "HarperCollins Canada - The Reading Group," and part of the added-value content that we've been doing around our chosen books is author interviews. I really enjoyed the one I did with first-time novelist Claire Cameron and thought I'd reproduce it here for those of you either not interested in Facebook or not too keen on social media but booklovers all the same.
Posted verbatim from Facebook:
Claire Cameron answers some of my burning questions—all of which are safe to read even if you haven’t finished the novel—there are no spoilers. And if you know me, you know how hard that is for me to accomplish, as I am usually the one who gives away the ending without even realizing what she’s done.
Regardless, Claire’s poured her heart out both on paper and here for us all. So without further ado read along for the Q&A between me and author Claire Cameron.
1. Which grew first in your imagination when you came to write The Line Painter: the characters or the premise for the novel?
I had a picture in my mind of an unconscious woman lying on her back on the shoulder of the highway with one leg over the yellow line. Then I got the idea of a line painter driving up and having to stop to move her leg. From there, I developed the characters: a woman who had been through a recent traumatic experience and an pig-headed line painter.
The story didn't really end up that way, but the premise came from the tension between the two characters as a result of that first image in my head.
2. What would you say is your favourite part of the writing experience? Which is your least favourite?
I have these moments when I'm writing where I feel like a rock star. Something clicks into place, or I get a scene just right, and I get this surge of adrenaline. I can almost hear the crowd. A roar rises up as the fans stomp and shout for more. The chanting reverberates and the sound and the lights wash over me. Except, they don't. It's actually quiet enough to hear a pin drop and I'm alone, in my pj's, my hair in a knot and a stale coffee cup at my side. But whatever, it still feels good.
My least favourite thing is the neurosis. There are ample opportunities for a writer to worry—I'll get rejected, I got rejected, my agent is going to dump me, my publisher won't take my next book, I'll get ignored by the press, I'll get attention from the press for the wrong reasons, I've peaked, I'm washed up, the best days are behind me, etc.
The thing to realize is that most of these things are fairly real possibilities on any given day. Seriously.
3. The landscape, and especially Hearst, is an important part of the novel. Did you set out to write a story about a road trip in particular or did the importance of the landscape simply evolve as the novel evolved?
I was living in London UK while I was writing this book. I love London, but it is crowded and I never got used to it. This one day I was coming up from the tube in Piccadilly Circus and I got caught in a human traffic jam. It was bumper-to-bumper bodies. I remember looking up at the sky, all I could move was my neck because I was wedged so tight against the other people, and thinking about the amount of open space in Northern Ontario. Even though Toronto is crowded too, growing up there I took comfort in the open space of the north. That's when I got the idea of wanting to run away to the north.
All this to say, the landscape and the themes evolved together. They were intricately tied from the start.
4. Was it hard to balance the physical journey with the emotional journey that Carrie takes in the novel? Did you have an idea that one would necessarily influence the other?
I'm not sure I thought of them as separate. That kind of balance comes more easily for me. I seem to prefer to struggle over other things, like the description of roadkill, or a donut.
5. What has been the most daunting about the entire process of getting your first novel published? Do you have advice for other writers out there?
What wasn't daunting? It's one of the scariest things I've ever done. I think actually finding the courage to finish the novel was one of the worst parts.
Advice—I don't know. Maybe be careful what advice you listen too. You have to find your own way.
6. What books are you reading right now? And did you have a feeling of where you wanted your book to fit into the entire canon of Canadian literature?
I am reading On Chesil Beach by Ian McEwan. It is 166 pages and, as I'm a newish mom, seems just about manageable.
I've lived outside of Canada since 1995, so I wasn't thinking about my place in Canadian literature when I wrote the book. This is a good thing. If I had been thinking in broader terms, I would've developed an incurable cramp in my brain.
Posted verbatim from Facebook:
Claire Cameron answers some of my burning questions—all of which are safe to read even if you haven’t finished the novel—there are no spoilers. And if you know me, you know how hard that is for me to accomplish, as I am usually the one who gives away the ending without even realizing what she’s done.
Regardless, Claire’s poured her heart out both on paper and here for us all. So without further ado read along for the Q&A between me and author Claire Cameron.
1. Which grew first in your imagination when you came to write The Line Painter: the characters or the premise for the novel?
I had a picture in my mind of an unconscious woman lying on her back on the shoulder of the highway with one leg over the yellow line. Then I got the idea of a line painter driving up and having to stop to move her leg. From there, I developed the characters: a woman who had been through a recent traumatic experience and an pig-headed line painter.
The story didn't really end up that way, but the premise came from the tension between the two characters as a result of that first image in my head.
2. What would you say is your favourite part of the writing experience? Which is your least favourite?
I have these moments when I'm writing where I feel like a rock star. Something clicks into place, or I get a scene just right, and I get this surge of adrenaline. I can almost hear the crowd. A roar rises up as the fans stomp and shout for more. The chanting reverberates and the sound and the lights wash over me. Except, they don't. It's actually quiet enough to hear a pin drop and I'm alone, in my pj's, my hair in a knot and a stale coffee cup at my side. But whatever, it still feels good.
My least favourite thing is the neurosis. There are ample opportunities for a writer to worry—I'll get rejected, I got rejected, my agent is going to dump me, my publisher won't take my next book, I'll get ignored by the press, I'll get attention from the press for the wrong reasons, I've peaked, I'm washed up, the best days are behind me, etc.
The thing to realize is that most of these things are fairly real possibilities on any given day. Seriously.
3. The landscape, and especially Hearst, is an important part of the novel. Did you set out to write a story about a road trip in particular or did the importance of the landscape simply evolve as the novel evolved?
I was living in London UK while I was writing this book. I love London, but it is crowded and I never got used to it. This one day I was coming up from the tube in Piccadilly Circus and I got caught in a human traffic jam. It was bumper-to-bumper bodies. I remember looking up at the sky, all I could move was my neck because I was wedged so tight against the other people, and thinking about the amount of open space in Northern Ontario. Even though Toronto is crowded too, growing up there I took comfort in the open space of the north. That's when I got the idea of wanting to run away to the north.
All this to say, the landscape and the themes evolved together. They were intricately tied from the start.
4. Was it hard to balance the physical journey with the emotional journey that Carrie takes in the novel? Did you have an idea that one would necessarily influence the other?
I'm not sure I thought of them as separate. That kind of balance comes more easily for me. I seem to prefer to struggle over other things, like the description of roadkill, or a donut.
5. What has been the most daunting about the entire process of getting your first novel published? Do you have advice for other writers out there?
What wasn't daunting? It's one of the scariest things I've ever done. I think actually finding the courage to finish the novel was one of the worst parts.
Advice—I don't know. Maybe be careful what advice you listen too. You have to find your own way.
6. What books are you reading right now? And did you have a feeling of where you wanted your book to fit into the entire canon of Canadian literature?
I am reading On Chesil Beach by Ian McEwan. It is 166 pages and, as I'm a newish mom, seems just about manageable.
I've lived outside of Canada since 1995, so I wasn't thinking about my place in Canadian literature when I wrote the book. This is a good thing. If I had been thinking in broader terms, I would've developed an incurable cramp in my brain.
TRH Updates - Hell Yeah!
I'm probably the only person on my floor that actually shouted "hell yeah!" when I read this morning that Don McKay won the Griffin Poetry Prize. And if you haven't read Strike/Slip I would highly encourage you to do so, it's just wonderful.
Other updates include two more books read, #s 39 & 40, Janice Kulyk Keefer's The Ladies Lending Library, which is a lovely little book about a group of Ukrainian immigrant women who spend their summers up in a group of cottages on Kalyna Beach, a fictional location set just outside Midland, Ontario. Perfect for summer reading. And another book for What Would Harry Read, Skulduggery Pleasant by Derek Landy. I am looking forward to this weekend, though, as my work reading slows down a bit so I can finally finish Alissa York's Effigy and Love in the Time of Cholera, both of which I am enjoying immensely.
And my RRHB has gone to NYC to play a show on Friday night. I am insanely jealous. Not only will he get to hang out, but he'll get to see some of fun NYC friends, while I'm home biking and eating by myself.
Last but not least, I watched Breach last night and is it ever a good little film. Based on the life of Robert Hanssen, an FBI agent who sold secrets to the Russians for many, many years, the film stars an outstanding Chris Cooper in the lead role, with Ryan Phillippe playing the part of Eric O'Neill, a young upstart put in place to help take him down. The entire movie is rock solid right up until the end when there's a bit of a Departed-style rat moment that makes you roll your eyes, but on the whole a sort of overlooked gem of a film.
EDITED TO ADD: And I just found out that Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie won the Orange Prize, which absolutely pushes that book up on my TBR pile. It's the Nigeria entry in my Around the World in 52 Books challenge.
Other updates include two more books read, #s 39 & 40, Janice Kulyk Keefer's The Ladies Lending Library, which is a lovely little book about a group of Ukrainian immigrant women who spend their summers up in a group of cottages on Kalyna Beach, a fictional location set just outside Midland, Ontario. Perfect for summer reading. And another book for What Would Harry Read, Skulduggery Pleasant by Derek Landy. I am looking forward to this weekend, though, as my work reading slows down a bit so I can finally finish Alissa York's Effigy and Love in the Time of Cholera, both of which I am enjoying immensely.
And my RRHB has gone to NYC to play a show on Friday night. I am insanely jealous. Not only will he get to hang out, but he'll get to see some of fun NYC friends, while I'm home biking and eating by myself.
Last but not least, I watched Breach last night and is it ever a good little film. Based on the life of Robert Hanssen, an FBI agent who sold secrets to the Russians for many, many years, the film stars an outstanding Chris Cooper in the lead role, with Ryan Phillippe playing the part of Eric O'Neill, a young upstart put in place to help take him down. The entire movie is rock solid right up until the end when there's a bit of a Departed-style rat moment that makes you roll your eyes, but on the whole a sort of overlooked gem of a film.
EDITED TO ADD: And I just found out that Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie won the Orange Prize, which absolutely pushes that book up on my TBR pile. It's the Nigeria entry in my Around the World in 52 Books challenge.
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
Cormac McCarthy On Oprah: Oh-Tastic!
So last night I abandoned my mandatory work reading an hour early (read: didn't get any done at all because I got home so late) so that I could watch Cormac McCarthy on Oprah. For his first and only television interview, I felt Oprah's questions were a bit soft, but McCarthy came across as a hyper-intelligent, charming, and fascinating man.
He did, however, have some wonderful insight into his writing and my favourite part of the too-short interview was when he spoke about his craft. He explains that sometimes writing is difficult because an author has always got a picture in his/her mind of the perfect thing you want to achieve, and it's frustrating when it doesn't come out quite right. I'm sure everyone who has ever put pen to paper understands exactly what he's saying. As McCarthy continued, he said to Oprah that he believes this interior image is your signpost, your guide, and even though you'll never get there 'without it you'll never get anywhere.'
Some of the problems with how the interview may have come across could have been down to the editing, because the clips on Oprah's site actually bring out a longer, more thoughtful interview. There's one clip where McCarthy speaks about James Joyce as a model for punctuation, and how he uses the tools of language to write sentences that are easy to understand. Now that's a very simple piece of solid advice that probably doesn't need a semicolon. And it might be a sharp insight in terms of rewriting, seeing how you can take punctuation out to clean up your prose rather than punctuate the sense back in.
