manateeforallseasons

Angels by Dennis Johnson

2009-01-05T10:07:00.000-08:00

Today's meal is Angels, Denis Johnson's first novel. It's easy to see his skill as a writer even in this first go round (although I think that he had a successful career in journalism before writing Angels), a skill that has recently won him the National Book Award for Tree of Smoke.

I read this book slowly, a bit each day, as these souls did not digest quickly and easily. I devoured these souls only by unhinging my jaws and working slowly, much as a large snake would while ingesting a small lamb. But as difficult as it was (the difficulty arising from the tortured, messy souls in this novel, not from the writing style), in the end Angels turned out to be a particularly filling repast.

We start off on a cross country bus where we meet the two main characters, Jamie Mays and Bill Houston. Jamie is, poor thing, en route from Who Really Cares to It Doesn't Really Matter. Bill Houston is just en route. She's escaping a disappointing marriage; he is just escaping. Ex-Navyman and ex-con, Bill Houston has no certain destination in life and ends up exactly where fate decrees that he should. Jamie too just drifts into her fate although not with as much acceptance as Bill Houston. I have a very clear idea in my head of these two. People like us see people like them everywhere; Denis Johnson trusts that we do and doesn't go overboard trying to explain them. It's subtle but very clear. Jamie - skanky, stupid and frail, with hair that is too long, too thin, too flat and a voice that is too shrill, too dull, too desperate. Bill Houston - tough, reckless, irresponsible in a little boy way. He's half empty, fueled by alcohol and carrying a lit match. Almost the brains of his own life...but almost doesn't count on cross country buses and in bank robberies. The most generous thing that I can say about these two are they are both Losers. I don't mean "loser" as we generally use the term, creating the letter L with forefinger and thumb. I mean that every roll of life's dice is a losing one for these two.

You've already jumped ahead to the fact that they hook up (it took even less time for Jamie to do so.) They do and begin a self indulgent spree of drifting and drinking, hauling Jamie's two children along with them. Jamie would surely slash my tires for saying so, but she is a shit mother. She and Bill Houston leave the kids with any friendly old lady or motel maid as they scurry off into the night to drink a round or seven and argue about money. This lasts about as long as it does for losers (the thumb and forefinger kind) and they soon part ways.

Distasteful enough, I say. I'd like a sip of water and perhaps a little mint to make it all palatable but I get the sense that Denis Johnson will not provide such gentile fare.

Second course finds Jamie hunting for Bill Houston because she has a few more things that she wants to drunkenly shriek at him. She once again shows us what she's made of by going home with a man she meets at a bus station (what I've learned so far in 2009 - travel is bad news), a man who claims that he knows Bill Houston. This bad decision ends her up drugged, raped, sodomized and nearly killed by this lowlife and his brother-in-law, while his sister watches the two kids in an upstairs apartment. By the time Bill (Houston, by the way) turns up in her life again, she's bat shit crazy as well.

Here we have a sample of her bat shit thoughts:

Beneath her the tiles rippled and breathed. The pulpy surfaces of the walls ripened uncontrollably under her observation, inhaling endlessly like lungs preparing to blast her face with a calling or a message. Stripes and pyramids fell across the air in nearly comprehensible organization, writing that changed just before she understood it, and the room itself became a vast insinuation, swollen with filthy significance. She wanted to catch her breath and wail, but realized that her own lungs were already full. When she exhaled, the room seem relieved of its tension momentarily: she was crushed to remember that this very same action of ballooning and diminishing had been linked to all her other breaths. This terrible, terrible thing that was happening was her breathing.

These were my least favorite passages of the book. It may be brilliant writing (I'm not saying that it is because, frankly, I was lost - and angry about it) but I couldn't figure it out at all and therefore didn't give a crap (I guess that makes it not so brilliant.) There was certainly other examples of what I would consider brilliant writing; well, really brilliant insight into the human psyche. One of my favorite lines was "the weightlessness of fear replaced the weight of anger." I'd never thought about it before I read that line, but fear is a weightless feeling and anger is so very heavy. That's what brilliant writing does, gives voice to feelings we've had but never noticed.

