Oh god, I'm still going. F Scott Fitzgerald is great, Hitler is wearing a bit thin, I've finished one of my uni assignments, my baby is happy, I've gone back to work for one whole day, the house is relatively clean, I've watched Benjamin Button AND Slumdog Millionaire, and seen people and family.
So I'm on top of things, if reading has taken a bit of a backseat. But it's still there!
08 March 2009
27 February 2009
Keepin' my one reader (me) on the low down
OK, I haven't updated for a bit so I'll just keep me posted with what I'm doing.
I believe I mentioned I'm doing my Masters, and my reading material came in the mail a week ago, so I've been doing that and am well underway with my first assignment (real assignment, not poxy Certificate of RE stuff) in six years, give or take.
I also believe I mentioned my attempt to read two books at the same time. I have never been able to do this, because one book always gets more interesting than the other. But the two books I'm reading at the moment (the Adolf bio and "Beautiful and the Damned" by FSF) are equally fascinating, and I genuinely mean that.
The only problem is that I keep getting the three (including my masters stuff) confused in my head. So I return to FSF and think "huh? I thought Anthony Patch was about to stage a Putsch?" or the Hitler bio and wonder if maybe he had academic achievements delays at school, which in turn led to a social and emotional disorder and start mentally creating a intervention program to encourage positive social skills for little Adi. It only takes a couple of seconds to right itself though.
So, Hitler IS in the middle of the Beer Hall Putsch, where he takes three of the most powerful Bavarian leaders hostage, in an attempt to install himself as leader of Bavaria, and all is going swimmingly, until he has a pressing phone call and leaves the three in the care of the dimwitted General Ludendorff. One of the triumvirate does the old Tweety/Sylvester trick, saying "Oh...I think I need something from my office, but I really PROMISE I'll come back, cross my heart and hope to die". Ludendorff lets them go, and I haven't read on yet, but I just have this sneaking suspicion that he's not coming back, but maybe that's just my cynical beliefs in human nature popping up again. Boy, is Hitler going to be maaaaaaaaaad when he gets baaaaaaaaack. And he's one of these Type A numbers you don't want to be on the bad side of.
As for FSF, I am LOVING this book. I really like the way it's written. I'm really glad I am reading it while I am still in my 20s. (I only have one year left.)
Anyway, we are just about to watch "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button" (more FSF), so I'll elaborate on this ASAP.
Until then, may all you Putschs be non-abortive and your children be free of language disorders.
I believe I mentioned I'm doing my Masters, and my reading material came in the mail a week ago, so I've been doing that and am well underway with my first assignment (real assignment, not poxy Certificate of RE stuff) in six years, give or take.
I also believe I mentioned my attempt to read two books at the same time. I have never been able to do this, because one book always gets more interesting than the other. But the two books I'm reading at the moment (the Adolf bio and "Beautiful and the Damned" by FSF) are equally fascinating, and I genuinely mean that.
The only problem is that I keep getting the three (including my masters stuff) confused in my head. So I return to FSF and think "huh? I thought Anthony Patch was about to stage a Putsch?" or the Hitler bio and wonder if maybe he had academic achievements delays at school, which in turn led to a social and emotional disorder and start mentally creating a intervention program to encourage positive social skills for little Adi. It only takes a couple of seconds to right itself though.
So, Hitler IS in the middle of the Beer Hall Putsch, where he takes three of the most powerful Bavarian leaders hostage, in an attempt to install himself as leader of Bavaria, and all is going swimmingly, until he has a pressing phone call and leaves the three in the care of the dimwitted General Ludendorff. One of the triumvirate does the old Tweety/Sylvester trick, saying "Oh...I think I need something from my office, but I really PROMISE I'll come back, cross my heart and hope to die". Ludendorff lets them go, and I haven't read on yet, but I just have this sneaking suspicion that he's not coming back, but maybe that's just my cynical beliefs in human nature popping up again. Boy, is Hitler going to be maaaaaaaaaad when he gets baaaaaaaaack. And he's one of these Type A numbers you don't want to be on the bad side of.
As for FSF, I am LOVING this book. I really like the way it's written. I'm really glad I am reading it while I am still in my 20s. (I only have one year left.)
Anyway, we are just about to watch "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button" (more FSF), so I'll elaborate on this ASAP.
Until then, may all you Putschs be non-abortive and your children be free of language disorders.
20 February 2009
Situation anywhere
I have a bit of an overwhelming book situation, but I love it when that happens. I am reading "The Beautiful and Damned", at the same time as "Adolf Hitler", my friend just gave me two great looking baby books, and my husband just bought me "Hard Times" by Dickens. I just read the first paragraph:
"NOW, what I want is, Facts. Teach these boys and girls nothing but Facts. Facts alone are wanted in life. Plant nothing else, and root out everything else. You can only form the minds of reasoning animals upon Facts: nothing else will ever be of any service to them. This is the principle on which I bring up my own children, and this is the principle on which I bring up these children. Stick to Facts, sir!"
And I can't wait to read THIS now, either.
PS Also got a massive folder of reading for my Masters course that I am doing this year, but we wont talk about that.
"NOW, what I want is, Facts. Teach these boys and girls nothing but Facts. Facts alone are wanted in life. Plant nothing else, and root out everything else. You can only form the minds of reasoning animals upon Facts: nothing else will ever be of any service to them. This is the principle on which I bring up my own children, and this is the principle on which I bring up these children. Stick to Facts, sir!"
And I can't wait to read THIS now, either.
PS Also got a massive folder of reading for my Masters course that I am doing this year, but we wont talk about that.
18 February 2009
Goodbye Jimbo...forever
Thank god that's done. Finished up at about 9:30pm last night, after putting in the hard slog for two hours. I've said all there is to say about this book. It's obvious the authors are big fans, and that's super for them, but geeeeeeeeeeeeeezzzzzzzzzzz it was a painful couple of days.
I'm reading F Scott Fitzgerald's "The Beautiful and Damned" now to wash away the filth.
No-One Here Gets Out Alive gets one cheese wheel out of five. My personal grading system doesn't give less than one cheese wheel if I finished the book. If I didn't finish the book it must be REALLY bad. I gave this book one cheese wheel because it was easy to read and the book smelled nice.
I have also picked up the 900 page Hitler biography but it's so scary to commit to a book like that. I'm trying to do the 50 book challenge (this is just a personal challenge, with work and social commitments and always trying to read quality books I haven't been able to do it as an adult) this year, which means finishing 4-5 books a month. I think I did 4 in Jan, but have done about 7 in Feb, so it's probably a good idea to spend the rest of Feb and possibly half of March reading the Hitler bio. The only problem (and this is a serious consideration) is that it's so big I can't take it in the bath! And it's not really bedtime reading, so I could go between Fitzgerald and this. I've never really been good at that though, I usually end up giving up on one book for the other, and then can't return to one because it seems stale.
So I'll keep you (no one but me) posted.
Here's an interesting idea:
http://community.livejournal.com/50bookchallenge
They do the 50 book challenge but also have a minimum amount of pages (usually around 20,000) that they have to read in the year. Which would mean, I guess, that The Little Prince isn't on many people's reading lists.
I'm reading F Scott Fitzgerald's "The Beautiful and Damned" now to wash away the filth.
No-One Here Gets Out Alive gets one cheese wheel out of five. My personal grading system doesn't give less than one cheese wheel if I finished the book. If I didn't finish the book it must be REALLY bad. I gave this book one cheese wheel because it was easy to read and the book smelled nice.
I have also picked up the 900 page Hitler biography but it's so scary to commit to a book like that. I'm trying to do the 50 book challenge (this is just a personal challenge, with work and social commitments and always trying to read quality books I haven't been able to do it as an adult) this year, which means finishing 4-5 books a month. I think I did 4 in Jan, but have done about 7 in Feb, so it's probably a good idea to spend the rest of Feb and possibly half of March reading the Hitler bio. The only problem (and this is a serious consideration) is that it's so big I can't take it in the bath! And it's not really bedtime reading, so I could go between Fitzgerald and this. I've never really been good at that though, I usually end up giving up on one book for the other, and then can't return to one because it seems stale.
So I'll keep you (no one but me) posted.
Here's an interesting idea:
http://community.livejournal.com/50bookchallenge
They do the 50 book challenge but also have a minimum amount of pages (usually around 20,000) that they have to read in the year. Which would mean, I guess, that The Little Prince isn't on many people's reading lists.
17 February 2009
The Lizard King is chapping my hide
There are 384 pages in this book. In two days, in a total amounting to maybe 3 hours, I have read 240 of them. Taking this into account, I could reasonably expect to put in 1.5 hours to finish the rest of it today, so I don't have to wake up tomorrow morning and still be reading this book.
For you see, it's quite terrible. Thank god there are whole page photos to pad out the remaining 144 pages. I'm eagerly awaiting Morrison's death because then I'll know I am near the end.
I hate reading books I don't like, but being so far in that I would feel I was cheating if I didn't finish it. But on my above calculations this will be 4.5 hours of my life I'll never get back. If I spent that time sitting in a chair staring at a wall I can't help but feel it would have been better spent.