Fascinating.
He did, however, have some wonderful insight into his writing and my favourite part of the too-short interview was when he spoke about his craft. He explains that sometimes writing is difficult because an author has always got a picture in his/her mind of the perfect thing you want to achieve, and it's frustrating when it doesn't come out quite right. I'm sure everyone who has ever put pen to paper understands exactly what he's saying. As McCarthy continued, he said to Oprah that he believes this interior image is your signpost, your guide, and even though you'll never get there 'without it you'll never get anywhere.'
Some of the problems with how the interview may have come across could have been down to the editing, because the clips on Oprah's site actually bring out a longer, more thoughtful interview. There's one clip where McCarthy speaks about James Joyce as a model for punctuation, and how he uses the tools of language to write sentences that are easy to understand. Now that's a very simple piece of solid advice that probably doesn't need a semicolon. And it might be a sharp insight in terms of rewriting, seeing how you can take punctuation out to clean up your prose rather than punctuate the sense back in.
Fascinating.
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
Shut Up Rebecca Eckler
I know I'll have more to say about this but for now, a giant, rollicking eye roll and a large dose of TWOP-inspired shut up, to Rebecca Eckler who is now suing Judd Apatow for copyright infringement. Because no woman has ever been knocked up before Eckler, and certainly everyone on the planet has read her book. Yawn.
Just for the record, I saw Knocked Up this weekend and haven't read Eckler's 'book' but have already made up my absolutely judgmental mind that I will come down hard on the side of Apatow on this one. Considering he's got two kids, he's had some experience with getting someone knocked up himself. That and the movie kicks all kinds of sweet, hilarious, and awesome ass. And Rebecca Eckler, meh.
EDITED TO ADD: And, the whole 'poor me' tone of the Maclean's piece still has me groaning. Out loud. At work.
Just for the record, I saw Knocked Up this weekend and haven't read Eckler's 'book' but have already made up my absolutely judgmental mind that I will come down hard on the side of Apatow on this one. Considering he's got two kids, he's had some experience with getting someone knocked up himself. That and the movie kicks all kinds of sweet, hilarious, and awesome ass. And Rebecca Eckler, meh.
EDITED TO ADD: And, the whole 'poor me' tone of the Maclean's piece still has me groaning. Out loud. At work.
Summer Beach Books
Chatelaine has a list of their top 50 Beach Books up this month. Lord knows I love a good list and I've actually read 30 of the books chosen. Much better odds than the 1001 Books list, that's for sure. Oh, and they've done the list as a PDF too, which means you can print it off and carry it to the book store when stocking up for the summer. Smart!
But the list got me thinking: are there books that you specifically save for summer reading? Do you tend on the fluffy side or tackle a classic or two? I generally save any new Chris Bohjalian novels for the week I spend up north by myself, and read a lot of mysteries in the summer. I also try to plow through some big classics because reading Little Women as a girl up north from an old library copy found when Havelock actually had a library (am I even remembering this correctly? Probably not) was one of the moments that actually changed my life. I guess I try to recreate that 'feeling' each summer with a new classic or two. In fact, I spent so much of my summer up at the cottage that all of my favourite reading experiences actually happened there—and they still continue to do so.
So what's on your summer reading piles this year?
But the list got me thinking: are there books that you specifically save for summer reading? Do you tend on the fluffy side or tackle a classic or two? I generally save any new Chris Bohjalian novels for the week I spend up north by myself, and read a lot of mysteries in the summer. I also try to plow through some big classics because reading Little Women as a girl up north from an old library copy found when Havelock actually had a library (am I even remembering this correctly? Probably not) was one of the moments that actually changed my life. I guess I try to recreate that 'feeling' each summer with a new classic or two. In fact, I spent so much of my summer up at the cottage that all of my favourite reading experiences actually happened there—and they still continue to do so.
So what's on your summer reading piles this year?
Sunday, June 03, 2007
#38 - Remembering The Bones
I was lucky enough to read an advance copy of Frances Itani's latest novel, Remembering the Bones, this weekend. On a day (today) where I barely managed to get out of bed, it kept me good company. The story of an elderly woman named Georgina (Georgie) who drives her car off the road and into a ravine down the road from her house, Remembering the Bones is an addictive little novel.
The title refers to the main character's obsession with her grandfather's Gray's Anatomy, 1901, and how she studied the various body parts over the years. Lying on the cold, spring ground, Georgie remembers not only the bones of her body, but those of her life as well, as she waits either for death or to be rescued.
When she drove her car off the road, Georgie was on her way to the airport, headed off to London for a lovely holiday. Born on the same day as Queen Elizabeth II, Georgie, along with 98 other lucky members of the Commonwealth, is invited to a special birthday lunch at Buckingham Palace. And the novel makes the most of this connection, and spilled in between Georgie's own memories are those of Elizabeth's, from her life-long interest in the Queen, and as the days pass while she's lying on the bottom of the ravine, we learn more about both of their lives.
It would be impossible not to think of Margaret Laurence when reading this novel, not to think of Carol Shields, but even if Remembering the Bones fits in with a long line of similar Canadian novels that came before it, it's still refreshing, interesting and told in Itani's pure, generous voice. She has the capacity to create these honest Canadian characters, ancestors we all have packed away in our own genealogical closets, without them feeling stereotypical or confined by their small Ontario towns.
I enjoyed all of the characters in this book, the ones touched by the two great wars, the ones touched by the other tragedies that seem to define a life, deaths, births, books, all of the important things that mark the way from one end of a person to the other. And, as always, I'm looking for inspiration for my own stories and am thankful for Itani for introducing me to Queen of Home: Her Reign from Infancy to Age, From Attic to Cellar by Emma Churchman Hewitt, which I am now obsessed with tracking a copy down.
PHOTO IN CONTEXT: I read the last 10 pages of the novel sitting at my desk at home when I should have been writing. You can catch how cluttered it is with the week's worth of flyers, magazines and other catch-alls underneath the book. You can also see the text of my next Classic Start underneath.
On Chesil Beach Redux
Well, Michiko Kakutani apparently vehemently disliked On Chesil Beach, calling it "a smarmy portrait of two incomprehensible and unlikable people" (link via Baby Got Books). I certainly don't think the book was an abysmal failure nor do I think McEwan has created "a small, sullen, unsatisfying story" with the little book—the opposite in fact. But perhaps that's why Kakutani reviews for the NY Times and me for my own pleasure here at TRH.
Thursday, May 31, 2007
Thursday Is Link Day
Well, I'm dead sick with a bad cold that travelled from my brother to my husband then to me. I've read a couple books (#36, Town House by Tish Cohen [lovely, delightful and funny] and #37, Flyte by Angie Sage for What Would Harry Read) and am in the middle of a really fun kids book called Skulduggery Pleasant by an Irish author, Derek Landy. It's another titled for WWHR, and once I'm done that I'm hoping to get back to some of my reading challenges, fingers crossed.
Annnywwaaay, some interesting things around the web:
1. A Harry Potter theme park: is it really necessary?
2. BOOKED! It's pretty exciting that Book Expo Canada, our annual trade show and conference, has opened up to the public in the form of this 3 day festival. I'm not sure if I'll be attending too many events because I'll be working the show but if you love books there are some great authors coming to town. Speaking of which, Toronto Life has a great contest to win tickets to see Gore Vidal.
3. Gabriel Garcia Marquez celebrated. I've started Love in the Time of Cholera and am enjoying it immensely. It's so nice to hear of thousands turning out to see an author and, well, unheard of really.
4. Barnes and Noble recommends Paulette Jiles's Stormy Weather. Like Oprah's Book Club and Heather's Picks: does anyone read books that are recommended by the big book stores? I'm curious to know.
5. I heart BoldType, it's just so classy. Check out their newsletter, gor-geous. And they've suggested The Raw Shark Texts as a Beach Read, which is so fitting in an oddly ironic, conceptual fish kind of way.
That's enough for now, I think. Stupid cold. It's making my brain fuzzy.
Annnywwaaay, some interesting things around the web:
1. A Harry Potter theme park: is it really necessary?
2. BOOKED! It's pretty exciting that Book Expo Canada, our annual trade show and conference, has opened up to the public in the form of this 3 day festival. I'm not sure if I'll be attending too many events because I'll be working the show but if you love books there are some great authors coming to town. Speaking of which, Toronto Life has a great contest to win tickets to see Gore Vidal.
3. Gabriel Garcia Marquez celebrated. I've started Love in the Time of Cholera and am enjoying it immensely. It's so nice to hear of thousands turning out to see an author and, well, unheard of really.
4. Barnes and Noble recommends Paulette Jiles's Stormy Weather. Like Oprah's Book Club and Heather's Picks: does anyone read books that are recommended by the big book stores? I'm curious to know.
5. I heart BoldType, it's just so classy. Check out their newsletter, gor-geous. And they've suggested The Raw Shark Texts as a Beach Read, which is so fitting in an oddly ironic, conceptual fish kind of way.
That's enough for now, I think. Stupid cold. It's making my brain fuzzy.
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
TRH Event - The 5-Minute Face
So, at lunch I went down to the Sephora at the Eaton's Centre to get a 5-Minute face done as part of a promotion for Carmindy's The 5-Minute Face: The Quick & Easy Makeup Guide For Every Woman. And boy, it was fun. Almost as much fun as learning to do the 'smoky' eye when I went to MAC for the ultimate girlie make-up party.
While the look that I wanted, according to the makeup artist (the retro 60s face from the book) would take more than 5 minutes (shockingly!), she did do a lovely job of smoothing out my skin and giving me a mini-smoky eye. Even though I already know how to do that, I did manage to pick up some tips that will help with the Brigitte Bardot-inspired look I am going to try out this week.
Carmindy, of course, is gorgeous, and was helpful with her tips; she was also telling everyone that women have got to stop putting themselves down (I'm paraphrasing), and enjoy their beauty (and again, paraphrasing).
Although I did have a moment of panic that she would take one look at me and say, "Yup we need to get you on the show right away..." On the whole, for a lunch-hour break, it was totally fun.
While the look that I wanted, according to the makeup artist (the retro 60s face from the book) would take more than 5 minutes (shockingly!), she did do a lovely job of smoothing out my skin and giving me a mini-smoky eye. Even though I already know how to do that, I did manage to pick up some tips that will help with the Brigitte Bardot-inspired look I am going to try out this week.
Carmindy, of course, is gorgeous, and was helpful with her tips; she was also telling everyone that women have got to stop putting themselves down (I'm paraphrasing), and enjoy their beauty (and again, paraphrasing).
Although I did have a moment of panic that she would take one look at me and say, "Yup we need to get you on the show right away..." On the whole, for a lunch-hour break, it was totally fun.
Monday, May 28, 2007
"Sunshine Makes Me High"
A young girl exiting the Yonge/Bloor subway stop had that on her t-shirt, and it kind of made my day. She might have been a serious wacko but I preferred to envision her as a young, delightful woman who truly sees the value in a beautiful day.
Other things I am thankful for today:
1. Bike lanes: It may be like the Daytona 500 within the thin white stripe, but it sure beats battling giant SUVs and maniacs on cell phones outside the lines.