My absolute favorite moment of the novel was after Jamie ends up in a loony bin. Her children are bundled off to the airport by Bill Houston's mom and sisters-in-law, on their way back to their daddy. The oldest, Miranda who is maybe five, has to use the bathroom.

Jeanine took her into the bathroom just this side of the security area. While she waited for Miranda, she looked at herself in the mirror. Her hair was starting to grow long again, and she'd just had it permed. Her dress was white on white. She wore red lipstick. Knowing a killer had taught her that she must live.

"Stevie?" Miranda called, her voice echoing out of the stall.

"I'm not Stevie, honey. I'm Jeanine."

"Oh," Miranda said. Then she said, "Jeanine?"

"What is it?"

"Um..." The moment seemed to take place under water. "I'm almost done, Jeanine."

"Good," Jeanine said.

Oftentimes there is one scene, sometimes just a paragraph, that hits home and seems to reflect all the other action of the plot and sums up the whole emotional kick of the theme of a story. This is it for Angels. It echoes the whole sense of loss and uncertainty that Jamie and Bill have been so disastrously dealing with throughout the novel. At an age where Miranda should be bathing in stability and security she is in a airport restroom constantly checking out who is still there for her. We know from this one scene that she'll spend the rest of her life testing her place in society, the durability of her friendships and the fidelity of her loved ones. She'll never be sure of anything nor be able to trust anyone. In short, she is carrying on the tradition of loss. She too will be a loser. The scene still gives me chills and that's good writing.

I would suggest following the reading of Angels with the watching of "We're No Angels" starring Humphrey Bogart. That should help remove the sour cigarette/alcohol/vomit taste remaining in your mind.

Dear American Airlines by Jonathan Miles

2009-01-02T08:50:00.000-08:00

I am not Beepy. Beepy's bloated body washed ashore a few days ago. She's been dead a few weeks, killed, I think, by the inattention of an STD.

I am not Beepy. Where Beepy was gentle, I am rough and cruel. Where Beepy was passive, I am tense and fast. Where Beepy was forgiving, I am hard and angry.

I am not Beepy; I am F-Stop. F-Stop as in "Will you stop it? Can't you just stop it? Why won't you FUCKING STOP?" See? F-Stop. I am also known as The Cleaver, The Clatterer of Bones, Breaker of Spirit, Destroyer of Dreams. But I prefer to be known as The Devourer. F-Stop, the Devourer of Souls to be precise.

The first soul that I bring to you, devoured by my Wrath, is that of Benjamin R. Ford, known to most as Bennie. I came across Bennie in the airport lounge of Jonathan Miles' Dear American Airlines. At first glance, he was angry too. Angry and funny and he appealed to me immediately. On his way from New York to LA to attend his daughter's wedding, Bennie finds himself indefinitely laid over at Chicago's O'Hare Airport waiting for the weather to clear. Bennie's take on the weather differs slightly from that of American Airlines.

Dear American Airlines, since when did you start canceling flights in midair?...We circled O'Hare for an hour before the pilot informed us he was landing in Peoria. Peoria! In my youth I thought Peoria was a fictional place that Sherwood Anderson and Sinclair Lewis had cooked up one night at the tail end of a gin bender. But no, it exists. We sat on the runway for more than an hour before a handsome pilot with exquisitely parted hair emerged to tell us that the flight was "officially canceled." Wha? But he offered us all a bus ride to O'Hare "on the house," kind soul that he was, the revealing of which I hope won't endanger his job. Not that I'd worry too much about him: Go ahead and can him, he has a guaranteed second career as a JCPenney catalog model. The (alleged) cause for
this fuckedupedness was (allegedly) foul weather blowing off Lake Michigan but after eight-plus hours in Chicago I can tell you, without a pinch of hesitation, that the weather here is flat-out delightful and you're more than welcome to visit for a round of golf to so verify. Pack some sunscreen.