For you see, it's quite terrible. Thank god there are whole page photos to pad out the remaining 144 pages. I'm eagerly awaiting Morrison's death because then I'll know I am near the end.
I hate reading books I don't like, but being so far in that I would feel I was cheating if I didn't finish it. But on my above calculations this will be 4.5 hours of my life I'll never get back. If I spent that time sitting in a chair staring at a wall I can't help but feel it would have been better spent.
16 February 2009
Jim Tosserson
OK, I'm going to just put this out there: Jim Morrison is a: stone. cold. wanker.
I understand the importance of art as much as the next person. Clearly. I believe that the presence of creative endeavour and artistic expression are integral to society, and that the suppression of the freedom of speech is the first step to dictatorship and is a loss of a basic human right.
However. There is a fine line between creative endeavour and self indulgence. Jim Morrison doesn't just step over this line, he snorts it and spews it up on the steps of a fancy New York Hotel.
Why is it always middle class rich kids? Why are they the ones who claim minimalism and wear the same outfit every day but are in reality just doing this because they spend all their money on smack? There is a story in this book about Andy Warhol giving Morrison an ivory and gold French phone, which he promptly throws out the window of a limo into a bin. I know I'm supposed to be impressed at his frivolous attitude to material things, but all I could think of in reality was: if he didn't want it, couldn't he have sold it and given the money to an orphanage or doctors without borders? If it existed then? Seriously.
Because I can handle all the microphone stand humping, the onstage masturbation is just peachy, I'm all for the "Father, I want to kill you"'s in the world, but it's the waste that I can't stand. The mindless decadence of being given a gift for lyricism and believing that the self is more important than the whole. For all his peyote snuffling under Alabama desert night skies, he doesn't seem to have ever looked up and felt insignificant - he probably saw himself reflected in the stars. He never felt himself as part of a whole that he could have made greater, he was just a boring nihilist hippie stoner, given thousands and pissing it all away on himself.
I don't know how much more of it I can handle.
I understand the importance of art as much as the next person. Clearly. I believe that the presence of creative endeavour and artistic expression are integral to society, and that the suppression of the freedom of speech is the first step to dictatorship and is a loss of a basic human right.
However. There is a fine line between creative endeavour and self indulgence. Jim Morrison doesn't just step over this line, he snorts it and spews it up on the steps of a fancy New York Hotel.
Why is it always middle class rich kids? Why are they the ones who claim minimalism and wear the same outfit every day but are in reality just doing this because they spend all their money on smack? There is a story in this book about Andy Warhol giving Morrison an ivory and gold French phone, which he promptly throws out the window of a limo into a bin. I know I'm supposed to be impressed at his frivolous attitude to material things, but all I could think of in reality was: if he didn't want it, couldn't he have sold it and given the money to an orphanage or doctors without borders? If it existed then? Seriously.
Because I can handle all the microphone stand humping, the onstage masturbation is just peachy, I'm all for the "Father, I want to kill you"'s in the world, but it's the waste that I can't stand. The mindless decadence of being given a gift for lyricism and believing that the self is more important than the whole. For all his peyote snuffling under Alabama desert night skies, he doesn't seem to have ever looked up and felt insignificant - he probably saw himself reflected in the stars. He never felt himself as part of a whole that he could have made greater, he was just a boring nihilist hippie stoner, given thousands and pissing it all away on himself.
I don't know how much more of it I can handle.
Memories
This book smells exactly like my old Archie and Veronica comics used to smell when they were new. It's so comforting.
Tigers, Tits and Texan Tuberculosis
I finished Life of Pi and it was good. I feel like this is my husband's book though, so he should be the one to review it. Without the fanfare I think I would have liked it a bit more, but it was good all the same. I both love and hate books that leave me with questions at the end, as this one did: was it real? Were they animals or were they humans all along? Would we have read and loved the book if they were indeed humans?
I hope no-one reads this without having read Life of Pi first or I might have given the game away.
I gave it four cheese wheels out of five.
After Life of Pi I read a book called "The Borgia Bride" by Jeanne Kalogridis. I had the choice of reading the Adolf Hitler bio, The Beautiful and Damned by F Scott Fitzgerald or this, and asked M to help me choose, and he chose this. It was the right choice. I feel like I've been doing some heavy reading- not serious stuff, but just thought provoking stuff - so it was good to get something a but lighter.
It's funny, after reading really well written books, especially ones which really focus on language and dialogue as a means of technical creativity (think: Evelyn Waugh) how flabby books like this feel. It wasn't bad, it was quite readable, but just not as tight as the last few books I've read. Yann Martel really focused on the conceptual and as I've said, Waugh and the Mitfords on language, so this book just felt a bit indulgent. I really respect writers who keep their work tight and not rambling. This clearly is a bit of a problem for me.
"The Borgia Bride" adds fiction to non-fiction by telling the story of Sancha of Aragon who marries the youngest Borgia and moves to Rome. The Borgias are the notoriously depraved papal family of the 1400s and early 1500s, renowned for incest and the murder of all those they consider "enemies", so much so that the River Tiber was full of dead bodies. The most depraved of all is often claimed to be the one sister, Lucrezia, but I have a feeling this is because she is a woman, and historical women who behave like the men of their era are often not painted with the same brush. Anyway Sancha marries Jofre, but has an affair with Cesare, his brother. Chaos ensues.
I thought that this book might be a bit Mills & Boon with Italian accents, but it wasn't. It was actually difficult to keep track of all the political maneuvering and names. I thought perhaps a few events were included that weren't necessary, perhaps to add to the "based on a true story" element of the book.
But it just didn't grab me by the balls. So I gave it 2.5 cheese wheels out of five.
Now I'm reading "No One Here Gets Out Alive" by Jerry Hopkins and Danny Sugerman. I got it on Fishpond 'cause it was $14 and it nudged me over the $50 limit you need to get free postage. I thought, by the look of it, that it would be one of those cheaply mass-produced biographies, full of flowery language and monosyllables (usually published by Virgin, on cheap paper, sold for $10.99 and containing a collection of the dealings of serial killers- you know the type) but a bit of research uncovered good reviews. It was No.1 on the NY Times bestseller list, and I actually know Danny Sugerman's work (Wonderland Ave is lying around my house somewhere).
The Doors were very popular at my high school in about 1994-95, I think because of the 1991 film, and remembering I grew up in surburban NSW, Australia, so most of the kids would have had to wait until it was on tv to see it. I tended to stay away from bands or movies that were too popular, not because I wanted to be different, but because I had been burned so many times before by the recommendations that turned out to be crap. So there were a lot of iron-on Doors badges stuck onto bags and Jim Morrison t-shirts floating about.
My brother had the best of cd, and I stumbled across it in about 1997 and thought I'd give it a go. I actually really liked it. I like the music every time I hear it, but I just can't get past the fact that Morrison is such a wanker. I hate people who take themselves too seriously. He did have a way with words, and the music can be hauntingly beautiful, but I don't know how he could have sung some of the ad-libbing on "The End" and "Gloria" without pissing himself laughing. I think if I had found out they all did crack up in the dressing room afterward and say "I can't believe they bought it again" I would have a lot more respect for them.
I've finished Chapter One, Jimbo has just finished high school, his parents are despairing about his wacky behaviour so have enrolled him in college in Florida. He's just about on his way.
PS: My favourite Doors song is "Crystal Ship", followed by "The End". The copy of "The End" that I have on iTunes cuts out early and flows immediately into "Here Comes Santa Claus" by Doris Day. It always freaks people out.
I hope no-one reads this without having read Life of Pi first or I might have given the game away.
I gave it four cheese wheels out of five.
After Life of Pi I read a book called "The Borgia Bride" by Jeanne Kalogridis. I had the choice of reading the Adolf Hitler bio, The Beautiful and Damned by F Scott Fitzgerald or this, and asked M to help me choose, and he chose this. It was the right choice. I feel like I've been doing some heavy reading- not serious stuff, but just thought provoking stuff - so it was good to get something a but lighter.
It's funny, after reading really well written books, especially ones which really focus on language and dialogue as a means of technical creativity (think: Evelyn Waugh) how flabby books like this feel. It wasn't bad, it was quite readable, but just not as tight as the last few books I've read. Yann Martel really focused on the conceptual and as I've said, Waugh and the Mitfords on language, so this book just felt a bit indulgent. I really respect writers who keep their work tight and not rambling. This clearly is a bit of a problem for me.
"The Borgia Bride" adds fiction to non-fiction by telling the story of Sancha of Aragon who marries the youngest Borgia and moves to Rome. The Borgias are the notoriously depraved papal family of the 1400s and early 1500s, renowned for incest and the murder of all those they consider "enemies", so much so that the River Tiber was full of dead bodies. The most depraved of all is often claimed to be the one sister, Lucrezia, but I have a feeling this is because she is a woman, and historical women who behave like the men of their era are often not painted with the same brush. Anyway Sancha marries Jofre, but has an affair with Cesare, his brother. Chaos ensues.