2. Swearing: Does this need any explanation?
3. Tish Cohen's Town House: Such a delightful book to be reading yesterday in the early evening.
4. The end of the television season: The pressure, oh the pressure, of keeping up with all the shows. It was just too much. Now I'm glad that it'll be a good few months before the serious dramas start and we can mindlessly wile away the hours watching the spectacle of So You Think You Can Dance. Awe-some.
5. My RRHB: For doing all of the chores so I could write all day yesterday. And, do you know what, I did! I managed to send 31 pages to my mentor and have approximately 80 pages of the second draft of my extra long story.
6. Dance class: I don't care that it's a beginner class. I don't care that sometimes I get the steps wrong and am the chubbiest girl in the room. The teacher is wonderful and the class is just so much fun.
7. Organic chocolate: Again, does this really need an explanation?
8. The word "sigh": It says so much in an email.
9. Facebook: I am obsessed; some people I love getting in touch with, others, meh, but it sure makes your inbox look busy considering they send you an email for just about everything. It might get tired, but for this week, I'm still chilling with my pokes, my peeps, and my photo albums.
10. Lesley C.'s University of Guelph Sweatshirt: I've had it for over 10 years now and really should return it but it's the most comfortable piece of clothing I (sort of) own. I wore it all day yesterday and I think it was part of the reason I got so much done. That and the RRHB was ill so he hogged the TV all day so I couldn't procrastinate by watching Step Up AGAIN even after I totally made him watch it with me on Saturday night. So deliciously bad—you can't even know.
Other things I am thankful for today:
1. Bike lanes: It may be like the Daytona 500 within the thin white stripe, but it sure beats battling giant SUVs and maniacs on cell phones outside the lines.
2. Swearing: Does this need any explanation?
3. Tish Cohen's Town House: Such a delightful book to be reading yesterday in the early evening.
4. The end of the television season: The pressure, oh the pressure, of keeping up with all the shows. It was just too much. Now I'm glad that it'll be a good few months before the serious dramas start and we can mindlessly wile away the hours watching the spectacle of So You Think You Can Dance. Awe-some.
5. My RRHB: For doing all of the chores so I could write all day yesterday. And, do you know what, I did! I managed to send 31 pages to my mentor and have approximately 80 pages of the second draft of my extra long story.
6. Dance class: I don't care that it's a beginner class. I don't care that sometimes I get the steps wrong and am the chubbiest girl in the room. The teacher is wonderful and the class is just so much fun.
7. Organic chocolate: Again, does this really need an explanation?
8. The word "sigh": It says so much in an email.
9. Facebook: I am obsessed; some people I love getting in touch with, others, meh, but it sure makes your inbox look busy considering they send you an email for just about everything. It might get tired, but for this week, I'm still chilling with my pokes, my peeps, and my photo albums.
10. Lesley C.'s University of Guelph Sweatshirt: I've had it for over 10 years now and really should return it but it's the most comfortable piece of clothing I (sort of) own. I wore it all day yesterday and I think it was part of the reason I got so much done. That and the RRHB was ill so he hogged the TV all day so I couldn't procrastinate by watching Step Up AGAIN even after I totally made him watch it with me on Saturday night. So deliciously bad—you can't even know.
Friday, May 25, 2007
Booktherapy
Discovering a new book blog isn't always postworthy, but I've been quietly reading tn's booktherapy for the past couple days and am slowly coming around to its philosophy: books as mental health barometers. With bits of intimate details interspersed with ideas around reading experiences, the blog examines, psychologically, the impact of books on various aspects of mental health. In context, here, to the author's life. This got me thinking: how do we view books in terms of our own psychology? Do we all have books / authors that act as a divining rods in terms of insight into our own psyches? If so, what are they?
I know I read On the Road because I dream of the day I can take off on a year-long, world wide tour of places I've never been. I know I feel absurdly attached to so many stories that seem to have an effect upon my own brittle grasp on reality. Anyway, do you all have a book, novel or otherwise, that sort of reflects your own psychological and/or philosophical point of view?
I know I read On the Road because I dream of the day I can take off on a year-long, world wide tour of places I've never been. I know I feel absurdly attached to so many stories that seem to have an effect upon my own brittle grasp on reality. Anyway, do you all have a book, novel or otherwise, that sort of reflects your own psychological and/or philosophical point of view?
Thursday, May 24, 2007
Slice And Dice The "Dick"?
Hyperlinked via Bookninja, I jumped over to this NY Times article about Orion books publishing a series of pared down classics like Moby-Dick and David Copperfield. As I make a great deal of my writing living from paring down classics for kids, I'm always torn when I read about stuff like this.
On the one hand, I wouldn't ever consider discouraging anyone from reading any book, abridged or otherwise, and if the classic Moby-Dick is just too much novel for you, then hey, at least you're getting the gist of the story, right? But on the other hand, why on earth would you need to do this for an adult audience? What holy purpose does it serve? Books, in and of themselves, are microcosmic looks at a time and a place, and while we might consider some of the classics over-written, they have managed to earmark their place in our collective creative soul for a reason, and why change them?
My own Classic Starts are primarily for kids. But does that even matter? I think so, and I really believe, especially after my own classroom visit, that reading of all kinds inspires children. And Frankenstein, Robinson Crusoe, Little Women, they're all great stories, ones that I worked extremely hard to retain the original essence of when abridging them for younger readers. Are the writers/editors of these adult abridged editions going to do the same thing? And do you really think there are classics out there that need to be trimmed for this day and age? Probably, but that's not really for me to say, I don't think...
To me, it sort of reeks of the Restoration, when they gave Shakespeare happy endings because that was the spirit of drama at the time. Necessary then, but I'm pleased to punch that Hamlet was restored with Ophelia entirely in her grave by the time I ended up at university.
On the one hand, I wouldn't ever consider discouraging anyone from reading any book, abridged or otherwise, and if the classic Moby-Dick is just too much novel for you, then hey, at least you're getting the gist of the story, right? But on the other hand, why on earth would you need to do this for an adult audience? What holy purpose does it serve? Books, in and of themselves, are microcosmic looks at a time and a place, and while we might consider some of the classics over-written, they have managed to earmark their place in our collective creative soul for a reason, and why change them?
My own Classic Starts are primarily for kids. But does that even matter? I think so, and I really believe, especially after my own classroom visit, that reading of all kinds inspires children. And Frankenstein, Robinson Crusoe, Little Women, they're all great stories, ones that I worked extremely hard to retain the original essence of when abridging them for younger readers. Are the writers/editors of these adult abridged editions going to do the same thing? And do you really think there are classics out there that need to be trimmed for this day and age? Probably, but that's not really for me to say, I don't think...
To me, it sort of reeks of the Restoration, when they gave Shakespeare happy endings because that was the spirit of drama at the time. Necessary then, but I'm pleased to punch that Hamlet was restored with Ophelia entirely in her grave by the time I ended up at university.
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
#35 - On Chesil Beach
For now, I'm going to post pictures of the books I read in context. I spent the weekend up north, so this photo is fitting then, with the galley (thanks Trisha!) of Ian McEwan's latest, On Chesil Beach perched on the railing of our sun deck. The last book of McEwan's I read was Amsterdam and considering I barely remember anything about it, I'm happy to say that my reading experience of this sweet, sad little book was extremely different.The story of newlyweds Edward and Florence, On Chesil Beach explores how one very small mistake, a misspoken word, a poor reaction, can alter the course of your life forever. I don't want to say much more than that considering the novel is only 166 pages long and to give too much away would perhaps ruin it entirely. Suffice to say that it takes all that was so great about Saturday, the attention to detail, the exploration of family life, and the intimate details of everyday events, and shrink wraps it to a moment versus an entire day.
Set in 1962, On Chesil Beach, as much as it is about the change the characters themselves experience, it's also about the evolution (and later sexual revolution) of England in the 1960s. The setting feels so perfect too, even though the novel travels back and forth through Edward and Florence's lives, the one night that they spend on Chesil Beach truly impacts their past, present and future, and I find that fascinating. I love novels that challenge the idea of traditional storytelling and, in a way, even though McEwan's style is very classic, and this novel quite straightforward, it's how the author gets into the details that makes this book so great.
I can't tell you how perfect this was to read sitting in the quiet at the cottage, watching a loon or two float by, hearing the birds, feeling the pebbles underfoot, imagining the cold beef the characters had for their dinner...just lovely.
Cottage Feet
In homage to Pickle Me This, "Cottage Feet," a very happy pair of Vans kicking back on the sun deck enjoying a can of Strongbow. Even if I did cut off the tips of my left toes.
Sunday, May 20, 2007
Shhhh, Sleeping Rock Stars
My RRHB was in Windsor and London the last two nights, and now he's asleep, along with their drummer Nathan Lawr (who is also a wonderful musician in his own right) who is crashed out on my couch.
Normally, if you had a regular house that wasn't being renovated, there would be other places for you to hang out, like downstairs. But because we're all crammed upstairs, I'm sort of trapped here on the computer waiting for them to wake up. And considering we're supposed to leave for the cottage in an hour, I'm getting desperate to jiggle the bed a little and step away from the celebrity gossip. There's only so much trash I can fill my mind up with before feeling slightly dirty myself.
I'm also pleased to say that two nights of really good sleep have brought me back to rights in terms of the past week. Last night I watched The Good Shepherd and barely made it through before crawling into bed at 10 PM. I also finished reading Claire Cameron's debut novel, The Line Painter, which is #34 for the year.
Normally, if you had a regular house that wasn't being renovated, there would be other places for you to hang out, like downstairs. But because we're all crammed upstairs, I'm sort of trapped here on the computer waiting for them to wake up. And considering we're supposed to leave for the cottage in an hour, I'm getting desperate to jiggle the bed a little and step away from the celebrity gossip. There's only so much trash I can fill my mind up with before feeling slightly dirty myself.
I'm also pleased to say that two nights of really good sleep have brought me back to rights in terms of the past week. Last night I watched The Good Shepherd and barely made it through before crawling into bed at 10 PM. I also finished reading Claire Cameron's debut novel, The Line Painter, which is #34 for the year.
Saturday, May 19, 2007
What A Week
I can barely believe that it's Saturday again. The week flew by at light speed and I haven't even been home long enough (other than sleeping) to update anything. So, because today should be spent writing so I have something to send my mentor by the end of the weekend, I'm updated via a quickie list. Had I had time this week, all of these would have been separate entries, so I apologize for the brevity.
1. This was the week of author events through work. I attended four of them in three days. The first, a forum to launch Michael Chettleburgh's Young Thugs, was very interesting. I even learned that there were Irish gangs in Toronto in 1850. Another thing for my list to investigate because I think it would make a cool story. Then I went to two different events for Daniel Handler: a Lemony Snicket cocktail party, and an event at the Andy Pool Hall to celebrate his novel Adverbs. But my favourite was the underground club party for Richard Flanagan, author of The Unknown Terrorist, where Russell Smith mildly insulted me before carrying on his way and doing a superb on stage interview with the author, who, by the way, read Chekhov as preparation for writing about the women in his novel. That made me want to take him out for dinner and listen to him wax philosophical for hours.