No wonder Bennie's angry. His only daughter is getting married, he has promised to be there and life has thrown him a sinking curveball full of poop. Now you, who are not cruel and heartless with a sizzling hatred of all mankind, would take this moment to assure Bennie that a daughter's love will forgive what is surely not his fault. Grow a pair and see what's coming next! Bennie has not been the doting husband and attentive father that a kinder fate would have made him. Since his daughter's infancy, he has see her exactly once. Bennie's ex, Stella, took off seeking sunnier pastures and non-alcoholic sheep, as it were. This provokes, for me, the biggest laugh of the book. Bennie, locked out, stands under his wife's window and shouts her name.

Almost instantly, however, I went silent-struck mute by the interior echo. "Oh shit," I finally said aloud. Had Stella been named anything else, and/or had we lived in any other city besides New Orleans, my desperate call would have been just my desperate call. In that alternate universe the neighbors might have peeked from behind the curtains but they wouldn't have laughed or, worse, joined in. But you simply cannot shout the name Stella while standing under a window in New Orleans and hope for anything like an authentic or even mildly earnest moment.

As Bennie's letter of complaint turns into a confessional listing of Bennie's worldly woes, the story loses much of its humor and gains plenty of pathos. If Bennie hadn't already admitted to his booze-addled past, we'd have to imagine that there was one based on what we learn about his childhood. Who among us wouldn't down a gallon or two every night if faced with the uncertainty of Bennie's youth. Am I sounding a bit understanding, a bit soft, a bit "I feel your pain," a bit Beepy? Because I'm not and I don't. Bennie deserves what he gets; I'm just saying that I know why he gets it.

You see, Bennie's mom is nuts. At least she was before a stroke rendered her sane (can that really happen? I have a few coworkers...) I don't think that Jonathan Miles made an in depth study of psychology while writing this book (Bennie either, for that matter.) Mrs. Ford is said to have suffered from schizophrenia but clearly she was manic-depressive in her pre-stroke years. I saw it on an episode of Oprah. It's so trendy! (Sorry to offend anyone who is dealing with this heartbreakin - wait, I am not Beepy. I am F-Stop the Offender, so stet. Suck it up.) Besides all the knowledge I gained from Oprah, Beepy told me that some of her friends are bi-polar (although she herself preferred the warmer waters of the Gulf Coast. Ba-rum-bum.)

Anyway, Bennie the Youth had to deal with his bipolar mom and passive Polish immigrant father. In my favorite passage of the novel, Bennie's dad drives from New Orleans to Nevada in order to rescue his son and wife, who has decided one day to live the life of Georgia O'Keefe. Of course it didn't go so well (it never does when your sanity is regularly upended.)

She would flee, and my father would inevitably fetch her home. Maybe that was always the point: marriage as an awful game of hide-and-go-seek. Maybe my mother never expected, or even intended, to actually escape. After all she was terrible about not finishing her paintings and her suicide attempts were almost
always dramatic half-measures. Standing beside the car in that hot cloud of road dust and tailpipe vapors, her hair tossed by the wind, she smiled at my father and said to him, "I don't know why you always do this."
"I did not know," he replied, with neither tenderness nor bitterness, "that I had choice."

I became very fond of his dad at this point. Such responsible fatalism is hard for a bitter heart like mine to resist. It was a shame to devour his soul but even the virtuous must face the gaping maw of destruction. Better luck next time, Henry Ford (born Henryk Gniech); may you meet a kinder fate in some other novel.

You get the picture by now. Benjamin Ford has a lot to complain about and what starts out as a letter demanding a refund of his $392.68 ticket, turns into a monologue of soul searching. I wasn't expecting it and maybe wouldn't have started reading if I had, but Bennie's soul was tasty and went down smooth. I'll give it @@@.

Oh yeah. Dear Newbury Street, Scrape your fucking sidewalks when it snows!

F-Stop's Rating System

2008-12-25T19:26:00.000-08:00

@@@@@ - Fully sated and ready to hibernate.
@@@@ - Enough room left for coffee and cheesecake.
@@@! - Even tastier treat.
@@@ - Tasty treat.
@@ - Not much to that. Let's get takeout on the way home.
@ - Call the Health Department. I think there was a Band-Aid in the soup!