I thought that this book might be a bit Mills & Boon with Italian accents, but it wasn't. It was actually difficult to keep track of all the political maneuvering and names. I thought perhaps a few events were included that weren't necessary, perhaps to add to the "based on a true story" element of the book.
But it just didn't grab me by the balls. So I gave it 2.5 cheese wheels out of five.
Now I'm reading "No One Here Gets Out Alive" by Jerry Hopkins and Danny Sugerman. I got it on Fishpond 'cause it was $14 and it nudged me over the $50 limit you need to get free postage. I thought, by the look of it, that it would be one of those cheaply mass-produced biographies, full of flowery language and monosyllables (usually published by Virgin, on cheap paper, sold for $10.99 and containing a collection of the dealings of serial killers- you know the type) but a bit of research uncovered good reviews. It was No.1 on the NY Times bestseller list, and I actually know Danny Sugerman's work (Wonderland Ave is lying around my house somewhere).
The Doors were very popular at my high school in about 1994-95, I think because of the 1991 film, and remembering I grew up in surburban NSW, Australia, so most of the kids would have had to wait until it was on tv to see it. I tended to stay away from bands or movies that were too popular, not because I wanted to be different, but because I had been burned so many times before by the recommendations that turned out to be crap. So there were a lot of iron-on Doors badges stuck onto bags and Jim Morrison t-shirts floating about.
My brother had the best of cd, and I stumbled across it in about 1997 and thought I'd give it a go. I actually really liked it. I like the music every time I hear it, but I just can't get past the fact that Morrison is such a wanker. I hate people who take themselves too seriously. He did have a way with words, and the music can be hauntingly beautiful, but I don't know how he could have sung some of the ad-libbing on "The End" and "Gloria" without pissing himself laughing. I think if I had found out they all did crack up in the dressing room afterward and say "I can't believe they bought it again" I would have a lot more respect for them.
I've finished Chapter One, Jimbo has just finished high school, his parents are despairing about his wacky behaviour so have enrolled him in college in Florida. He's just about on his way.
PS: My favourite Doors song is "Crystal Ship", followed by "The End". The copy of "The End" that I have on iTunes cuts out early and flows immediately into "Here Comes Santa Claus" by Doris Day. It always freaks people out.
10 February 2009
Vile Bodies? Not too vile at all
I actually finished this book about three days ago, alright? I've been busy, alright? I'm SORRY. I'll be more punctual in future.
The verdict? I liked it. I thought Waugh was an early 20th century Bret Easton Ellis, without all the guts and black stuff. He shows up the more hollow side of the aristocracy, and why was I glad that it sort of worked for Nina and Adam? I didn't think they were a good couple, necessarily. But it was insightful and funny, and that can't be bad.
So I give Vile Bodies 4 cheese wheels out of five.
Other stuff:
* I found out that if you submit a 50 word review to fishpond.com, you get 20c credit on your account. I did a stack of them in an hour or so. So, if I submit 22 reviews a day (trust me, it's not hard), this is a (free!) book a week. Only problem is, you can't review books that have already been reviewed by someone else. But as I've read so many children's books over the years, I can make this work. Sweet!
* I have succumbed to husbandal pressure and am reading Life of Pi. It's pretty good.
The verdict? I liked it. I thought Waugh was an early 20th century Bret Easton Ellis, without all the guts and black stuff. He shows up the more hollow side of the aristocracy, and why was I glad that it sort of worked for Nina and Adam? I didn't think they were a good couple, necessarily. But it was insightful and funny, and that can't be bad.
So I give Vile Bodies 4 cheese wheels out of five.
Other stuff:
* I found out that if you submit a 50 word review to fishpond.com, you get 20c credit on your account. I did a stack of them in an hour or so. So, if I submit 22 reviews a day (trust me, it's not hard), this is a (free!) book a week. Only problem is, you can't review books that have already been reviewed by someone else. But as I've read so many children's books over the years, I can make this work. Sweet!
* I have succumbed to husbandal pressure and am reading Life of Pi. It's pretty good.
05 February 2009
The distant future with hologram conferences
Here is a list of books I have read many times and will certainly read again:
1. Lolita (read 3 times)
2. The Lord of the Rings trilogy (3 times)
3. 1984 (4 times)
4. Louis Be Bernieres trilogy (Senor Viva etc) (2 times)
5. The Princess Bride (2 times)
1. Lolita (read 3 times)
2. The Lord of the Rings trilogy (3 times)
3. 1984 (4 times)
4. Louis Be Bernieres trilogy (Senor Viva etc) (2 times)
5. The Princess Bride (2 times)
5 books to read again before you die
I will get back to these 5 one day:
1. Catch 22
2. To Kill a Mockingbird
3. David Copperfield
4. His Dark Materials trilogy
5. Blonde
Bear in mind that this is a list of books I've only read once, and plan to read again. There is another list, of books I've read countless times, and know I'll read again. Maybe, a long time from now, in the distant future, I'll make that list. When we have hologram conferences and flying cars.
1. Catch 22
2. To Kill a Mockingbird
3. David Copperfield
4. His Dark Materials trilogy
5. Blonde
Bear in mind that this is a list of books I've only read once, and plan to read again. There is another list, of books I've read countless times, and know I'll read again. Maybe, a long time from now, in the distant future, I'll make that list. When we have hologram conferences and flying cars.
Miss Runcible and Mr Outrage
I'm really enjoying this book. It's hard to make the adjustment from non-fiction to fiction, but it's good. The language is a bit of an adjustment too- all the "terribly sick-making" and "simply divine" sort of stuff.
As an aside, I was reading in the bath tub and I dropped the book in the water. I haven't done this in YEARS. I left Alice in Wonderland out in the rain when I was about 10. I didn't mind. When it dried it was all crinkly, like a well loved book without the loving. What was amazing though about today was the speed at which the book swelled up and absorbed the water, 'cause I scooped it out pretty quick.
But I'm a bit worried now that the pages will stick together. Might leave it out in the sun to dry. But it's about 38 degrees today, so I hope it doesn't spontaneously combust. I'd never know if Adam and Nina get married.
As an aside, I was reading in the bath tub and I dropped the book in the water. I haven't done this in YEARS. I left Alice in Wonderland out in the rain when I was about 10. I didn't mind. When it dried it was all crinkly, like a well loved book without the loving. What was amazing though about today was the speed at which the book swelled up and absorbed the water, 'cause I scooped it out pretty quick.
But I'm a bit worried now that the pages will stick together. Might leave it out in the sun to dry. But it's about 38 degrees today, so I hope it doesn't spontaneously combust. I'd never know if Adam and Nina get married.
Vile Bodies #1
Waugh talks about a party in the early hours of the morning:
"There were about a dozen people left at the party; that hard kernal of gaiety that never breaks."
I like that. It's very apt, we have held a few parties in our time, and there is always the group that stays behind after everyone else leaves, in the wee hours. It's usually the best part of the party, by that stage you are worn out, the hosts have usually changed out of their party clothes and into trackies, at least three people are drinking tea. Conversations are free and photos sordid but the experience binds you all together, at least until the next party.
"There were about a dozen people left at the party; that hard kernal of gaiety that never breaks."
I like that. It's very apt, we have held a few parties in our time, and there is always the group that stays behind after everyone else leaves, in the wee hours. It's usually the best part of the party, by that stage you are worn out, the hosts have usually changed out of their party clothes and into trackies, at least three people are drinking tea. Conversations are free and photos sordid but the experience binds you all together, at least until the next party.
04 February 2009
Things I love...#183363
I finished Hons and Rebels today. I found it completely modest and without artifice, unlike Diana Mosley's claptrap. In fact, parts of it made me want to re-read "A Life of Contrasts", but I don't think I could handle it at the moment. I need a Mitford break. But I'm not taking too much of a break, just a detour to Evelyn Waugh's "Vile Bodies". I think.
Jessica MItford ends the book with the her husband Esmond Romilly leaving to go to war at the age of 22 (I think), which would put her at 23. At this age already she had lived two or three lives of normal people.
I found the very brief mention of the death of her four month old daughter (Julia, though she never mentions her by name) particularly poignant- I have a four month old daughter, asleep in her cot, right now. She describes the dreams that Esmond and herself had for the baby, that she would be free of the restraints that were placed upon themselves as they were growing up, of nannies and governesses, and that she would be surrounded by intelligent, interesting people. We have the same dreams for our own little girl, that she is free of the religious indoctrination and prejudices that were forced upon us as children, and that she is free to pursue anything she wants to pursue. She describes their joy at watching her grow- learning to smile and catching her feet with unsteady hands- the very same thing M and I do every day. However, through partial ignorance on the part of a baby nurse and herself, mother and baby both come down with a horrible case of the measles and mother recovers, only to find baby at death's door in an oxygen tent. She struggles on for a few days, and dies. How awful. They flee to Corsica to attempt to, in any way, recover from the terrible shock.
This story is told, amongst others, with consummate grace and poise, not flowery or trite in any way. I have often noticed, in the autobiographies of women, that events like this are placed alongside wars and political intrigues with equal emphasis, which is where I believe they belong too. The death of a baby is more of a tragedy than the death of Eva Braun, for so many reasons. And, for me, made all the more real by my living, breathing, perfect baby, just ten steps away.