2. Gilmore Girls is over. I managed to watch the last episode but only after begging my RRHB to remember to tape it before he went off to his second job on Tuesday. I was chatting over email with Kate who pointed out that it's actually kind of ironic to see every single episode of a show and then forget to tape the very last one. She's right, but I was just so busy this week that a number of things slipped my mind. I felt very ho-hum about the finale. Even though the show has absolutely gotten off track as of late, I'm still not 100% convinced it should have been over. And how they dealt with both of the relationships, Luke and Logan, was ridiculous. Regardless, it's one less hour of television I'll have to keep up with in the fall.
3. I finished reading Chantal Simmons's Stuck in Downward Dog. I got a little teary at the end, and it was refreshing to read a chicklit novel where 'getting the boy' wasn't the central focus of the story. I liked how the book was more about a journey for the character into herself versus a more stereotypical journey into the right relationship. Anyway, that's book #33 for the year. I'm also halfway through about a half-dozen other books that I'm hoping to finish this weekend up north while my brother and RRHB are watching Pan's Labyrinth.
4. Yesterday afternoon, our summer hours started. I had some work to finish up so I didn't leave right at 1:30 PM, but I did manage to make it to an afternoon show of Away From Her, Sarah Polley's directorial debut. Based on Alice Munro's story "The Bear Came Down the Mountain," I felt like it was a solid adaptation, if Polley did take some liberties with the story's point of view and tended to sentimentalize where the author had been tack-sharp. I found some aspects of the film a bit overly dramatic but Gordon Pinsent and Julie Christie were just so good that I was willing to overlook the bits of the movie that just felt too forced. Grant reading "The Cinnamon Peeler's Wife" really? Regardless of how much I love that poem, the can lit overtures in the film were a little, well, eye roll inducing. But I don't want that to deflect from the fact that Away From Her is a film I would highly recommend as counter programming to the glut of American multiplex blockbusters hitting the streets every week or two.
5. I saw yet another specialist this week about some lady problems I've been having. Needless to say, a lot of what I'm experiencing is probably a side effect of the methotrexate, which doesn't make it any easier to take. I'm also getting frustrated because I can't seem to loose a single pound. Eating better, riding my bike, dance class, pilates, and still over the course of the last few months, I am the same chubby -bloated sick-looking girl I was when I started. I'm very frustrated about all of that but I have to say that if it's the medicine at least I know that I'll be off of it in the next six-to-eight months and maybe then the weight will start coming off. I can't stand looking at pictures of myself though, which is annoying because everyone and their uncle seems to update Facebook with a million different albums. Anyway. I really liked this doctor very much and feel like she'll be extremely helpful when it comes to this particular problem that won't seem to go away. I have to say that even now that the disease is in remission technically, I'm dead sick of all the treatments. It's been three years of different medications, difficult side effects, and I'm just plain tired of it all. And the mood swings with everything else combined has just about caught me by the fray of my last rope.
1. This was the week of author events through work. I attended four of them in three days. The first, a forum to launch Michael Chettleburgh's Young Thugs, was very interesting. I even learned that there were Irish gangs in Toronto in 1850. Another thing for my list to investigate because I think it would make a cool story. Then I went to two different events for Daniel Handler: a Lemony Snicket cocktail party, and an event at the Andy Pool Hall to celebrate his novel Adverbs. But my favourite was the underground club party for Richard Flanagan, author of The Unknown Terrorist, where Russell Smith mildly insulted me before carrying on his way and doing a superb on stage interview with the author, who, by the way, read Chekhov as preparation for writing about the women in his novel. That made me want to take him out for dinner and listen to him wax philosophical for hours.
2. Gilmore Girls is over. I managed to watch the last episode but only after begging my RRHB to remember to tape it before he went off to his second job on Tuesday. I was chatting over email with Kate who pointed out that it's actually kind of ironic to see every single episode of a show and then forget to tape the very last one. She's right, but I was just so busy this week that a number of things slipped my mind. I felt very ho-hum about the finale. Even though the show has absolutely gotten off track as of late, I'm still not 100% convinced it should have been over. And how they dealt with both of the relationships, Luke and Logan, was ridiculous. Regardless, it's one less hour of television I'll have to keep up with in the fall.
3. I finished reading Chantal Simmons's Stuck in Downward Dog. I got a little teary at the end, and it was refreshing to read a chicklit novel where 'getting the boy' wasn't the central focus of the story. I liked how the book was more about a journey for the character into herself versus a more stereotypical journey into the right relationship. Anyway, that's book #33 for the year. I'm also halfway through about a half-dozen other books that I'm hoping to finish this weekend up north while my brother and RRHB are watching Pan's Labyrinth.
4. Yesterday afternoon, our summer hours started. I had some work to finish up so I didn't leave right at 1:30 PM, but I did manage to make it to an afternoon show of Away From Her, Sarah Polley's directorial debut. Based on Alice Munro's story "The Bear Came Down the Mountain," I felt like it was a solid adaptation, if Polley did take some liberties with the story's point of view and tended to sentimentalize where the author had been tack-sharp. I found some aspects of the film a bit overly dramatic but Gordon Pinsent and Julie Christie were just so good that I was willing to overlook the bits of the movie that just felt too forced. Grant reading "The Cinnamon Peeler's Wife" really? Regardless of how much I love that poem, the can lit overtures in the film were a little, well, eye roll inducing. But I don't want that to deflect from the fact that Away From Her is a film I would highly recommend as counter programming to the glut of American multiplex blockbusters hitting the streets every week or two.
5. I saw yet another specialist this week about some lady problems I've been having. Needless to say, a lot of what I'm experiencing is probably a side effect of the methotrexate, which doesn't make it any easier to take. I'm also getting frustrated because I can't seem to loose a single pound. Eating better, riding my bike, dance class, pilates, and still over the course of the last few months, I am the same chubby -bloated sick-looking girl I was when I started. I'm very frustrated about all of that but I have to say that if it's the medicine at least I know that I'll be off of it in the next six-to-eight months and maybe then the weight will start coming off. I can't stand looking at pictures of myself though, which is annoying because everyone and their uncle seems to update Facebook with a million different albums. Anyway. I really liked this doctor very much and feel like she'll be extremely helpful when it comes to this particular problem that won't seem to go away. I have to say that even now that the disease is in remission technically, I'm dead sick of all the treatments. It's been three years of different medications, difficult side effects, and I'm just plain tired of it all. And the mood swings with everything else combined has just about caught me by the fray of my last rope.
Sunday, May 13, 2007
TRH Movie - Catch and Release
Yet another film I had to review for Chart this weekend, I watched a DVD screener of Catch and Release. Starring Jennifer Garner, Timothy Olyphant, Kevin Smith and Juliette Lewis, the film meanders and aimlessly moves around in a far too subtle way to be effective over the course of its almost two hour run time.
Set adrift after the death of her fiancé, Gray (yes, that's her name, yawn) has to learn to live without Grady, who dies off screen and is never seen in the film with the exception of a few photographs. With her perfect life ruined, oh-so subtly symbolized by the beautiful wedding flowers being turned back at the door and the gorgeous cake rotting away in the fridge, Gray doesn't quite know where to turn. So she bunks down with Grady's friends, Sammy (played by director Kevin Smith) and Dennis (newcomer Sam Jaeger). Oh, and let's not forget Fritz (where did Grant come up with such ridiculous names?), the LA-living bad boy who boffs a waitress in the bathroom during the wake at Grady's mother's house, and who becomes Gray's love interest.
The movie feels so predictable, even though you know it's trying hard not to be—so of course, problems from Grady's past surface that she had no idea about (really?) in the form of Maureen (Juliette Lewis), a woman from his good time days when he was out in LA visiting Fritz (I can't type that name without feeling like it's just so ridiculous). And it's hard, because you can see the vibe that Grant is going for, sort of akin to the films of the utterly and always brilliant Allison Anders, where it's more subtle and sensitive than your typical studio picture. But Catch and Release never truly shows the heart of say a film like Things Behind the Sun or Grace of My Heart.
Essentially, the biggest problem with Catch and Release is that none of it really feels organic, and nothing feels more forced in this picture than the setting. And maybe it's a problem with the writing or maybe with the performances, although elements of both are truly lovely, so I can't quite put my finger on why it doesn't work. The film is wistful when it should have been hard hitting, obscure where it should have been obvious, and derivative when it should have gone in another direction.
(Explaining the worst made-for-TV moment would spoil the middle of the film so I won't go there but just trust me to say that you'd roll your eyes too).
The trouble with the movie, I think, that in order to see the impact of Grady's death on Gray's life, there had to be more than little reminders of the way it used to be. There's not enough there to understand why she's so lost, there's nothing of her previous person there to examine the impact of the tragic moments. In fact, there's little in terms of motivation for many of the main players, which leaves you wanting more, despite how well Grant tries to set up the situations.
I did, however, listen to the entire commentary track between Grant and Kevin Smith, which was, of course, hilarious and insightful. At one point, he talks about how much he hated the 'outdoorsy' aspects of the film, stating that he'd rather sit down and watch four films in a day than spent it fly fishing. At that moment, I felt like writing a fan letter to him that started, "even though we're both happily married, if you were ever looking for that girl to sit down and watch all those movies with..." Heh. Sigh.
Regardless, I read a few reviews that really criticized Smith's performance, but I didn't feel that way at all. I thought all the actors, including the normally over-"acting" Jennifer Garner, did a really good job with the material. I just felt like the script would have worked so much better as a novel, where Grant, as a writer, could have had more time to explore the absent back story, and could have filled in some of the missing pieces.
Anyway, I didn't get much of my own writing done this weekend for the watching of all these films and the writing of the subsequent reviews. And now this week is just so busy that I'm afraid another week will pass before I actually get to send anything to my mentor at Humber. I'm not so happy about that. I'm feeling the pressure actually.
Set adrift after the death of her fiancé, Gray (yes, that's her name, yawn) has to learn to live without Grady, who dies off screen and is never seen in the film with the exception of a few photographs. With her perfect life ruined, oh-so subtly symbolized by the beautiful wedding flowers being turned back at the door and the gorgeous cake rotting away in the fridge, Gray doesn't quite know where to turn. So she bunks down with Grady's friends, Sammy (played by director Kevin Smith) and Dennis (newcomer Sam Jaeger). Oh, and let's not forget Fritz (where did Grant come up with such ridiculous names?), the LA-living bad boy who boffs a waitress in the bathroom during the wake at Grady's mother's house, and who becomes Gray's love interest.
The movie feels so predictable, even though you know it's trying hard not to be—so of course, problems from Grady's past surface that she had no idea about (really?) in the form of Maureen (Juliette Lewis), a woman from his good time days when he was out in LA visiting Fritz (I can't type that name without feeling like it's just so ridiculous). And it's hard, because you can see the vibe that Grant is going for, sort of akin to the films of the utterly and always brilliant Allison Anders, where it's more subtle and sensitive than your typical studio picture. But Catch and Release never truly shows the heart of say a film like Things Behind the Sun or Grace of My Heart.
Essentially, the biggest problem with Catch and Release is that none of it really feels organic, and nothing feels more forced in this picture than the setting. And maybe it's a problem with the writing or maybe with the performances, although elements of both are truly lovely, so I can't quite put my finger on why it doesn't work. The film is wistful when it should have been hard hitting, obscure where it should have been obvious, and derivative when it should have gone in another direction.