Thank Heavens I Live in a Land of Pixies and Unicorns

2008-07-25T08:31:00.000-07:00

A few months ago I wrote about Natsuo Kirino's Grotesque, which I found disturbing and yet compelling. As promised then, I've had my eye out for the release of her new book, which finally happened July 15th. The book is called Real World and, not surprisingly, I found it disturbing and compelling. My only complaint with it is that it isn't long enough, only 207 pages. The last time that I read a book so slim, I was the age of the characters in this book.

There are five teenagers at the center of this novel, four female friends and the boy next door who ruins their lives. Worm, the boy next door, is a dark, little, twisted creature that I never really got a good grasp on. I'm not sure if he's psychotic or just pressed too hard against the wall of growing up, but it's clear that he's a sociopath. He begins the story by killing his mother with a baseball bat, very calmly leaving his house and heading off for a life on the run. Along the way, he steals his neighbor's bike and cellphone.

When Toshi, Worm's neighbor, hears about the crime, she realizes that she has key information, having witnessed the noise made by the murder and Worm's calm departure from the house. However, she decides to lie to the police and her family and continues to protect him throughout the novel. It's not as if they are friends; she barely knows him and doesn't like what she does know but cheers for his escape due to her own psychological demons.

All the teens in this book are hanging on to society's edges with one tiny claw. There's Yanzu who receives the first call from Worm, using Toshi's stolen cellphone. Yanzu is struggling to find a comfortable place uniting her family life and school friends with her underground life as a lesbian. She is the first to help Worm by providing him with a new cellphone and bike and returning the stolen ones.

Kirinin has problems with her sexuality as well. By day, a happy go lucky, innocent schoolgirl but every night she goes to Seedyville and has as much casual sex and she can before morning. She becomes fascinated with the idea of the rebel Worm and runs off to join him. She wants a new life and he seems the perfect answer. Unfortunately, he is not what she thought and things end badly.

Our best hope for a normal view of teenage Japan seems to be Terauchi. She is bright, studious, seemingly well grounded and sane. She rejects Worm's attempts to draw her into his drama - outright rejection at first, later playing coy to keep things under control once Kirinin joins him. But her life is just as angsty as the next kid's. She is contemptuous of her schoolwork and her family has created a situation for her that is intolerable. Her calm exterior just covers the lack of life that lies within.

Things come to a head and our teens start falling like dominoes. Kirino's point is that the culture around teens is very unhealthy and it's amazing any of them make it out unscathed. Toshi rants against commercialism. Worm seems to be burdened and yet under the spell of Japan's military history. Terauchi's childhood innocence has been destroyed by a social structure that demands scholastic excellence. Kirinin's problems clearly come from all the sexual crosscurrents that buffet her (and us) daily.

Natsuo Kirino's books get classified as Mystery in bookstores but I'm not so sure that they should. The mystery at the heart of her novels is not "Who did the crime and will he/she be caught?" It is the mystery of what goes on inside us that makes us act as we do and that's what I love about her books, the inner darkness of the human mind.

Thoroughly Modern Beepy

2008-07-05T06:28:00.000-07:00

The most astute of you may have noticed that I haven't been around for awhile. Let me explain that. About two months ago I was resting on my rock, dreaming of all the books that Cap'n Ahab would be bring me, when I was approached by the demon Ursula. The deal was made in minutes and it has taken me all this time to wrestle my voice back from her. Let that be a warning to all of us.

So now to business. Back in January I offered a free meal to anyone who bet against me reading two books per week this year. Silly readers, you'd all be sated and sighing if you'd taken me up on my bet. But July is the halfway point of the year and it seems to me a good point to cut my losses and start again. There will be no free meals this time unless someone decides to feed me.
Ursula has taught me to be relentless.

My "New Year" begins with a memoir by Josh Kilmer-Purcell called I Am Not Myself These Days. Mr. Kilmer-Purcell lived a double-careered life in New York City. By day he was a hungover adman, by night she was a drunken drag queen named Aqua. I got a kick out of both lives.

Now a few of you might be wondering why I would waste my time on fluffy memoirs, but I think that if you really give it some thought, you'll realize that I've been attempting to live as a woman for years. If you add to that the fact that both JK-P and I enjoy waking up with strange men, I think that it will all become clear to you.