So well done, Jessica Mitford, on recreating your heady youth. I think I read somewhere that she has since written a follow-up to this book, describing her departure from Communism. I'll dig it up one day, but not today. For now, it's Arcade Fire and watching my baby sleep.
Jessica MItford ends the book with the her husband Esmond Romilly leaving to go to war at the age of 22 (I think), which would put her at 23. At this age already she had lived two or three lives of normal people.
I found the very brief mention of the death of her four month old daughter (Julia, though she never mentions her by name) particularly poignant- I have a four month old daughter, asleep in her cot, right now. She describes the dreams that Esmond and herself had for the baby, that she would be free of the restraints that were placed upon themselves as they were growing up, of nannies and governesses, and that she would be surrounded by intelligent, interesting people. We have the same dreams for our own little girl, that she is free of the religious indoctrination and prejudices that were forced upon us as children, and that she is free to pursue anything she wants to pursue. She describes their joy at watching her grow- learning to smile and catching her feet with unsteady hands- the very same thing M and I do every day. However, through partial ignorance on the part of a baby nurse and herself, mother and baby both come down with a horrible case of the measles and mother recovers, only to find baby at death's door in an oxygen tent. She struggles on for a few days, and dies. How awful. They flee to Corsica to attempt to, in any way, recover from the terrible shock.
This story is told, amongst others, with consummate grace and poise, not flowery or trite in any way. I have often noticed, in the autobiographies of women, that events like this are placed alongside wars and political intrigues with equal emphasis, which is where I believe they belong too. The death of a baby is more of a tragedy than the death of Eva Braun, for so many reasons. And, for me, made all the more real by my living, breathing, perfect baby, just ten steps away.
So well done, Jessica Mitford, on recreating your heady youth. I think I read somewhere that she has since written a follow-up to this book, describing her departure from Communism. I'll dig it up one day, but not today. For now, it's Arcade Fire and watching my baby sleep.
Things I love about Jessica Mitford #4
She and her young husband were staying at Martha's Vineyard, a hotspot for artists and leftists in the 30s, in a cabin, when they decided it was too expensive, so they checked out, but kept staying there, sneaking out early each morning, circumnavigating the grounds, to enter by the main office, pretending they had come to visit friends for the day.
Things I love about Jessica Mitford #3
She stole top hats from the cloakroom at Eton and sold them back to the same class of people (if not the same people) to make money.
Things I love about Jessica Mitford #2
She had a completely different political ideology from her sister Unity, and can't fathom Unity's support of the Nazi's, but never speaks ill of her, and the cover of her autobiography is a picture of Unity reading to her as a child.
02 February 2009
Things I love about Jessica Mitford #1
When she was tiny, she would give her father "Palsy Practice". She warned him that when he was old, he was likely to get palsy, so when he was drinking his tea, she would shake his hand gently to help prepare him for this adjustment.
Hons and Rebels
I've decided my next book is going to be "Hons and Rebels" by Jessica Mitford.
I've mentioned before that I have been following a train of thought with my recent choices of books. I am fascinated by the Mitford sisters. I'd read things here and there about them from time to time, and had always wanted to read more, but didn't come a biography, despite looking in a few bookshops. Then I found"The Mitford Sisters" by Mary S. Lovell and read it from cover to cover in about a week.
The Mitford family are an aristocratic British family, and their influence and events of their life span most of the 20th century. The daughters- Nancy, Pam, Diana, Unity, Jessica and Deborah (there was one unfortunate brother, Tom), were all Teutonically gorgeous and charming and winsome and clever and witty and just all round smashing.
What I find most amazing about the sisters, is their involvement in politics and political circles was quite significant, for women born between 1904 and 1920, and who received very little to no education (their father vehemently opposed education for women, which the girls' regretted their entire lives). Not only that, their political persuasion ranged wildly from right to left, covering all spheres and domains of political life, especially from the 30s onward.
I have mentioned Unity before (Unity Valkyrie Mitford, conceived in Swastika, Canada). She was one of these obsessive, swoony types, who decided to obsessively swoon over, of all people, Adolf Hitler. She became obsessed with him and would hang around the Osteria Bavaria, mooning about every day until he noticed her there and called her over. They had intermittent contact after this, enough for Eva Braun to write in her diary:
"She is known as the Valkyrie and looks the part, including her legs. I the mistress of the greatest man in Germany and the whole world, I sit here waiting while the sun mocks me through the window panes."
Unity's dearest sister, Diana, married the leader of the British Fascists, Oswald Mosley, outwardly a weedy loser with a little bitch moustache, whose "blackshirts" menaced London streets during the pre WWII days. A racist, fascist, egomaniac, and may I mention, she left the dreamy Bryan Guiness for this man who who modelled himself on the little dictator himself. I have also read Diana Mosley's biography, and whilst it is an ok read (an unbelievable amount of name dropping, and talk of sailing around the Mediterranean on their yacht for months because they were in exile from Britain? Give me a break), she does spend an awful lot of time defending the actions of Mosley and his thugs, and to an extent Hitler himself. She talks about his charisma, his gallantry, his respectful nature toward (Aryan) womankind whilst feigning ignorance over the Holocaust and even anti-Semitism of the time.
This might be more believable if her sister, The Valkyrie, hadn't written a letter to Der Sturmer, Germany's most rabidly anti-Semitic newspaper, which included the following passage:
"The English have no notion of the Jewish danger. Our worst Jews work only behind the scenes. We think with joy of the day when we will be able to say England for the English! Out with the Jews! Heil Hitler! P.S. please publish my name in full, I want everyone to know I am a Jew hater."
How embarrassing. I guess in the day you were allowed to be a Jew-hater, but not to say you were a Jew-hater.
Anyway, the day that the war broke out between Germany and Britain, Unity went to the English Garden in Munich and shot herself in the head. (Another example of a woman willing to commit suicide for Hitler.) She survived, for another 8 years, but was a bit kooky and died eventually.
Diana lived for about a thousand years and was as stunning in 2000 as she was in 1930, which is a bit annoying for an old leftie like myself.
Nancy (the eldest) was a bit of a leftie herself. She became a writer in Paris and two of her most famous works are "Love in a Cold Climate" and "The Pursuit of Love". I read these books a couple of weeks ago. They were pretty good.
Pam was the frumpy farmhand-type sister (although not frumpy at all), and married a similar farmhand-type and lived on a farm and not much else is known about her.
Deborah (Debo), the youngest, married a duke and became fabulously rich and had houses all over the place, and ended up being the only sister to remain in England (the rest living in Paris, Ireland or the USA).
And then there was Jessica (Decca), second youngest, who I think is the most interesting and likable of all the sisters. She always dreamed of running away, and had a running away fund from a super young age. She used to sell her Christmas presents to her sisters and keep the money to add to the fund. She was fabulously argumentative and controversial and left wing and was also a Communist (called the 'red sheep' of the family- great. She would hear all about her black sheep second cousin when she was growing up, Esmond Romilly, who the family detested, so when she was 19, she ran off and married him, and then they went to fight in the Spanish Civil War. After this, they migrated to the USA, then war broke out and Esmond died fighting the Nazis.
She remarried, and loved a generally fabulous, but difficult life, always fighting the good fight, writing an expose on the American funeral industry that was a huge controversy at the time, muckraking and exposing charlatans as a journalist. She was a huge civil rights campaigner and supported Martin Luther King and was barricaded in a church while the Ku Klux Klan were attacking outside.
Jessica had a huge influence on aspiring trailblazing women everywhere. One of her biggest fans is JK Rowling (of Harry Potter fame), who, as I do, loved how she never outgrew her adolescent idealism, only learned to approach it with cunning and sharp intelligence. Rowling even named her daughter after her.
I find it fascinating that two sisters, like Unity and Jessica (or Diana and Jessica) could have such polarising views on politics, despite being very close as children. The cover of Hons and Rebels shows Unity reading to Jessica as children. I don't think the book is Mein Kempf. I think it's extra relevant to me, as my family also has wildly varying political views, my parents both being passionate conservatives. My eldest brother and I are passionate liberals, which always makes for interesting discussions round the table. My other brother and sister (I believe) sit somewhere in the middle. But what makes us who we are? Nature vs Nurture and all that.
By the way, if you look up Jessica Mitford on Wikipedia, just be prepared for her photo. She looks like Satan's love child. But I promise you, she's not. I'll have more about her soon to prove it.
I've mentioned before that I have been following a train of thought with my recent choices of books. I am fascinated by the Mitford sisters. I'd read things here and there about them from time to time, and had always wanted to read more, but didn't come a biography, despite looking in a few bookshops. Then I found"The Mitford Sisters" by Mary S. Lovell and read it from cover to cover in about a week.
The Mitford family are an aristocratic British family, and their influence and events of their life span most of the 20th century. The daughters- Nancy, Pam, Diana, Unity, Jessica and Deborah (there was one unfortunate brother, Tom), were all Teutonically gorgeous and charming and winsome and clever and witty and just all round smashing.