(Explaining the worst made-for-TV moment would spoil the middle of the film so I won't go there but just trust me to say that you'd roll your eyes too).
The trouble with the movie, I think, that in order to see the impact of Grady's death on Gray's life, there had to be more than little reminders of the way it used to be. There's not enough there to understand why she's so lost, there's nothing of her previous person there to examine the impact of the tragic moments. In fact, there's little in terms of motivation for many of the main players, which leaves you wanting more, despite how well Grant tries to set up the situations.
I did, however, listen to the entire commentary track between Grant and Kevin Smith, which was, of course, hilarious and insightful. At one point, he talks about how much he hated the 'outdoorsy' aspects of the film, stating that he'd rather sit down and watch four films in a day than spent it fly fishing. At that moment, I felt like writing a fan letter to him that started, "even though we're both happily married, if you were ever looking for that girl to sit down and watch all those movies with..." Heh. Sigh.
Regardless, I read a few reviews that really criticized Smith's performance, but I didn't feel that way at all. I thought all the actors, including the normally over-"acting" Jennifer Garner, did a really good job with the material. I just felt like the script would have worked so much better as a novel, where Grant, as a writer, could have had more time to explore the absent back story, and could have filled in some of the missing pieces.
Anyway, I didn't get much of my own writing done this weekend for the watching of all these films and the writing of the subsequent reviews. And now this week is just so busy that I'm afraid another week will pass before I actually get to send anything to my mentor at Humber. I'm not so happy about that. I'm feeling the pressure actually.
TRH TV - The End Of An Era
I've finally done it. This week I broke up with Grey's Anatomy. Completely and entirely. I erased the show from the PVR. I made no attempt to watch it first. I read the recaplet but, come on, what's a girl to do? I've decided that there's only room in my life for one medical drama, and that's ER, and now that Stanley Tucci's on the show, well, there's no question where my viewing eyeballs will be focused.
Tuesday is the last episode of Gilmore Girls. I have a feeling I'll have a lot more to say about that come next week. This year has been so disappointing for me in terms of that show. But I learned a good writing lesson: imitation is not the sincerest form of flattery, often the characters might look and talk like they used to, but they're acting nothing like the Rory and Lorelai we came to know over the past few years. There's a quality and a substance to the writing on that show that seems impossible for the new show-runners to capture.
I'm sad The Sopranos is ending because it means the old-school HBO dramas have all come to a close. Entourage has stood up quite well in place of some, and it'll be years before we see The Wire again, which is the best show on television. I'm going to miss the quality Sunday night dramas. Somehow, even if Big Love does start up again, am I ever really going to care? Probably not.
Sigh.
How many weeks until Rescue Me comes back? And should we just box up the television until then? Probably.
Wow. I'm really rambling here and not making much of point other than Grey's jumped the shark, ER has found its way back, Gilmore Girls is done and I spent far too much time thinking about television.
Tuesday is the last episode of Gilmore Girls. I have a feeling I'll have a lot more to say about that come next week. This year has been so disappointing for me in terms of that show. But I learned a good writing lesson: imitation is not the sincerest form of flattery, often the characters might look and talk like they used to, but they're acting nothing like the Rory and Lorelai we came to know over the past few years. There's a quality and a substance to the writing on that show that seems impossible for the new show-runners to capture.
I'm sad The Sopranos is ending because it means the old-school HBO dramas have all come to a close. Entourage has stood up quite well in place of some, and it'll be years before we see The Wire again, which is the best show on television. I'm going to miss the quality Sunday night dramas. Somehow, even if Big Love does start up again, am I ever really going to care? Probably not.
Sigh.
How many weeks until Rescue Me comes back? And should we just box up the television until then? Probably.
Wow. I'm really rambling here and not making much of point other than Grey's jumped the shark, ER has found its way back, Gilmore Girls is done and I spent far too much time thinking about television.
TBR Stacks
I totally cribbed this from Baby Got Books, but here's a picture of one portion of my TBR books. The bottom shelf should be books for the 1001 Books / Around the World in 52 Books challenges but they've all gotten mixed up with some other novels, ARCs from work, and other job-related titles that I need to read.
The top shelf is a mishmash of books I want to get to some day. These are books I haven't read so they haven't been packed away yet. They're also books that I couldn't bear to give away when we did the big clean out a few months ago. Some of them I will never read. But the interest is there, regardless.
TRH Movie - Georgia Rule
Well, I went to Georgia Rule for Chart this past week, and my 'official' review is here in case you're a little bit curious. As I hated this film, there might be spoilers in this review, so if you're going to go and see it, then don't read this. Okay? That should be sufficient warning, no?
Annnywaaay. While everyone else in the theatre laughed at the ridiculous jokes and silly situations, Tara and I sat there stone-faced and serious. In addition to not finding a single part of the film remotely funny, I also felt disgusted that films like this, films that must obviously hate women, actually still get made in this day and age.
And it's not like Garry Marshall, the director, or Mark Andrus, the screenwriter, has ever met a woman that lives outside the deep-seeded stereotypes tossed into this picture. Lindsay Lohan, who plays Rachel, the main character, is a mixed up teenager whose been sexually assaulted by her stepfather. So she's jaded, confused, and forms attachments to men based on the wrong sorts of emotions. Right, but it's not like the film actually explores any of the more serious implications of Rachel's abuse to her life, oh no, instead it's all one big joke—and when she finally confesses the abuse, a 'did she or didn't she' back and forth forms the central "plot" for the film.
The two people caught in the middle of Rachel's confessions: her grandmother Georgia (Jane Fonda) and mother Lilly (Felicity Huffman) either believe her without a doubt (the former) or think she's just lying again, like she has all of her life (the latter). There's multi-generational breakdown happening here because Lilly has rebelled all of her life against Georgia, and has become a serious alcoholic in the years that saw her flee from her mother's house and into the arms of her successful divorce attorney (natch) of an evil husband, played by Cary Elwes.
As the stereotypes pile up, Rachel finds herself dumped in Hull, Idaho, where Georgia, alongside her infamous "rules" (dinner's at six, no exceptions; if you live with her you need to work, no exceptions; don't take the Lord's name in vain, if so, wash your mouth out with soap, no exceptions). These same rules caused Lilly's own rebellion but Rachel finds some sort of solace with her grandmother, but not that this is even explored in the film, as anything approaching an emotional connection is glossed over by sitcom-inspired comedy and unfunny one-liners.
All of the women in this film make bad decisions with no explanations really for their actions. There are no consequences necessarily either, in fact, very little actually happens in this film. In a vain attempt to get the audience on side, every single situation that should have some sort of emotional impact is maligned by some sort of pale attempt at a joke. Lohan changes skimpy outfits and screams a lot. Huffman falls down drunk a lot. Fonda pinches up her face a lot. In short, it's embarrassing for all of them.
And I can't help but think that feminism hasn't really advanced in any way if multi-million dollar studios are still branding dreck like this as a 'chick flick' and expecting women to flock in droves into the theatres. These are not real women. Nothing about them feels authentic. The PG-rating betrays the serious issues in the film; you can't feel anything for Rachel except exhaustion. She's tired, the film's tired, the comedy is tired, the direction is tired, I could go on, but I'm sure you get the point.
I get the feeling that both the director and the screenwriter are out of touch with a modern world. I get the feeling that the actors tried, with the exception of Lohan, to make the most out of the substandard material. But I also feel that if a filmmaker is going to take on serious subjects, like sexual molestation, there should be a level of commitment to the material that goes beyond wanting to create conflict. There's none of that here, and even when the ending comes around, despite the saccharine nature of the scene, you're left feeling dirty for sitting through this picture in the first place.
Annnywaaay. While everyone else in the theatre laughed at the ridiculous jokes and silly situations, Tara and I sat there stone-faced and serious. In addition to not finding a single part of the film remotely funny, I also felt disgusted that films like this, films that must obviously hate women, actually still get made in this day and age.
And it's not like Garry Marshall, the director, or Mark Andrus, the screenwriter, has ever met a woman that lives outside the deep-seeded stereotypes tossed into this picture. Lindsay Lohan, who plays Rachel, the main character, is a mixed up teenager whose been sexually assaulted by her stepfather. So she's jaded, confused, and forms attachments to men based on the wrong sorts of emotions. Right, but it's not like the film actually explores any of the more serious implications of Rachel's abuse to her life, oh no, instead it's all one big joke—and when she finally confesses the abuse, a 'did she or didn't she' back and forth forms the central "plot" for the film.
The two people caught in the middle of Rachel's confessions: her grandmother Georgia (Jane Fonda) and mother Lilly (Felicity Huffman) either believe her without a doubt (the former) or think she's just lying again, like she has all of her life (the latter). There's multi-generational breakdown happening here because Lilly has rebelled all of her life against Georgia, and has become a serious alcoholic in the years that saw her flee from her mother's house and into the arms of her successful divorce attorney (natch) of an evil husband, played by Cary Elwes.
As the stereotypes pile up, Rachel finds herself dumped in Hull, Idaho, where Georgia, alongside her infamous "rules" (dinner's at six, no exceptions; if you live with her you need to work, no exceptions; don't take the Lord's name in vain, if so, wash your mouth out with soap, no exceptions). These same rules caused Lilly's own rebellion but Rachel finds some sort of solace with her grandmother, but not that this is even explored in the film, as anything approaching an emotional connection is glossed over by sitcom-inspired comedy and unfunny one-liners.
All of the women in this film make bad decisions with no explanations really for their actions. There are no consequences necessarily either, in fact, very little actually happens in this film. In a vain attempt to get the audience on side, every single situation that should have some sort of emotional impact is maligned by some sort of pale attempt at a joke. Lohan changes skimpy outfits and screams a lot. Huffman falls down drunk a lot. Fonda pinches up her face a lot. In short, it's embarrassing for all of them.
And I can't help but think that feminism hasn't really advanced in any way if multi-million dollar studios are still branding dreck like this as a 'chick flick' and expecting women to flock in droves into the theatres. These are not real women. Nothing about them feels authentic. The PG-rating betrays the serious issues in the film; you can't feel anything for Rachel except exhaustion. She's tired, the film's tired, the comedy is tired, the direction is tired, I could go on, but I'm sure you get the point.
I get the feeling that both the director and the screenwriter are out of touch with a modern world. I get the feeling that the actors tried, with the exception of Lohan, to make the most out of the substandard material. But I also feel that if a filmmaker is going to take on serious subjects, like sexual molestation, there should be a level of commitment to the material that goes beyond wanting to create conflict. There's none of that here, and even when the ending comes around, despite the saccharine nature of the scene, you're left feeling dirty for sitting through this picture in the first place.
#32 Depths - Henning Mankell
I was halfway through this book before I declared the death of my reading challenges, so maybe all is not lost.
While Depths isn't a Wallander mystery, it still retains many of the qualities that Mankell displays in his popular detective series, especially in tone and narrative style. Mankell has never been an author to shy away from the bleaker aspects of human nature, and Depths is no exception.
The novel, set during the First World War in Sweden, opens years in advance of the main story, as one its main characters, Kristina Tracker, the wife of naval Commander Lars Tobiasson-Svartman, escapes from the mental hospital that has been her home for many years and stands alone in the forest contemplating one memory: that she once had a husband.