Anyway, this photo is of Aquadisiac. If you look very carefully you will notice that her breasts are clear little bowls containing goldfish. Living goldfish! Why didn't I think of that? Now we all understand why there is a goldfish on the cover of the book.

The book covers the period of a few months (about eight or nine if I remember correctly) that JK-P shared his life with a male prostitute whom he calls Jack. Jack meets a drunken Aqua one night and takes her home. Aqua meets Jack the next day when Jack returns her clothes to a hungover Josh at his ad agency. It's a storybook romance that should be read to all little girls before they go to sleep at night.

Soon the two are in love and moving in together. Jack is a very successful male prostitute, seeming to deal mostly in S&M; he wears his beeper at all times and occasionally brings clients to the apartment for the weekend. Otherwise, he seems to be the perfect boyfriend - gentle, loving, supportive, freely doling out gifts and love notes. He worries about Josh's drinking, orders in breakfast for two every morning and even refuses to have sex with Josh until the relationship is ready. Josh continues on with his day job and Aqua's night life and wonders how he got so lucky. If it weren't for the prologue which has Jack standing over a sleeping JK-P with a knife, I'd nominate this for Romance of the Year.

Yes, you read it right, "with a knife", a giant machete-like knife by the way. Somewhere down the line, Jack has become addicted to crack (a whore addicted to crack - Stop the Presses) and is now a violent maniac. I'm being a bit sassy here; his descent isn't as sudden as I make it out to be. There are a lot of broken promises, false steps and ruined fresh starts (if you're thinking it's kinda like my blog, shaddup!) and eventually Jack and Josh split. Josh has moved on to a stable relationship, a good job and life as a full time man. Jack? Who knows but we wish him well.

If you can't tell by what I've written so far, this book entertained the hell out of me. It was a peek inside a world I'll never get to see. There was, for example, an illuminating description of the process of becoming a woman (a hint - it involves a lot of shaving), smoking crack, dealing with drunken men wanting to touch your - er - goldfish, etc. I also learned a bit about the pain there is involved in being a drag queen and I'm not just talking the tucking away of inconvenient bits and pieces or winching a corset up to rib crushing tightness. Our no-holds barred author describes a gruesome drag act in which a 300lb. queen shoots M&M's out her ass. That's real pain. (If, by the way, that's the scene that entices you to read I Am Not Myself These Days, I don't want to know about it, okay? We really don't know each other well enough.)

Look What the Tide Washed In

2008-04-22T08:20:00.000-07:00

Okay, folks, it's been a long, long time. I hope that I haven't lost you all during the time that I've been saving up enough money to buy another book. (Since Cap'n Ahab isn't interested in my wo-manatee's curves, I have to pay his fee in cold, hard cash) This week he swung by and dropped off two books The Spirit Catches You and You Fall Down by Anne Fadiman and The Star Machine by Jeanine Basinger.

The Star Machine is about Hollywood and the Studio System of the 30's and 40's. It very clearly explains how the major studios created stars like Lana Turner, Tyrone Power and Errol Flynn. It did seriously work like a machine. A young wanna-be was signed to a seven year contract by the studio and for those seven years, he or she had no autonomy. Hair color, style of dress, cosmetic surgery, etc were all under the control of the studio bosses. Interview answers were scripted. Movie roles were, of course, chosen by the studio. After being signed, the actor was given a small role in one or two films to test their audience appeal. Then, if the audience noticed the player, there would be a starring role. If the young star balked at any of this, they were put on suspension without pay until they agreed. Since they were bound to that studio and couldn't make movies elsewhere, they were screwed unless they did exactly as the studio said.

Ms. Basinger splits her book into several different sections, each dealing with a different star and a problem they had with the studio system. Errol Flynn, for example, was not happy with his endless swashbuckling, tight-wearing roles. He was from an acting family, had talent and wanted to be an "actor". Plus he had a wild personal life that the studio found hard to keep under wraps. Lana Turner had a similar problem. Deanna Durbin was fed endless kid roles well after she was grown and married. Some stars were destroyed by the Machine, but some (Loretta Young, Irene Dunne)managed to escape the system and still have careers. Given the way stars arise today, reading about Hollywood of this era is like reading about another planet.