What I find most amazing about the sisters, is their involvement in politics and political circles was quite significant, for women born between 1904 and 1920, and who received very little to no education (their father vehemently opposed education for women, which the girls' regretted their entire lives). Not only that, their political persuasion ranged wildly from right to left, covering all spheres and domains of political life, especially from the 30s onward.
I have mentioned Unity before (Unity Valkyrie Mitford, conceived in Swastika, Canada). She was one of these obsessive, swoony types, who decided to obsessively swoon over, of all people, Adolf Hitler. She became obsessed with him and would hang around the Osteria Bavaria, mooning about every day until he noticed her there and called her over. They had intermittent contact after this, enough for Eva Braun to write in her diary:
"She is known as the Valkyrie and looks the part, including her legs. I the mistress of the greatest man in Germany and the whole world, I sit here waiting while the sun mocks me through the window panes."
Unity's dearest sister, Diana, married the leader of the British Fascists, Oswald Mosley, outwardly a weedy loser with a little bitch moustache, whose "blackshirts" menaced London streets during the pre WWII days. A racist, fascist, egomaniac, and may I mention, she left the dreamy Bryan Guiness for this man who who modelled himself on the little dictator himself. I have also read Diana Mosley's biography, and whilst it is an ok read (an unbelievable amount of name dropping, and talk of sailing around the Mediterranean on their yacht for months because they were in exile from Britain? Give me a break), she does spend an awful lot of time defending the actions of Mosley and his thugs, and to an extent Hitler himself. She talks about his charisma, his gallantry, his respectful nature toward (Aryan) womankind whilst feigning ignorance over the Holocaust and even anti-Semitism of the time.
This might be more believable if her sister, The Valkyrie, hadn't written a letter to Der Sturmer, Germany's most rabidly anti-Semitic newspaper, which included the following passage:
"The English have no notion of the Jewish danger. Our worst Jews work only behind the scenes. We think with joy of the day when we will be able to say England for the English! Out with the Jews! Heil Hitler! P.S. please publish my name in full, I want everyone to know I am a Jew hater."
How embarrassing. I guess in the day you were allowed to be a Jew-hater, but not to say you were a Jew-hater.
Anyway, the day that the war broke out between Germany and Britain, Unity went to the English Garden in Munich and shot herself in the head. (Another example of a woman willing to commit suicide for Hitler.) She survived, for another 8 years, but was a bit kooky and died eventually.
Diana lived for about a thousand years and was as stunning in 2000 as she was in 1930, which is a bit annoying for an old leftie like myself.
Nancy (the eldest) was a bit of a leftie herself. She became a writer in Paris and two of her most famous works are "Love in a Cold Climate" and "The Pursuit of Love". I read these books a couple of weeks ago. They were pretty good.
Pam was the frumpy farmhand-type sister (although not frumpy at all), and married a similar farmhand-type and lived on a farm and not much else is known about her.
Deborah (Debo), the youngest, married a duke and became fabulously rich and had houses all over the place, and ended up being the only sister to remain in England (the rest living in Paris, Ireland or the USA).
And then there was Jessica (Decca), second youngest, who I think is the most interesting and likable of all the sisters. She always dreamed of running away, and had a running away fund from a super young age. She used to sell her Christmas presents to her sisters and keep the money to add to the fund. She was fabulously argumentative and controversial and left wing and was also a Communist (called the 'red sheep' of the family- great. She would hear all about her black sheep second cousin when she was growing up, Esmond Romilly, who the family detested, so when she was 19, she ran off and married him, and then they went to fight in the Spanish Civil War. After this, they migrated to the USA, then war broke out and Esmond died fighting the Nazis.
She remarried, and loved a generally fabulous, but difficult life, always fighting the good fight, writing an expose on the American funeral industry that was a huge controversy at the time, muckraking and exposing charlatans as a journalist. She was a huge civil rights campaigner and supported Martin Luther King and was barricaded in a church while the Ku Klux Klan were attacking outside.
Jessica had a huge influence on aspiring trailblazing women everywhere. One of her biggest fans is JK Rowling (of Harry Potter fame), who, as I do, loved how she never outgrew her adolescent idealism, only learned to approach it with cunning and sharp intelligence. Rowling even named her daughter after her.
I find it fascinating that two sisters, like Unity and Jessica (or Diana and Jessica) could have such polarising views on politics, despite being very close as children. The cover of Hons and Rebels shows Unity reading to Jessica as children. I don't think the book is Mein Kempf. I think it's extra relevant to me, as my family also has wildly varying political views, my parents both being passionate conservatives. My eldest brother and I are passionate liberals, which always makes for interesting discussions round the table. My other brother and sister (I believe) sit somewhere in the middle. But what makes us who we are? Nature vs Nurture and all that.
By the way, if you look up Jessica Mitford on Wikipedia, just be prepared for her photo. She looks like Satan's love child. But I promise you, she's not. I'll have more about her soon to prove it.
Hitler is a jerk, Mussolini bit his weenie
I'm looking for this biography of Hitler now on fishpond.com. On this site, they often offer books as part of a "double deal", you know the type: you might be buying "The Fellowship of the Ring", so they will offer you "The Two Towers" at half price.
With "The Definitive Biography of Hitler", they are offering "Dilbert 2.0 (with dvd)". You know the weird nerdy little animated guy?
I'm trying to make the connection.
Go figure.
With "The Definitive Biography of Hitler", they are offering "Dilbert 2.0 (with dvd)". You know the weird nerdy little animated guy?
I'm trying to make the connection.
Go figure.
The very lost life of Eva Braun
I just now, just this very second, finished "The Lost Life of Eva Braun". It was interesting, especially the detail of the last days and hours of Eva and Hitler together in the bunker. I think I will attempt to find a book on the early days of Hitler. I just don't like books that are too war-heavy. I find artillery talk uber-boring, but I do like finding out about people, and their thoughts, feelings and reactions in times of great stress or change.
This book (by Angela Lambert) skims over a period of 13 years (the length of time Eva was involved with Hitler) fairly briefly, and there are then two chapters devoted to the last hours in the bunker. The author explains that because Hitler knew it was the end, he could finally stop trying to hide Eva away, so the last two months of her life are the most well recorded. Much is known about her actions in these last days.
Hitler was expecting most of his henchmen to commit suicide in the bunker with him. Although a lot of top-ranking Nazis later committed suicide, mostly as a result of the Nuremberg trials, the only one who died with Hitler was Goebbels, who took his wife Magda and their six children along with him.
It seems as though Eva was his most loyal follower, all the way to the end, even though he had spent so much of their time together denying her existence, or neglecting her because his first love was really the Nazi party. Eva tried to commit suicide twice, once in 1932 and again in 1935. Hitler was surrounded by death and suicide, not least of all the 6 million undesirables that died in the concentration camps, or the 3.5 million German military and civilian deaths as a result of the war (or the 13 million Soviet deaths, or the 500,000 Commonwealth deaths, and so on, and so on).
Looking at it this way, it's incredible. In the true sense of the word, it seems incredible. Taking "just" the above figure of 23 million people, it's incredible. What is the true number of people in the world who died at the hands of this one man? If Hitler had never risen to power, would they have lived on and died at a natural old age? Or would someone else have stepped in and filled the void? Every one of those 23 million had a family, friends, possible children, parents. And yet we will never hear all their stories, because it's too much. The deaths of so many people is just too much to comprehend. And so I read a story about the deaths of two people- Adolf Hitler and Eva Braun. The author is by no means sympathetic to Hitler, but at times it does read a bit like a love story. She often makes statements about Hitler finally admitting his love for Eva in the end, but I don't know. Could he be capable of love? I just doubt it. He was an absolute megalomaniac and his greatest love was his own self image. I just don't think such a monster could have loved anyone but himself, and maybe his dog (which was also killed in the bunker with him).
But I have no doubt that Eva loved him. She gave up everything, her family, her friends, her future -even potential everythings- marriage, and children, for him. At 33, she killed herself alongside him in an underground bunker. At 33, she still had years to get married and have children. But, in a way, her reason for dying seems a lot more realistic than anybody else's. The soldiers died for a dream, a dream of the utopia that was to be the Third Reich, the concentration camp prisoners died at the expense of the dream. But Eva died for love. She didn't want to live in a world without the man she loved.
I'll never understand it, I suppose. I'll never understand women who fall in love with bad men, women who fall in love with rapists and serial killers and maniacal dictators. For me, the allure has always been a good heart. Without being too sentimental, I am reminded of my love for my husband when he performs any little act of kindness to me or to others. Could the same possibly, on any level, be said of Hitler? It seems impossible. Is it too simplistic to say that these women are attracted by power? Is it some sort of Freudian father-figure seeking? I can't say.
It is a hell of a story. Anonymous young shop girl falls in love with possibly the most powerful man of the 20th century. In comparison to other stories of powerful men, they even seem to have been completely faithful to one another, all the way until the end. I wonder if they had grown old, and she had lost her youthful vigour and whimsy, if he would have remained so devoted. They even seem to have had a normal sex life. Not what one would picture from a despot. He also abstained from smoking, drinking, or excesses of any kind, unlike his second in commands.