From there, the narrative switches point of view, and the story becomes entirely Lars's. He's an exacting kind of man, with a mind that has a unique talent with measurements; a man who is drawn inexorably to the sea, who uses his unique skills to become a hydrographic survey engineer for the Swedish navy.
While on a mission, Lars discovers a young woman named Sara Fredrika living on a Halsskär, a skerry close to where they are measuring the depths of the sea. Soon he becomes obsessed with the woman, and the friction between the life he has in Stockholm with Kristina Tracker, and the one he desires on Halsskär turn Lars into a man even he would not recognize. His longing to escape from both of his two disparate worlds drives him to desperate acts, those of which bring the novel to its tragic conclusions.
Mankell shows with the novel that the ache of humanity that drives the overwhelmingly brooding yet wonderful Wallander series can carry into a more literary, artistic novel. His voice in this book is clear yet abrupt. Depths has short, succinct chapters, barely longer than two or three pages each, yet the story feels rich, flushed out and complete. Mankell's sea, and how it relates to Tobiasson-Svartman's consciousness, becomes almost a secondary character in the novel; it's described beautifully and at length, and it's easy to understand Lars's connection to it, both psychologically and physically.
The Swedish entry in my Around the World in 52 Countries challenge, for once I felt a sincere and complex connection to the setting in the novel. Depths is a novel all about landscape, bleak, cold winters, rolling storms, the power of the sea, and the deep impact that war has on the men in its service. It makes me think that I'd love to read anything Mankell writes outside of the Wallander series, not that they aren't great books, because they are, but Depths satisfies in an entirely different way.
While Depths isn't a Wallander mystery, it still retains many of the qualities that Mankell displays in his popular detective series, especially in tone and narrative style. Mankell has never been an author to shy away from the bleaker aspects of human nature, and Depths is no exception.
The novel, set during the First World War in Sweden, opens years in advance of the main story, as one its main characters, Kristina Tracker, the wife of naval Commander Lars Tobiasson-Svartman, escapes from the mental hospital that has been her home for many years and stands alone in the forest contemplating one memory: that she once had a husband.
From there, the narrative switches point of view, and the story becomes entirely Lars's. He's an exacting kind of man, with a mind that has a unique talent with measurements; a man who is drawn inexorably to the sea, who uses his unique skills to become a hydrographic survey engineer for the Swedish navy.
While on a mission, Lars discovers a young woman named Sara Fredrika living on a Halsskär, a skerry close to where they are measuring the depths of the sea. Soon he becomes obsessed with the woman, and the friction between the life he has in Stockholm with Kristina Tracker, and the one he desires on Halsskär turn Lars into a man even he would not recognize. His longing to escape from both of his two disparate worlds drives him to desperate acts, those of which bring the novel to its tragic conclusions.
Mankell shows with the novel that the ache of humanity that drives the overwhelmingly brooding yet wonderful Wallander series can carry into a more literary, artistic novel. His voice in this book is clear yet abrupt. Depths has short, succinct chapters, barely longer than two or three pages each, yet the story feels rich, flushed out and complete. Mankell's sea, and how it relates to Tobiasson-Svartman's consciousness, becomes almost a secondary character in the novel; it's described beautifully and at length, and it's easy to understand Lars's connection to it, both psychologically and physically.
The Swedish entry in my Around the World in 52 Countries challenge, for once I felt a sincere and complex connection to the setting in the novel. Depths is a novel all about landscape, bleak, cold winters, rolling storms, the power of the sea, and the deep impact that war has on the men in its service. It makes me think that I'd love to read anything Mankell writes outside of the Wallander series, not that they aren't great books, because they are, but Depths satisfies in an entirely different way.
Wednesday, May 09, 2007
The Death Of My Reading Challenges
I am desperately trying to hang on to my reading challenges these days. But I've got so many books to read for work that I might have to call it quits on both: Around the World in 52 Books and 1001 Books until I've got more time.
I've also finished #31 for the year, Magyk by Angie Sage. It's a book for kids that I read for our What Would Harry Read? promotion. I love the idea of imagining the reading lives of imaginary characters. It's a super-cute theme that should get people talking, if only to imagine what other characters would read.
Like what would Elizabeth Bennett read if she were alive today and reading in this century? What would Dean Moriarty have in the back pocket of his jeans? If Trip Fontaine were real, would he read? If you had a favourite fictional character: what do you think would be on their bookshelves?
Anyway, I'm going to try to keep on top of my 'for me' reading but I have a feeling it'll get buried well beneath all of the books that now teeter on the top of my TBR pile from work. It's an embarrassment of riches, that's for sure.
I've also finished #31 for the year, Magyk by Angie Sage. It's a book for kids that I read for our What Would Harry Read? promotion. I love the idea of imagining the reading lives of imaginary characters. It's a super-cute theme that should get people talking, if only to imagine what other characters would read.
Like what would Elizabeth Bennett read if she were alive today and reading in this century? What would Dean Moriarty have in the back pocket of his jeans? If Trip Fontaine were real, would he read? If you had a favourite fictional character: what do you think would be on their bookshelves?
Anyway, I'm going to try to keep on top of my 'for me' reading but I have a feeling it'll get buried well beneath all of the books that now teeter on the top of my TBR pile from work. It's an embarrassment of riches, that's for sure.
Trouble, I Say, Trouble
The older I get, the thinner my skin seems to grow. I always thought that as the years racked themselves up as lines appearing above your lip, beside your eyes, that little things would stop bothering you. Hearing about things, being teased, people making fun of you, but for some reason, all of this affects me more today than it ever did in the past.
I've never been one to take criticism well. It soaks into me, like liquid into a paper towel, and I feel it all, each painful word. Nothing rolls off me, it all sticks like glue, and I realize I'm using a lot of metaphorical language, but hey, at least I'm not pulling a Candace Bushnell.
Years ago, I could recognize the moments when I was feeling particularly immoblized by the outside world as times when I was probably entering into a phase of depression. But I haven't been depressed (unless it's drug-related from the prednisone) for years. And that got me thinking: maybe the meds have permanently altered how my brain functions. Maybe they've made me a dour girl who can't take a joke and whose feelings get hurt at the slightest touch, especially by people I hold the closest to me.
Most days I can get by without wanting to hide away from the world. Most days I can get dressed and get outside and walk with my head up and feel confident that I am good person and that people like me. Most days. But then it'll all come crashing down without any notice, and I'll be stuttering and stalling, refusing to leave the house, wearing my dirty pajamas, crying for no reason, feeling sorry for myself—all kinds of days pass like that, in almost-depression limbo.
It takes me a long time to feel comfortable. It takes me a long time to overcome my frustrating shyness and actually feel confident in social situations. I know a lot of people who know me would say that's not true, but it's how I feel on the inside, sick to my stomach and held so tight that there's nothing for me to do except swallow all those feelings and wait for them to resurface as the disease.
Today is not one of the good days. But tomorrow, well, like Annie says, it'll certainly be sunny, and if I could just learn to roll with it a bit better, maybe it would all come just that little bit easier. Who knows?
I know one thing that'll cheer me up: watching Georgia Rule, the train wreck of a movie I have to see tonight for Chart. Heh.
I've never been one to take criticism well. It soaks into me, like liquid into a paper towel, and I feel it all, each painful word. Nothing rolls off me, it all sticks like glue, and I realize I'm using a lot of metaphorical language, but hey, at least I'm not pulling a Candace Bushnell.
Years ago, I could recognize the moments when I was feeling particularly immoblized by the outside world as times when I was probably entering into a phase of depression. But I haven't been depressed (unless it's drug-related from the prednisone) for years. And that got me thinking: maybe the meds have permanently altered how my brain functions. Maybe they've made me a dour girl who can't take a joke and whose feelings get hurt at the slightest touch, especially by people I hold the closest to me.
Most days I can get by without wanting to hide away from the world. Most days I can get dressed and get outside and walk with my head up and feel confident that I am good person and that people like me. Most days. But then it'll all come crashing down without any notice, and I'll be stuttering and stalling, refusing to leave the house, wearing my dirty pajamas, crying for no reason, feeling sorry for myself—all kinds of days pass like that, in almost-depression limbo.
It takes me a long time to feel comfortable. It takes me a long time to overcome my frustrating shyness and actually feel confident in social situations. I know a lot of people who know me would say that's not true, but it's how I feel on the inside, sick to my stomach and held so tight that there's nothing for me to do except swallow all those feelings and wait for them to resurface as the disease.
Today is not one of the good days. But tomorrow, well, like Annie says, it'll certainly be sunny, and if I could just learn to roll with it a bit better, maybe it would all come just that little bit easier. Who knows?
I know one thing that'll cheer me up: watching Georgia Rule, the train wreck of a movie I have to see tonight for Chart. Heh.
TRH Event - Stuck In Downward Dog
After work yesterday I went to the Toronto launch of Chantal Simmons's Stuck in Downward Dog. Held at Kultura, a swank restaurant on King Street East, it was one of the more inventive launches I've been too in a while (nothing can hold a candle to the Raw Shark launch, but you know it's hard to beat a art-installation shark boat).
In addition to the fab venue, the entire party was full of swag. And really awesome girlie swag too, from OPI nail polish to Cake nail files, from eye cream to lip gloss to these cute little flower broaches, it was incredible. Essentially, they handed you a beautiful bag and you just filled it up with what you wanted, as much as you could carry.
I've been looking for a sweet little chicklit book to sort of soothe my manic work-related reading, and although I didn't pick up a copy of the book at the launch, I am still going to add it to my TBR pile for sure (Scarbie said she'd loan me her copy). And it was delightful to see some friends too, which is always the best thing about a book launch.
I also got a chance to briefly say hello to Chantal Simmons on my way out, and she looked just so lovely: she was wearing a gorgeous strapless pink dress with these wonderful silver shoes. If I was any bit of a fashionista, I could explain it in more detail, except I will add that she was as lovely to meet as she was to look at. Does that sound corny?
I felt like quite the frumpy grandmother among all the lovely ladies in my Lululemon biking pants and my oxford shirt. Note to self: always bring along extra clothes in the summer in case there's an event you need to go to after work and your biking clothes just won't cut it. Sigh. What can you do, really.
On the whole, I think it was the right way to launch a chicklit title, with a martini named after the main character, lots of great girlie swag, a room full of lovely book people and an author who seemed happy and excited about it all.
In addition to the fab venue, the entire party was full of swag. And really awesome girlie swag too, from OPI nail polish to Cake nail files, from eye cream to lip gloss to these cute little flower broaches, it was incredible. Essentially, they handed you a beautiful bag and you just filled it up with what you wanted, as much as you could carry.
I've been looking for a sweet little chicklit book to sort of soothe my manic work-related reading, and although I didn't pick up a copy of the book at the launch, I am still going to add it to my TBR pile for sure (Scarbie said she'd loan me her copy). And it was delightful to see some friends too, which is always the best thing about a book launch.
I also got a chance to briefly say hello to Chantal Simmons on my way out, and she looked just so lovely: she was wearing a gorgeous strapless pink dress with these wonderful silver shoes. If I was any bit of a fashionista, I could explain it in more detail, except I will add that she was as lovely to meet as she was to look at. Does that sound corny?