The best part of the book, for me, is reading about all the movies I've never watched. I read about Tyrone Power and Netflix "Witness for the Prosecution". I read about Lana Turner and Netflix "The Bad and the Beautiful." This and the tasty tidbits of Hollywood gossip, made this a fun book. If any of you boys need the perfect gift for Grandma this Mother's Day, I hope you'll keep this book in mind.

The other book, The Spirit Catches You and You Fall Down has been a customer favorite over the last few years. I've had my eyes on it for several years as well, being nothing but a customer at heart. It concerns the clash of cultures between the California health care system and the parents of an epileptic Hmong child. I don't know that I can sum things up without making the family sound simple and stupid but Fadiman does a wonderful job of presenting their case. It's obvious that she has a lot of respect for the family and their culture and is wonderful at presenting everyone's side fairly. The reader can feel the distrust the family has toward western medicine as easily as the frustration of the doctors for patients who don't follow their directions.

The child, Lia Lee, had her first epileptic seizure as a young baby, less than a year old if I remember correctly. The Hmong believe epilepsy to be caused by the soul leaving the body. In order to return the soul, one must sacrifice an animal (trading their soul for the errant one) and perform various rituals. The epileptic is consider special and more in touch with the spirit world than the rest of us. We, most of us anyway, believe it to be caused by a neurological fuck-up and can only be helped by drugs, drugs, drugs. This was the course followed by the medical staff involved in Lia's care and it didn't seem to work too well. Lia's family didn't speak or read English, couldn't follow the dosing directions (three different kinds of pills at various times of day, at varying dosages), were completely confused by the doctor's directions, and suspicious of things to begin with. When the doctors performed blood tests they found that the levels of drugs in Lia's system were below the helpful amount and kept changing drugs and dosages trying to make things easier. The Lees saw this as proof that the doctors didn't know what they were doing. My brothers would refer to this whole situation as a clusterfuck.

I'm still reading this fascinating book and therefore don't know the outcome (although I suspect it's not going to be a pleasant one). I think that the thing I'll take away with me is a question Fadiman asks. She talks to several doctors in the area about their experiences dealing with the Hmong patients they see. One simplifies things, giving less than perfect care so that his patients will have some care at all. Others give the same care they would to middle class, English speaking, cultural-Americans and hope that their directions are followed. Fadiman asks "Which would have been more discriminatory, to deprive Lia of the optimal care that another child would have received, or to fail to tailor her treatment in such a way that her family would be most likely to comply with it?" It's a damn fine question.

Steve has provided my with this week's reading (Nah,nah, Cap'n Ahab) The Terror by Dan Simmons and Cranford by Elizabeth Gaskell. More to follow...

Treading Water

2008-03-09T14:43:00.000-07:00

Every so often I find myself with too many choices. This week has been one of those times. The week starts like any other. I choose a book and begin to read. But something just isn't right. The book isn't moving quickly enough, it's too vague, the author takes his time getting to the point, the dialogue seems forced, there's too much dialogue or not enough. I don't want to read about Eskimos or endangered species or hobgoblins after what happened on Monday or didn't happen on Tuesday. Suddenly, though nothing has changed, the story's fire has dimmed while another book on the shelf starts blazing with light. So I pick up that book; I'll finish the first one, sure I will...just let me read this one first. Suddenly I look around and find that the stack by my bedside is about to topple over with the half-read and the put aside. That's what happened this morning. I took a good look at the bedside stand.

The book that's been there the longest (or at least the oldest one I'll admit to) is The Duke's Children. You'll remember that I started that back before the New Year. It was to be the last book that I read in 2007 but instead was pushed aside by the glittering possibilities of 2008's reading. Steve has been at me non-stop about this fickleness towards one of his favorite authors. Even I had thought my romance with the book was over but this morning I woke up feeling flushed with nostalgia and moved it back to the top of the stack. Maybe this time I'll follow through. Yes, definitely this time.