So, all in all, an interesting work of non-fiction. Now I'd like to know a little bit more about Hitler the man, and Speer also seems interesting.
One overriding thing I'd give my right arm to find out though, and I guess I'll never know: "Did Hitler REALLY only have one ball?" And is the other REALLY in the Albert Hall? Maybe I'm missing the point. As usual.
This book (by Angela Lambert) skims over a period of 13 years (the length of time Eva was involved with Hitler) fairly briefly, and there are then two chapters devoted to the last hours in the bunker. The author explains that because Hitler knew it was the end, he could finally stop trying to hide Eva away, so the last two months of her life are the most well recorded. Much is known about her actions in these last days.
Hitler was expecting most of his henchmen to commit suicide in the bunker with him. Although a lot of top-ranking Nazis later committed suicide, mostly as a result of the Nuremberg trials, the only one who died with Hitler was Goebbels, who took his wife Magda and their six children along with him.
It seems as though Eva was his most loyal follower, all the way to the end, even though he had spent so much of their time together denying her existence, or neglecting her because his first love was really the Nazi party. Eva tried to commit suicide twice, once in 1932 and again in 1935. Hitler was surrounded by death and suicide, not least of all the 6 million undesirables that died in the concentration camps, or the 3.5 million German military and civilian deaths as a result of the war (or the 13 million Soviet deaths, or the 500,000 Commonwealth deaths, and so on, and so on).
Looking at it this way, it's incredible. In the true sense of the word, it seems incredible. Taking "just" the above figure of 23 million people, it's incredible. What is the true number of people in the world who died at the hands of this one man? If Hitler had never risen to power, would they have lived on and died at a natural old age? Or would someone else have stepped in and filled the void? Every one of those 23 million had a family, friends, possible children, parents. And yet we will never hear all their stories, because it's too much. The deaths of so many people is just too much to comprehend. And so I read a story about the deaths of two people- Adolf Hitler and Eva Braun. The author is by no means sympathetic to Hitler, but at times it does read a bit like a love story. She often makes statements about Hitler finally admitting his love for Eva in the end, but I don't know. Could he be capable of love? I just doubt it. He was an absolute megalomaniac and his greatest love was his own self image. I just don't think such a monster could have loved anyone but himself, and maybe his dog (which was also killed in the bunker with him).
But I have no doubt that Eva loved him. She gave up everything, her family, her friends, her future -even potential everythings- marriage, and children, for him. At 33, she killed herself alongside him in an underground bunker. At 33, she still had years to get married and have children. But, in a way, her reason for dying seems a lot more realistic than anybody else's. The soldiers died for a dream, a dream of the utopia that was to be the Third Reich, the concentration camp prisoners died at the expense of the dream. But Eva died for love. She didn't want to live in a world without the man she loved.
I'll never understand it, I suppose. I'll never understand women who fall in love with bad men, women who fall in love with rapists and serial killers and maniacal dictators. For me, the allure has always been a good heart. Without being too sentimental, I am reminded of my love for my husband when he performs any little act of kindness to me or to others. Could the same possibly, on any level, be said of Hitler? It seems impossible. Is it too simplistic to say that these women are attracted by power? Is it some sort of Freudian father-figure seeking? I can't say.
It is a hell of a story. Anonymous young shop girl falls in love with possibly the most powerful man of the 20th century. In comparison to other stories of powerful men, they even seem to have been completely faithful to one another, all the way until the end. I wonder if they had grown old, and she had lost her youthful vigour and whimsy, if he would have remained so devoted. They even seem to have had a normal sex life. Not what one would picture from a despot. He also abstained from smoking, drinking, or excesses of any kind, unlike his second in commands.
So, all in all, an interesting work of non-fiction. Now I'd like to know a little bit more about Hitler the man, and Speer also seems interesting.
One overriding thing I'd give my right arm to find out though, and I guess I'll never know: "Did Hitler REALLY only have one ball?" And is the other REALLY in the Albert Hall? Maybe I'm missing the point. As usual.
28 January 2009
What the Dickens?
Let me get this out of the way before we fall in love any deeper: I love Dickens. I REALLY love Dickens. Charles Dickens, born 1812, died 1870.
I have said this to people, and 98% invariably have a response akin to this: "Oooooo hoooooooo wayyyyyyyyy heeeyyyyyyyy la-di-da you like Dickens heyyyyyy well aren't you little Miss clever clogs/hoity toity/foofle laloofle:. I made the last one up. But the implication seems to be that anyone who has read, or even attempted to read Dickens is a bit up themselves.
I don't want to downplay Dickens, because clearly I think he's neato, but to me, Dickens must have been the....maybe...Erica Jong? of his day. I'm trying to think of popular, yet respectable writers of our age, but can't think of one off the top of my head. I'd say Dan Brown but I'd be lying.
Seriously. Dickens is a pretty easy read. But here's the rub: he is a fabulous read. His characters are so lively that they just about jump off the page and slap you in the face.
David Copperfield was a book that changed my life. Yes, it's about a gazillion pages long (and THIN pages, with little writing), and yes it usually comes bound in that hardback red cover with gold writing that looks impressive on the bookshelf, but hundreds of pages of that book fly by in an afternoon, or so it felt. I read this book on my honeymoon, and very rarely do I feel so gutted that I have finished a book. Sometimes I finish them and want to hurl the book out the car window. When I finished DC I was sitting on the balcony of the place that we stayed in in Broome. It was a warm day, despite being the middle of winter and as I finished it I curled it up to my chest and hugged it for about ten minutes. Truly. I wanted to bask in it's glow. I wanted to sew it into a blanket and wrap myself up in it. I wanted to blend it into liquid and drink it. I wanted to lever open my ribcage and plant it next to my heart. That's where I felt it belonged. Just thinking about it now makes me want to snap this laptop shut and read it from cover to cover again. Right now.
Now. This is not to say that DC is my favourite book. It's not. That will come later. It's one of. But it is the most heartwarming, the most uplifting, the most real book I have ever read. Some people think that Dickens is a bit of a depressing writer, or a bit of a one trick pony, and that his books paint a picture of a gloomy and dismal London, full of crooks and schemers, a Thames overflowing with rotting detritus, the streets crawling with thieves, orphans, whores, and the pitiful remnants of decent society. Let me tell you, I have never read an author's work that made me want to go to London more, because any city that produces writers like that is a-ok in my book. Or my blog. (I am a bit of an Anglophile anyway, but that's another story).
If you haven't read DC, it's very difficult to entice you to read it based on my interpretation alone, but if you have read it-boy. How about that Uriah Heep? That ingratiating little piece of snot. I knew he was trouble from day one.Uriah always seemed the most realistic character to me, I could almost feel him breathing down the back of my neck. Steerforth, you cad. I've met your type a thousand times before, and I'm sorry, Little Em'ly was an idiot for falling for your sweet talk. Agnes? Let's be friends! I think you're great. Ham? Oh, Ham, I've known your type too and it was never going to turn out for the best, but I was rooting for you. Dora, you're a bit of a dope, but harmless too. I wished you well.
And David. Sweet, honest, flawed David. Lovely David, gullible David, too-quick-to-grow-up David. I think I missed you most of all. You let me live in your world for a week or two and I will never forget it. You made me feel younger, more optimistic and less cynical all at the same time. I have searched high and low and have never found a fictional man like you.
Brilliant.
I made a terrible mistake after reading DC. I should have left it for a while and then read something completely different, like a book on container gardening or some such. But I was in such a dreamy honeymoon state that I started Great Expectations. On the same day. I know, I know, I know what you're thinking. Unless it's a sequel, what was I thinking?? How could I expect to find characters I cared about half as much as those in DC? Unfortunately I didn't, but it is certainly not the fault of Great Expectations. Sadly, GE will always just be the book that followed DC for me now, and it is a true regret. I would not be able to read it again without wishing I was reading DC.
The one thing that saved GE for me and kept me going was Miss Havisham. I loved that crazy broad. I know she's kind of supposed to be the creepy bad guy, but how interesting is she as a character? For the uninitiated, she's this old lady who lives in a huge crumbling mansion and was jilted at the alter when she was younger. She only ever wears her wedding dress, and the wedding feast decays on her table. She leaves her clocks stopped at the exact moment she found out she was jilted. Dickens describes her as a skeleton with eyes. She fosters a beautiful girl, Estella, who she trains to enchant boys (Pip) into falling in love with her and then revels in their pain as she jilts the boys as she was once jilted.
Miss Havisham is another one of those "breathe down your neck" characters. Dickens recreates her so delicately, you can imagine her sliding a dry, brittle old hand down your face as you read. Pip was a bit of pill, if I'm being honest, but Miss Havisham was the bomb.
The weird thing is though, even though this book was a disappointment to me, I still loved it. It was only a disappointment in relation to David Copperfield, and who knows, I might read it again some day.
But because I felt so burned, I haven;t been able to pick up another Dickens since, though I am dying to. I will though, because I know I will love it. Nicholas Nickleby might be my next one- maybe The Pickwick Papers. I've heard Nicholas Nickleby is one of his most beloved books, but is criticised for a lack of character development. Eek! Not Dickens! That could break my heart.