I felt like quite the frumpy grandmother among all the lovely ladies in my Lululemon biking pants and my oxford shirt. Note to self: always bring along extra clothes in the summer in case there's an event you need to go to after work and your biking clothes just won't cut it. Sigh. What can you do, really.
On the whole, I think it was the right way to launch a chicklit title, with a martini named after the main character, lots of great girlie swag, a room full of lovely book people and an author who seemed happy and excited about it all.
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
My Other Car Is A Bike
So I've officially started riding my bike to work each day. It's been three summers since I rode every day. The last two I couldn't ride to work each day because my office was out in the suburbs. The summer before that, it was too painful to ride because my hip bone was essentially melting in its socket.
But now, all that has changed! I pumped up my tires and started on my merry little way Monday morning. There's something really quite beautiful about the city at that time of day, even though the people driving the cars are mental, the traffic is really annoying, and the roads are a mess, it's still refreshing to be outside in the air and the sunshine, peddling your way from one place (home) to the next (work).
I had a boyfriend who once told me that muscles have memory. In some ways, I know this to be true, when I'm in dance class and the teacher does something like say a grande plie, my body knows exactly what to do from years of study when I was younger. But that doesn't necessarily mean that the muscles still move in the same way; they might remember, but they're certainly not strong enough to pull it off, like, at all. So my grande plie looks kind of lopsided and funny, especially because my hip is still so awkward.
So, it's kind of the same with biking. It's obvious that I know how to ride a bike, but I've been so scared to get back on the daily two-wheeled commute because I figured I wouldn't have the energy and/or the stamina to handle a long-ish (say over 30 minutes) trek from my house to downtown. I had to psyche myself up for it all weekend, and kept saying, "the only way to do it is to do it."
It's embarrassing, I know, and I felt like a Nike ad just saying it over and over again in my mind. But now, after even just two days, I feel like a pro. This morning I even gave someone the hairy eyeball for parking their giant minivan, with the engine still running, in the bike lane on Harbord.
I feel better already and I even slept better last night. I have more energy and I'm even looking forward to a longer than usual ride home this evening, as I stop in on yet another book event. Fingers crossed my hip stays healthy and the disease likes this level of energy. By the end of the summer you probably won't even recognize me.
But now, all that has changed! I pumped up my tires and started on my merry little way Monday morning. There's something really quite beautiful about the city at that time of day, even though the people driving the cars are mental, the traffic is really annoying, and the roads are a mess, it's still refreshing to be outside in the air and the sunshine, peddling your way from one place (home) to the next (work).
I had a boyfriend who once told me that muscles have memory. In some ways, I know this to be true, when I'm in dance class and the teacher does something like say a grande plie, my body knows exactly what to do from years of study when I was younger. But that doesn't necessarily mean that the muscles still move in the same way; they might remember, but they're certainly not strong enough to pull it off, like, at all. So my grande plie looks kind of lopsided and funny, especially because my hip is still so awkward.
So, it's kind of the same with biking. It's obvious that I know how to ride a bike, but I've been so scared to get back on the daily two-wheeled commute because I figured I wouldn't have the energy and/or the stamina to handle a long-ish (say over 30 minutes) trek from my house to downtown. I had to psyche myself up for it all weekend, and kept saying, "the only way to do it is to do it."
It's embarrassing, I know, and I felt like a Nike ad just saying it over and over again in my mind. But now, after even just two days, I feel like a pro. This morning I even gave someone the hairy eyeball for parking their giant minivan, with the engine still running, in the bike lane on Harbord.
I feel better already and I even slept better last night. I have more energy and I'm even looking forward to a longer than usual ride home this evening, as I stop in on yet another book event. Fingers crossed my hip stays healthy and the disease likes this level of energy. By the end of the summer you probably won't even recognize me.
Saturday, May 05, 2007
TRH Movie - Spider-Man 3
Well. I'm not even sure where to begin with this giant mess of a movie. That's not to say that Spider-Man 3 isn't enjoyable, because it is, nor is to to say that I didn't like it, because I did. But overall, I felt like they just tried to do too much and it ended up sprawling all over the place, leaving the film feeling a bit watered-down and mashed together.
The RRHB and I were talking about it after we got home, and he made a very valid criticism. I'd hate it if a movie took my favourite book and changed all the story lines around just to make a 'blockbuster.' From his perspective, they've ruined a lot of what made the comic so great by trying to make the film so huge. They've brought together years and years worth of plots and tried to put them all in the film like a bunch of puzzle pieces that are either slightly too large or too small to actually fit with the overall scope of the life of the character.
All in all, it's a summer of closing chapters, with third installments of so many blockbuster series bowing, from The Bourne Ultimatum to the non-stop Pirates films, I'm sure it's not the first time I'm going to write a sentence that goes something like, 'well, I enjoyed the movie...but.'
And there's a small part of me that thinks the main characters are tired of making these movies, and that exhaustion certainly shows through, despite their obvious dedication to the project. Who knows. I'm not an actor. I have no idea what it's like to be responsible for a franchise the size of Spider-Man, with this movie alone rumoured to have cost close to half a billion dollars.
The stunts are pretty wicked, and there's a level of super villain that we haven't really seen before, but I can't help but wish they did more with the black-suited Spider-Man and his alter-ego, the emo-Peter Parker, but I know I'm looking for too much in a film that it truly just meant to entertain. I will say, however, that Topher Grace kicked ass; he was the most enjoyable part of the movie, even if he was totally underdeveloped and kind of tossed in at the last minute.
The RRHB and I were talking about it after we got home, and he made a very valid criticism. I'd hate it if a movie took my favourite book and changed all the story lines around just to make a 'blockbuster.' From his perspective, they've ruined a lot of what made the comic so great by trying to make the film so huge. They've brought together years and years worth of plots and tried to put them all in the film like a bunch of puzzle pieces that are either slightly too large or too small to actually fit with the overall scope of the life of the character.
All in all, it's a summer of closing chapters, with third installments of so many blockbuster series bowing, from The Bourne Ultimatum to the non-stop Pirates films, I'm sure it's not the first time I'm going to write a sentence that goes something like, 'well, I enjoyed the movie...but.'
And there's a small part of me that thinks the main characters are tired of making these movies, and that exhaustion certainly shows through, despite their obvious dedication to the project. Who knows. I'm not an actor. I have no idea what it's like to be responsible for a franchise the size of Spider-Man, with this movie alone rumoured to have cost close to half a billion dollars.
The stunts are pretty wicked, and there's a level of super villain that we haven't really seen before, but I can't help but wish they did more with the black-suited Spider-Man and his alter-ego, the emo-Peter Parker, but I know I'm looking for too much in a film that it truly just meant to entertain. I will say, however, that Topher Grace kicked ass; he was the most enjoyable part of the movie, even if he was totally underdeveloped and kind of tossed in at the last minute.
My First "Public" Appearance
Yesterday morning I visited a grade 3/4 split class in Scarborough and read to them from the latest abridged classic, Around the World in 80 Days. They had done quite a bit of work with the abridged Frankenstein earlier in the year and were apparently all very excited about having me come in that day so they could ask me some questions.
What a rush! Most of the kids in my life are ones that are related to me: a niece, some nephews, my little cousin, and the majority of them are quite small, baby-sized, in fact. So it was such a treat to be around kids who were young enough to have a sense of wonder about things, to ask such cute questions like, "What's your favourite colour?" and "When is your birthday?", that we as adults, don't necessarily even contemplate anymore because we're all so concerned about paying the mortgage and getting the house fixed.
Truthfully, they were lovely kids, very well behaved and very excited about meeting a real-life 'author' even if I don't necessarily think of myself in that way. Afterwards, I signed autographs. How hilarious! If I could do this all the time, I totally would: it was good for the heart.
What a rush! Most of the kids in my life are ones that are related to me: a niece, some nephews, my little cousin, and the majority of them are quite small, baby-sized, in fact. So it was such a treat to be around kids who were young enough to have a sense of wonder about things, to ask such cute questions like, "What's your favourite colour?" and "When is your birthday?", that we as adults, don't necessarily even contemplate anymore because we're all so concerned about paying the mortgage and getting the house fixed.
Truthfully, they were lovely kids, very well behaved and very excited about meeting a real-life 'author' even if I don't necessarily think of myself in that way. Afterwards, I signed autographs. How hilarious! If I could do this all the time, I totally would: it was good for the heart.
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
There's Nothing Like Sunshine...
And a royalty cheque to brighten up your day.
Sigh.
This Friday I'm doing two really fun things:
1. I'm taking the day off so we can go see Spider-Man 3 in the afternoon on opening day (I've already bought the tickets. Ahem). I know, it's silly, I'm a grown lady, but I love the movies that much. And it's kind of a tradition for us to see them opening weekend.
2. But even more importantly, I'm going to a friend's classroom to read to the kids. A while back, they read my abridged Frankenstein, and sent me letters. According to them, I'm their favourite author, which makes me giggle because it's so cute. And I didn't even write the original...Mary Shelley did. Regardless, I'm going to take in Around the World in 80 Days to start them off on another abridged classic and keep them interested in reading in general. I'm really looking forward to my very first in-class appearance. How fun is that?
Sigh.
This Friday I'm doing two really fun things:
1. I'm taking the day off so we can go see Spider-Man 3 in the afternoon on opening day (I've already bought the tickets. Ahem). I know, it's silly, I'm a grown lady, but I love the movies that much. And it's kind of a tradition for us to see them opening weekend.
2. But even more importantly, I'm going to a friend's classroom to read to the kids. A while back, they read my abridged Frankenstein, and sent me letters. According to them, I'm their favourite author, which makes me giggle because it's so cute. And I didn't even write the original...Mary Shelley did. Regardless, I'm going to take in Around the World in 80 Days to start them off on another abridged classic and keep them interested in reading in general. I'm really looking forward to my very first in-class appearance. How fun is that?
Sunday, April 29, 2007
My Days As Band Widow Part Next
So, the RRHB has been away for the past week. Usually, when he's away, I bury myself in the house, but this week has been different. Here's a breakdown:
1. I've been eating like Lorelai Gilmore, which includes toaster waffles, homemade pizza and things I can cook in the microwave.
2. The girlie factor reached a new peak when I went to a delightful birthday party at MAC cosmetics on Bloor Street. I learned how to do a 'smoky' eye and bought a lot of makeup.
3. Yesterday I watched really cheesy movies on W Network, faux-voed so I didn't have to watch the commercials: One Fine Day and Out of Sight. I think it was George Clooney night or something. Shockingly, they were my best options when Cars is the feature on TMN. And this is the epitome of lazy: the last thing I felt like doing today was bringing movies back to the video store. Who has the time to do that?
4. That was the first night I had actually been home. This week has been crazy: book launches, pilates, dance class, birthday party, more yoga, a bit of shopping. I think I collapsed on the couch and didn't move until I went to bed last night and slept until NOON today. I never do that. Ever.
5. Today I've got a lot of writing work to do but not before I make the house presentable. When all you do is come home, dump your stuff, and go to sleep before heading off to work and/or social events the next day, things start to get out of control. The clothes chair is about to collapse.