Next we have two books that I started before going on vacation a few weeks ago, Garcia's Heart by Liam Durcan and Wise Children by Angela Carter. Garcia's Heart is a first novel and was recommended to me by The Mama Chan. She has never steered me wrong and this book is no exception. It is good. Not flashy, just very solidly good. It's about a neurologist who travels to The Hague to sit in on the trial for war crimes of his old mentor, Hernan Garcia. He knew Garcia and his family in Canada, where the Honduran cardiologist had settled down to run a small store and forget his past. The protagonist cannot reconcile this man with the one portrayed at the tribunal and neither can we, the reader. There is also a subplot involving the protagonist and Garcia's daughter, who used to be his lover. This is not nearly as interesting as the main plot and is probably what keeps me from finishing it. I don't care about this romance and my reading gets derailed every time the writer switches over to it. What I want to know is the secret that Garcia's heart holds.

Wise Children is quite the opposite. It is filled with flash and glitter, dancing girls, ponies walking on their hind legs, magicians making beautiful girls disappear, etc. It's a three ring circus in other words. I spent two round trips to work on the subway reading it and here's what I know. The main characters are two elderly, bastard twins who made their living in vaudeville. Eccentricity is everywhere. It is just the kind of story that I love, so what happened? I went on my vacation, leaving it behind and here it still sits. But, yeah, I'm going to read it...soon...

And with that, we arrive at the top strata. You're not feeling ill are you? We do have oxygen handy, should you need it. At the top we have two books, King Dork by Frank Portman and Lost In Translation by Eva Hoffman. I can't say very much yet about King Dork; I've barely cracked it open. It's a teen read that caught my eye because the main character has his life turned around by Catcher In the Rye. I'm bound to have more to say later.

Lost in Translation is a beautifully written memoir of a Polish girl who moves to Canada in her early teens and finds herself untethered by the experience. I'm about half way through reading it and am a bit in awe of both the writing and the girl's experience. I could open the book at random and find something worth quoting. For example:

The yellowed pages I take out of the library draw me into them as into a trance--but only on the condition that they create a convincing mimetic illusion. I feel subtly cheated by Alice in Wonderland, because it is all pretend, a game, and of what interest is that? My reading is all mixed up, and it's not so long after I read Alice that I'm given War and Peace. This is something I should read carefully, my parents convey to me, a classic, something very important--but the usually discouraging invocation of duty has no effect on me this time. I don't notice that War and Peace is a book, something I'm
reading. Surely, this is just life.

What's the problem, then?, you ask. You love it, read it, you say. Aha, here's where you are not me. Although I love it, I'm finding that it reads slowly, because I must stop and think about each passage. I can read the passage above, for example, set the book down and drift away in my own thoughts for a half hour or more. Can one be thrown off by reading something too damned good? I find that I don't want to pick it up because I'll only put it back down. (I never finished Tess of the D'Urbervilles because I loved it so much I couldn't bear for it to end. I still have two pages left after 5 years of reading it.)

There are also those books that are getting very close to joining the pile and may by the end of today. A new one by Steven Millhauser, Dangerous Laughter, because it's very, very shiny and Oblomov, because some book I've read recently kept referencing it. Also drifting towards the stack is a book by Stephen Fry, because I signed it out from the library and it's winking at me suggestively, not to mention whatever new thing that Steve shoves at me.

I guess the only answer is to brew a giant pot of coffee; the Camels are just not going to cut it tonight.

I feel dirty

2008-03-03T16:36:00.001-08:00

About a year ago, I went on Stevereads and said a few kind words about Out by Natsuo Kirino. Kirino is a popular, so the dust jacket claims, Japanese mystery author. Out was her first book translated into English and, to be frank, it was a rush. Four female factory workers band together to dismember and dispose of the remains of their friend's husband before anyone catches on to the murder. It was gritty realism at its best, full of physical and psychological details and it really got under my skin.

The latest book to be translated is Grotesque, brand new in paperback. I'm still trying to digest this novel but like the veal scallopini they served us in college, it just won't stay down. I feel as if I've been dragged through every cesspool and love hotel in Tokyo and am none the wiser for it. So break out the penicillin and join me on a run through the plot and characters.