So for now, it's still Mr Copperfield, my other honeymoon love. I only wish I'd met him sooner.
By the way, there is an episode of South Park that parodies Great Expectations. I saw the South Park episode first, and it kept coming back to me as I was reading the book. Usually it's the other way around. But in my opinion, it's one of the worst episodes, and that is a very big call for me, as I love South Park. But Miss Havisham controls a fleet of flying monkey robots, and that aint half bad.
I have said this to people, and 98% invariably have a response akin to this: "Oooooo hoooooooo wayyyyyyyyy heeeyyyyyyyy la-di-da you like Dickens heyyyyyy well aren't you little Miss clever clogs/hoity toity/foofle laloofle:. I made the last one up. But the implication seems to be that anyone who has read, or even attempted to read Dickens is a bit up themselves.
I don't want to downplay Dickens, because clearly I think he's neato, but to me, Dickens must have been the....maybe...Erica Jong? of his day. I'm trying to think of popular, yet respectable writers of our age, but can't think of one off the top of my head. I'd say Dan Brown but I'd be lying.
Seriously. Dickens is a pretty easy read. But here's the rub: he is a fabulous read. His characters are so lively that they just about jump off the page and slap you in the face.
David Copperfield was a book that changed my life. Yes, it's about a gazillion pages long (and THIN pages, with little writing), and yes it usually comes bound in that hardback red cover with gold writing that looks impressive on the bookshelf, but hundreds of pages of that book fly by in an afternoon, or so it felt. I read this book on my honeymoon, and very rarely do I feel so gutted that I have finished a book. Sometimes I finish them and want to hurl the book out the car window. When I finished DC I was sitting on the balcony of the place that we stayed in in Broome. It was a warm day, despite being the middle of winter and as I finished it I curled it up to my chest and hugged it for about ten minutes. Truly. I wanted to bask in it's glow. I wanted to sew it into a blanket and wrap myself up in it. I wanted to blend it into liquid and drink it. I wanted to lever open my ribcage and plant it next to my heart. That's where I felt it belonged. Just thinking about it now makes me want to snap this laptop shut and read it from cover to cover again. Right now.
Now. This is not to say that DC is my favourite book. It's not. That will come later. It's one of. But it is the most heartwarming, the most uplifting, the most real book I have ever read. Some people think that Dickens is a bit of a depressing writer, or a bit of a one trick pony, and that his books paint a picture of a gloomy and dismal London, full of crooks and schemers, a Thames overflowing with rotting detritus, the streets crawling with thieves, orphans, whores, and the pitiful remnants of decent society. Let me tell you, I have never read an author's work that made me want to go to London more, because any city that produces writers like that is a-ok in my book. Or my blog. (I am a bit of an Anglophile anyway, but that's another story).
If you haven't read DC, it's very difficult to entice you to read it based on my interpretation alone, but if you have read it-boy. How about that Uriah Heep? That ingratiating little piece of snot. I knew he was trouble from day one.Uriah always seemed the most realistic character to me, I could almost feel him breathing down the back of my neck. Steerforth, you cad. I've met your type a thousand times before, and I'm sorry, Little Em'ly was an idiot for falling for your sweet talk. Agnes? Let's be friends! I think you're great. Ham? Oh, Ham, I've known your type too and it was never going to turn out for the best, but I was rooting for you. Dora, you're a bit of a dope, but harmless too. I wished you well.
And David. Sweet, honest, flawed David. Lovely David, gullible David, too-quick-to-grow-up David. I think I missed you most of all. You let me live in your world for a week or two and I will never forget it. You made me feel younger, more optimistic and less cynical all at the same time. I have searched high and low and have never found a fictional man like you.
Brilliant.
I made a terrible mistake after reading DC. I should have left it for a while and then read something completely different, like a book on container gardening or some such. But I was in such a dreamy honeymoon state that I started Great Expectations. On the same day. I know, I know, I know what you're thinking. Unless it's a sequel, what was I thinking?? How could I expect to find characters I cared about half as much as those in DC? Unfortunately I didn't, but it is certainly not the fault of Great Expectations. Sadly, GE will always just be the book that followed DC for me now, and it is a true regret. I would not be able to read it again without wishing I was reading DC.
The one thing that saved GE for me and kept me going was Miss Havisham. I loved that crazy broad. I know she's kind of supposed to be the creepy bad guy, but how interesting is she as a character? For the uninitiated, she's this old lady who lives in a huge crumbling mansion and was jilted at the alter when she was younger. She only ever wears her wedding dress, and the wedding feast decays on her table. She leaves her clocks stopped at the exact moment she found out she was jilted. Dickens describes her as a skeleton with eyes. She fosters a beautiful girl, Estella, who she trains to enchant boys (Pip) into falling in love with her and then revels in their pain as she jilts the boys as she was once jilted.
Miss Havisham is another one of those "breathe down your neck" characters. Dickens recreates her so delicately, you can imagine her sliding a dry, brittle old hand down your face as you read. Pip was a bit of pill, if I'm being honest, but Miss Havisham was the bomb.
The weird thing is though, even though this book was a disappointment to me, I still loved it. It was only a disappointment in relation to David Copperfield, and who knows, I might read it again some day.
But because I felt so burned, I haven;t been able to pick up another Dickens since, though I am dying to. I will though, because I know I will love it. Nicholas Nickleby might be my next one- maybe The Pickwick Papers. I've heard Nicholas Nickleby is one of his most beloved books, but is criticised for a lack of character development. Eek! Not Dickens! That could break my heart.
So for now, it's still Mr Copperfield, my other honeymoon love. I only wish I'd met him sooner.
By the way, there is an episode of South Park that parodies Great Expectations. I saw the South Park episode first, and it kept coming back to me as I was reading the book. Usually it's the other way around. But in my opinion, it's one of the worst episodes, and that is a very big call for me, as I love South Park. But Miss Havisham controls a fleet of flying monkey robots, and that aint half bad.
The Grim Brothers Grimm
I've just had a baby. By just, I mean four and a half months ago, preceded by nine months of pregnancy. Prior to that I was a primary school teacher, six months of Year Six, four years of Kindergarten (I love the word "Kindergarten"- child garden - beautiful). So I have a fair bit of experience with children's books. (By the way, I would like to state that I am going back to work, the past tense was perhaps inaccurate.)
So, I've been thinking a bit about what I read to my baby girl and have been stockpiling books for her to read when she's a bit older (another two months should do it- just kidding). I don't want to just force my favourite kid's books down her throat (my favourite picture book was "The Lorax" by Dr Seuss and my favourite chapter book was "Matilda" by Roald Dahl. In fact, that's my daughter's name- Matilda, not Roald), I want to expose her to all sorts of different types of books. To that end, she has fiction books, non-fiction books, picture books, bedtime books, story books, chapter books- all sorts of books- on the shelves in her room. She loves the book "Madeline" (so do I) and this generic book called "Big Blue Train" with lots of big bright colours.
I've also been thinking about fairy tales. I'm not one to ban fairy tales because they're misogynistic or sexist or even just lame. When I was a girl, though, I did think fairy tales were a bit lame. I never understood why Rapunzel didn't just climb down her own hair, or Cinderella didn't just leave the wicked stepmother and find the prince for herself. BUT. I do know of a lot of parents who won't read fairy tales to their children because they think they are too violent and disturbing, and I have to say, I know where they're coming from. Let's have a think on Hansel and Gretel. Here we have two children, who are too costly for their parents to keep, so the wicked stepmother forces their lily livered father to ABANDON them in the woods. When the resourceful children use pebbles to find their way home, the stepmother forces the father to abandon them AGAIN, but this time they only have breadcrumbs, which are eaten by the birds, so they get lost. They find a gingerbread house in the woods, and eat it, but it is owned by a WITCH who has the house to ENTICE children so she can EAT them! She captures them and puts old Hansel in a CAGE to FATTEN him up, so that she can EAT him. Gretel is in some sort of slave type non-contractual agreement. Long story short (not really), the witch heats up the oven to COOK Hansel, but he pushes her in and she BURNS TO DEATH. The kids go home, the stepmother is dead so they all live H.E.A. The end.
Right on.
As an aside, I always thought that it was a little bit coincidental that the stepmother happened to also be dead when they got home. What I'm hinting at here, is that I always suspected the witch and stepmother were one and the same. Bitches.
And another thing, if I was Gretel (or Hansel for that matter), when I got home I'd say "look Dad, I'm glad SM is dead and thanks for the invite home and that, but you did ABANDON ME IN THE WOODS TWICE. Remember that? Now GET BENT." And then I would go to DOCS. Talk about henpecked.
So that's H&G. Then there's Snow White -stepdaughter better looking than stepmother, stepmother again abandons child to scary fate in scary forest, sends woodsman out to KILL her and cut out her HEART as proof of her DEATH but nice woodsman doesn't buy it, seven little people, sweeping , cleaning, happiness prevails, until evil SM talks to stupid mirror again and find out she's still alive so POISONS her with apple, and you know how it ends. Bloody horrific.