6. Apparently, I got things so wrong with my Hot Docs reviews. The Swaziland documentary, Without the King, which was mediocre at best, won a Special Jury Prize. Oops. And the director of Forever, Heddy Honigmann, was given an Outstanding Achievement Award, with her work featured in a retrospective throughout the festival. Even the RRHB who is a huge documentary watcher thought Forever was boring as all get out, but heck, maybe my lesson from all this is that I'm not a documentary reviewer. Who knows? Congratulations to all the winners.
7. I ate a bit of sugar yesterday for the first time since giving it up in February. I honestly thought I might have been on drugs—it was crazy. I'll probably not try that again. I feel so much better when not eating sugar (well, not white sugar, I've been eating maple syrup and all natural sugars), that I'm probably going to stick with it for at least the next few months.
8. I remembered to take my needle. Generally, the RRHB hounds me because I forget and just wouldn't do it. See, I can act like a grown up, I can!
9. Despite all of my efforts, I have managed to save a lot of the television shows we watch together for when he gets back tomorrow night. Even though it's the season finale of 30 Rock, it's still sitting there, waiting for its cherry to be popped and it's taking a lot of will power. Going a week without Liz Lemon, it hurts. It does.
10. Did I mention I slept until NOON today. Absolutely strange. Okay, back to listening to all my music, cleaning the house at my pace and doing a lot of writing this afternoon because I need to get my pages to my mentor by the end of next weekend.
1. I've been eating like Lorelai Gilmore, which includes toaster waffles, homemade pizza and things I can cook in the microwave.
2. The girlie factor reached a new peak when I went to a delightful birthday party at MAC cosmetics on Bloor Street. I learned how to do a 'smoky' eye and bought a lot of makeup.
3. Yesterday I watched really cheesy movies on W Network, faux-voed so I didn't have to watch the commercials: One Fine Day and Out of Sight. I think it was George Clooney night or something. Shockingly, they were my best options when Cars is the feature on TMN. And this is the epitome of lazy: the last thing I felt like doing today was bringing movies back to the video store. Who has the time to do that?
4. That was the first night I had actually been home. This week has been crazy: book launches, pilates, dance class, birthday party, more yoga, a bit of shopping. I think I collapsed on the couch and didn't move until I went to bed last night and slept until NOON today. I never do that. Ever.
5. Today I've got a lot of writing work to do but not before I make the house presentable. When all you do is come home, dump your stuff, and go to sleep before heading off to work and/or social events the next day, things start to get out of control. The clothes chair is about to collapse.
6. Apparently, I got things so wrong with my Hot Docs reviews. The Swaziland documentary, Without the King, which was mediocre at best, won a Special Jury Prize. Oops. And the director of Forever, Heddy Honigmann, was given an Outstanding Achievement Award, with her work featured in a retrospective throughout the festival. Even the RRHB who is a huge documentary watcher thought Forever was boring as all get out, but heck, maybe my lesson from all this is that I'm not a documentary reviewer. Who knows? Congratulations to all the winners.
7. I ate a bit of sugar yesterday for the first time since giving it up in February. I honestly thought I might have been on drugs—it was crazy. I'll probably not try that again. I feel so much better when not eating sugar (well, not white sugar, I've been eating maple syrup and all natural sugars), that I'm probably going to stick with it for at least the next few months.
8. I remembered to take my needle. Generally, the RRHB hounds me because I forget and just wouldn't do it. See, I can act like a grown up, I can!
9. Despite all of my efforts, I have managed to save a lot of the television shows we watch together for when he gets back tomorrow night. Even though it's the season finale of 30 Rock, it's still sitting there, waiting for its cherry to be popped and it's taking a lot of will power. Going a week without Liz Lemon, it hurts. It does.
10. Did I mention I slept until NOON today. Absolutely strange. Okay, back to listening to all my music, cleaning the house at my pace and doing a lot of writing this afternoon because I need to get my pages to my mentor by the end of next weekend.
Saturday, April 28, 2007
#30 - The Good Husband of Zebra Drive
Alexander McCall Smith's latest novel in the No. 1 Ladies Detective Series, The Good Husband of Zebra Drive, is the Zimbabwe entry on my Around the World in 52 Countries challenge. These days, I kind of feel like Phil Keoghan from The Amazing Race, "this is the latest stop in a race around the world!" Heh.
Annnywaay. With familiar characters, the lead detective Mma Ramotswe, her husband Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni, the associate detective/assistant Mma Makutsi, and many others, the story follows the same basic structure as the seven books before it, where the 'mysteries' more like moral lessons. Each character comes to his or her solution in a way that highlights the good characteristics of their personalities, all the while life goes on as normal in the small Botswana agency. As always, the books are more about life in Botswana perhaps, than about the problems the people bring to Mma Ramotswe and her co-workers.
In this particular story, Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni discovers that he might like to try being a detective and has a case to himself, and while it doesn't get solved in the traditional sense, a happy ending is found regardless. Reading McCall Smith is like drinking a large glass of lemonade on a hot day, it's sweet, satisfying and never too tart for my liking. Although just like anything sweet in life, it's easy to OD, so I'd take it one book at a time (over the course of a few months, at least) when reading this series, should the magic wear off, because who would want that?
Annnywaay. With familiar characters, the lead detective Mma Ramotswe, her husband Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni, the associate detective/assistant Mma Makutsi, and many others, the story follows the same basic structure as the seven books before it, where the 'mysteries' more like moral lessons. Each character comes to his or her solution in a way that highlights the good characteristics of their personalities, all the while life goes on as normal in the small Botswana agency. As always, the books are more about life in Botswana perhaps, than about the problems the people bring to Mma Ramotswe and her co-workers.
In this particular story, Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni discovers that he might like to try being a detective and has a case to himself, and while it doesn't get solved in the traditional sense, a happy ending is found regardless. Reading McCall Smith is like drinking a large glass of lemonade on a hot day, it's sweet, satisfying and never too tart for my liking. Although just like anything sweet in life, it's easy to OD, so I'd take it one book at a time (over the course of a few months, at least) when reading this series, should the magic wear off, because who would want that?
#29 - The Road
Lavish praise aside, Cormac McCarthy's novel felt like a fitting book to read on the cold mornings and early evenings on the way to and from work last week. A bone-chilling story of a man and his son walking the road south in post-apocalyptic America, The Road contains McCarthy's trademark sparse yet rich prose, as well as fitting setting for the this-close-to-the-edge world we inhabit today.
This book scared me. Honestly terrified me. Akin to that feeling I had when in grade school we watched The Day After (seriously, my brother and I both had nightmares after that miniseries, I think we even might have slept in the same bed a couple nights because were were both terrified), my mind could not help but picture the bleak landscape, the frightening feeling of being alone in a world that no longer exists in any way, shape or form like the one I walk out in every day. As I read the novel, it was impossible not to think of what I would do in a similar situation. Would I prepare? How would I prepare? Or would I just feel like my time had come, and let it? Who knows. And I don't think my heart could handle an answer.
Regardless of my own terror, I hopelessly enjoyed the novel. I run hot and cold with McCarthy: I count All the Pretty Horses among one of my all-time favourite American books, right up there with On the Road and Beloved. But so much of his work I just can't read (Blood Meridian); it's too violent, too bloody, despite its obvious literary merit. But this book I couldn't put down, the simple, aching sentences, devoid of complex punctuation and lack of contractual apostrophes pulls you along, page upon page, like the journey the two main characters take themselves, slowly, urgently, foot after foot.
So much of the core skill of McCarthy's talent lies in separating his heroes from society in general. The father and the boy in The Road, while some of the few remaining human beings on Earth, don't fall into the same category as the rogue cannibals they encounter along the way. They 'carry the fire,' refuse to eat their fellow man, woman or child, and are moving south to be closer to the warmth, convinced that there will still be some form of society there to welcome them once they arrive.
A novel as much about survival as it is about the familial relationship between the man and his boy, there are so many elements of The Road that feel so close to the truth, so near to what life would be like should the world as we know it disappear, that it's not unlike Children of Men. What I mean is that it's just so close to being real and it's in that almost-reality that the terror sets in. Even when the novel reveals obvious parallels to Beckett that I can recognize, my overwhelming panic never disappears, even as I approached the last sentence of the last paragraph on the last page.
I hesitate to use words like 'masterpiece' and 'brilliant' for fear of hyperbole, but it's hard not to think in those terms when you finish this book. You ache for their survival toward the end, want to do everything in your power to protect the feeling of love that prospers between the father and his son, and cherish the fact that these very good, very human traits manage to abound in a world covered with ash, dead trees and never-ending fire.
This book scared me. Honestly terrified me. Akin to that feeling I had when in grade school we watched The Day After (seriously, my brother and I both had nightmares after that miniseries, I think we even might have slept in the same bed a couple nights because were were both terrified), my mind could not help but picture the bleak landscape, the frightening feeling of being alone in a world that no longer exists in any way, shape or form like the one I walk out in every day. As I read the novel, it was impossible not to think of what I would do in a similar situation. Would I prepare? How would I prepare? Or would I just feel like my time had come, and let it? Who knows. And I don't think my heart could handle an answer.
Regardless of my own terror, I hopelessly enjoyed the novel. I run hot and cold with McCarthy: I count All the Pretty Horses among one of my all-time favourite American books, right up there with On the Road and Beloved. But so much of his work I just can't read (Blood Meridian); it's too violent, too bloody, despite its obvious literary merit. But this book I couldn't put down, the simple, aching sentences, devoid of complex punctuation and lack of contractual apostrophes pulls you along, page upon page, like the journey the two main characters take themselves, slowly, urgently, foot after foot.
So much of the core skill of McCarthy's talent lies in separating his heroes from society in general. The father and the boy in The Road, while some of the few remaining human beings on Earth, don't fall into the same category as the rogue cannibals they encounter along the way. They 'carry the fire,' refuse to eat their fellow man, woman or child, and are moving south to be closer to the warmth, convinced that there will still be some form of society there to welcome them once they arrive.
A novel as much about survival as it is about the familial relationship between the man and his boy, there are so many elements of The Road that feel so close to the truth, so near to what life would be like should the world as we know it disappear, that it's not unlike Children of Men. What I mean is that it's just so close to being real and it's in that almost-reality that the terror sets in. Even when the novel reveals obvious parallels to Beckett that I can recognize, my overwhelming panic never disappears, even as I approached the last sentence of the last paragraph on the last page.
I hesitate to use words like 'masterpiece' and 'brilliant' for fear of hyperbole, but it's hard not to think in those terms when you finish this book. You ache for their survival toward the end, want to do everything in your power to protect the feeling of love that prospers between the father and his son, and cherish the fact that these very good, very human traits manage to abound in a world covered with ash, dead trees and never-ending fire.
They went through the last of the cars and then walked up the track to the locomotive and climbed up to the catwalk. Rust and scaling paint. They pushed into the cab and he blew away the ash from the engineer's seat and put the boy at the controls. The controls were very simple. Little to do but push the throttle lever forward. He made train noises and diesel horn noises but he wasnt sure what these might mean to the boy. After a while they just looked out through the silted glass to where the track curved away in the waste of weeds. If they saw different worlds what they knew was the same. That the train would sit there slowly decomposing for all eternity and that no train would ever run again.
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