Cinderella, another evil SM. More servitude, bitchy stepsisters, you know the score.
In the interest of this post, I looked into more Grimm stories. It may interest my non existent reader to know that there are worse tales out there.
Take the happy little story of "The Jew Among Thorns". Let me summate: Servant is granted 3 wishes by dwarf: A gun that will shoot anything servant aims at, A fiddle that will make anyone dance who listens, and the ability to make anyone do anything the servant asks for. Servant walks down road, meet Jew who is listening to beautiful bird song, Jew says "what a beautiful bird, I wish that it were mine". Servant shoots bird, it falls into thorns below, Jew cries out and goes into to get dead bird. Servant's "humour" is tickled, once Jew is in thorns, he starts to play his fiddle. Jew must dance amongst thorns. Jew is scratched to buggery, servant cries "you have fleeced people often enough, now the thorns will do the same to you!" (???) Jew, in terrible pain, says "if only you stop your fiddling, I will give you all the gold I have", servant does, Jew gives servant money, servant pisses off, Jew runs off to the magistrate. Jew says servant stole money, servant calls him a dirty liar, magistrate believes Jew, servant sentenced to be hanged. His last wish is to play his fiddle one last time (damn), which he does, all can't stop dancing, magistrate says "if you stop fiddling, I'll spare your life", which he does. Servant struts up to Jew and says "now tell the truth and tell them where you got the money or I'll start playing again" and the Jew says "I STOLE IT, BUT YOU HONESTLY EARNED IT". (Capitals author's own). Jew is hanged as thief.
Uh, what? Uh, WHAT? The involvement of the Jew in this story is only thus: Jew admires lovely bird, bird gets shot, Jew gets thorns up clack, robbed and hung for his trouble. I'm sure you can predict what I will have to say about this. Let's just say, I think I know why Walt Disney never turned this fairy tale into a cartoon. On second thoughts, from what I've read about him, maybe he should have.
Ha ha ha.
Eva Braun's Cows
So. As I start this blog, I am currently reading "The Lost Life of Eva Braun". I usually find that my current book choice can be traced in a linear or non-linear fashion from a book previously read. In this case I started with a history of the Mitford sisters of Britain, which led me to The Pursuit of Love and Love in a Cold Climate, both by Nancy Mitford, which led to "A Life of Contrasts" by Diana Mitford. Hitler's relationship with Unity Mitford (full name "Unity Valkyrie Mitford", conceived in Swastika, Canada- no foolin'. Was anyone MORE destined to have relationship with Hitler?) led me to Eva Braun. I usually choose the biographies of women. I don't know why. But next in this family tree of books will be Evelyn Waugh's "Vile Bodies" and "Hons and Rebels" by Jessica Mitford. Then I believe I will be done with the Mitfords for some time.
Anyway, so Eva Braun. The author says that there are a billion biographies of Hitler, but only two on Eva. If she hadn't been involved with Hitler, there would probably be two less, so far she seems quite unremarkable. But the times that she lived through were so remarkable, and this, in itself, makes for interesting reading.
I've wanted to read a biography of Hitler for some time. But all the ones I've seen have been so intimidating that I've steered clear. I find though, that I'm more interested in the pre-war days, the "failed artist" days. I always wonder what could make someone who wanted to be an artist, become a dictator? This book briefly states that his failure as an artist led to his, later rampant, then burgeoning, anti-Semitism. I've always wanted to paint well, but have never been able to. It's made me into a rampant anti-Crayola.
So, thus far, I'm finding the Hitler bits more riveting than the Eva bits. I'm up to Hitler taking control of the NSDAP (later Nazi party), which started out with 50 members when he joined and he multiplied the membership by about 60000% by his powers of oration. He made friends in the right places, one of them being a man called Putzi Hanfstaengl, who I note for two things, the stupidest name I've read in a long time and for introducing Unity to Hitler.
Eva and Hitler are just about to meet. I can't say for certain, because I haven't read the book, but I think things are going to turn out smashingly for the two of them. I love a good love story.
Just me
For as long as I can remember, I have loved books, and loved to read. I have been reading a book since I learned to read, at about the age of 4.
I read all books. Fiction, non-fiction, biographical, auto-biographical, fantastical, whimsical, autodidactical, political- I love them all.
That's not to say that I'm not particular about the kinds of books that I read. I am very particular. I have gone through phases of trying to read weighty tomes, intelligentsia texts, but found them so boring that I'd rather try to pass them as stools than pick them up and continue reading them. So then I've tried reading light and fluffy "chick-lit" books that dropped my IQ about 20 points and made me forget where I parked my car. This is a true story that I might tell one day.
My parents are not massive readers. My mum is a fan of the "Aussie battler comes good" genre- a tough talking girl rounding up the sheep on a station in outback QLD with only her old mate Bluey (the cattle dog) for company, but with a heart of gold, meets either similar tough talking shearer or fiddle playing nomadic gypsy type or young and dreamy but confused priest type and has torrid yet fulfilling affair that ends happily with them raising their little tough talking little tackers on the family farm, surviving droughts, evangelists, local town gossips and visits to the big smoke.
Dad likes non-fiction, I think. Our house was (still is, but I don't live there anymore) full of those 4 kilo huge pictorial hardcover books called "Australia", or "Wide Brown Land", or "God's Country", that could just be tools to illustrate the aforementioned stories of mum's -
13, 465, 871 pictures of the bush/scrub/outback, one picture of a beach, one picture of the Sydney Harbour Bridge. But I do remember him reading Wilbur Smith voraciously, along with my brother. They would go halves in the books, my brother would read them first, as he was the quicker reader, Dad would read them later. I remember reading a couple in my teens and being shocked at how much sex was in them. I didn't mind them much at that age, but have had to avoid them my whole life because I can't make the sex connection with my dad and brother. Surely this was awkward for them too? Maybe it's one of those boy things.
Dad was also a big reader of National Geographic. He has been a subscriber since about 1964 or so. We have shelves and shelves of them in our house, in mint condition. So I say he was a big reader of them, but I don't actually remember him reading them, as much as cataloging and rearranging them. He doesn't know, but I lost one of them- November 1994. I can't even remember how I lost it, but I lived in constant fear of the discovery for about 5 years, but I don't think he ever noticed. This particular edition had pictures of topless natives in it- this was the only reason I would read them. I did enjoy the huge maps that used to come with NG. I don't know if they still do, but they were fantastic. Really enormous, detailed maps of obscure places like Yukon Province, East Germany, The Himalayas and the Atlantic sea floor. Those maps were the best- I would spend hours on the bedroom floor with them poring over every detail.
My eldest brother, Jeff, to my knowledge, had never picked up a book and read it from cover to cover after the era of "Dick and Jane go to market". He tells me he has read 7 books as an adult- the entire Harry Potter series. I have to say, if you're going to go on a book fast, those books are a hell of a way to binge. Excellent taste.
My sister will go down in the annals of our family as the first reader, the youngest reader, possibly the best reader. My mum thinks we all have our particular talents and annoying quirks that developed as children. I apparently spoke within hours of being born (first word: "hello". Insightful.). Leanne did same with reading, or just about. Mum says she could read the newspaper from the age of two, Leanne maintains it was about 3 or 4. She is a big reader of the classics- Jane Austen, Charles Dickens. She introduced me to Charles Dickens and I am forever, eternally grateful.
But by far, the biggest influence on my reading habits (actually many, many habits- my sense of humour, my taste in music, my self-contained joy in irritating my mother) was my brother Rob. Closest to me in age, but still 8 years older, my sister Leanne saved my life, but my brother Rob fed my soul. He was the smartest, funniest, funnest, coolest person I knew, until the age of about 16 or 17. I told EVERYONE about him. I wanted to be just like him. The funny thing is, now that I think about it, I know I would have been his annoying little kid sister, and his influence on me certainly wasn't intentional. That's probably what made it all the more pervasive. But I loved everything he did. He had the best friends, the best clothes, the best toys (yes he had toys as a teenager. He still has toys as an adult). He watched the best shows, listened to the best music, ergo, he read the best books. He still influences so many things I read and listen to, he is still giving me casual little tips about books that I end up reading more fanatically than him. I might write more about his influence later, because it was just so massive that I could go on for another two hours about it.
Then there was me. Again, I might go into the childhood that I had that made me such a big reader, but not today. It's a bit too emotionally draining, and I think my baby is waking up. This "blog"- god I hate that term- is not for anyone but me, really. I have been thinking for years that I should devote more time to not just reading books, but reflecting on them and thinking about them in the context of my life. I keep a diary, and at the end of each day I write in there and usually write a couple of lines about the book I happen to be reading, but with the day to day minutiae of every day, it's usually just a little comment crammed in at the bottom of the page, so it's important that I make more of an effort than that.
But, if I know myself, this might fall by the wayside after a few entries, so I can't commit to anything big, Blogspot. It's not you, it's me. It's just not the right time in my life to make a big commitment to someone new. You've got other bloggers, you can make it work, there are other nice girls out there.
Etc.
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