I can't remember the first narrator's name and I'm not sure we were ever given it, so let's just call her Sis. Sis is the older of two biracial siblings. Her younger sister Yuriko is a perfect blend of genes and is the most beautiful creature that any human being ever laid eyes on. Sis is described as unattractive and is therefore wildly jealous of Yuriko. She becomes warped by this jealousy. When her dad takes the family back to Switzerland, Sis stays behind and wins a place in the Q School of Girls. She does this mainly to get away from her sister, whom she describes as a monster. At Q school, she meets the other main characters of the novel, Kazue and Mitsuru. Kazue is the classic dork. She tries too hard. She does the wrong thing in any social situation. All the other girls make fun of her, but she doesn't have the self-understanding to see it. She wants to be the smartest girl in the class but just isn't smart enough. Mitsuru is her opposite, smart and well accepted.

Everything starts to unravel when Yuriko returns from Europe and joins Q School. Yuriko is dumb as toast but gets in because her beauty charms the professor in charge. She immediately causes trouble for everybody, not maliciously but because of her perfection. For example, whereas Sis was previously ignored, she is now the center of attention because no one can believe that the two girls are related, Beauty and the Beast. Kazue falls into the web formed by Sis's hatred and ends up ruined. I'm not sure how Mitsuru ties in, but I do know it's all the fault of Sis and Yuriko.

Years go by and the girls are grown. Yuriko, clearly understanding her worth, has become a prostitute. She states in her journal that she hates men but loves sex. She loves the power her beauty has over them, but claims that it only lasts until she gives in, then she must find another man. Kazue has a Corporate job but is not satisfied. She wants to be loved for her body and since that is unlikely, goes into prostitution as a second job. Both women end up murdered by one of their johns. Sis becomes the center of attention again, and again it's because of Yuriko (with the added kick of having been schoolmates with Kazue.)

The problem with this book is twofold. First off, the women are brutally unpleasant. Except for Mitsuru (who becomes part of a group of religious nuts who gas a bunch of innocent people - which only lets you know how bad the rest of them must be), they are totally unlikable. They are all monsters, which I think is Kirino's point. Yuriko is completely heartless. It's as if her skin shelters a completely empty psyche. She is only there for sex, and that is totally cold no matter what Brian thinks. We eventually get to read Kazue's diary, which reveals her to be a total nutjob. She continually brags about her beauty while at the same time reporting how everyone refers to her as ugly or a bag of bones. I can't really pin down what makes Sis so terrible, she just is. Maybe it's that there is nothing redeeming about her with which to contrast the evil.

The second problem that I have with Grotesque is the way it is narrated. The story was told in a string of first person narratives. We start with Sis talking to someone, representing us. There are too many instances of things like "You ask me what I thought of...?" No, actually, I didn't. Yuriko and Kazue both tell their stories in diary form. Now I'm not saying that a prostitute wouldn't keep a diary but I'm sure she wouldn't be focusing on how long someones hair was or what color shoes the john had. It was not believable. There was also a confession by Zhang who admits to killing Yuriko but not Kazue although he did "do" her on several occasions. He is as unreliable as Kazue, but where she is self deluded, I think he might be lying. There are some letters addressed to Mitsuru but I can't figure out what they may be about other than to refute some of the things that Sis and Kazue have said.I think Kirino would have been better off with an omniscient 3rd person narrator. Maybe not. That might have created even more problems. I'm a reader, after all, not a writer.

All that having been said, I can't really recommend this book to anyone unless I want them to feel as dirty as I do. But you can bet I'll read the next book Kirino puts out in the US and I suggest you all keep your eyes open for it (and go read Out!) Any writer that can get me to finish their book when I didn't like it and wasn't forced to read it, has got something special about them.

Back On My Sunny Rock

2008-02-25T06:40:00.000-08:00

Well, I've just returned from Maine, where I got 8 inches every single day - of snow, Steve. I forget from year to year how cold winter in Maine can be. But it was delightful and I'm almost sorry to return to my real life.

Speaking of real life, I find my mailbox full with requests to know what a typical reading experience is like for me. How, where and when does all this fun being me take place? I have finally decided to be truthful about my life. I read every night until dawn in my little sanctuary. Like myself, the design of my room is lean and simple. There is a small pile of books, usually 10 or 15 at a time, which make up the only furnishings of my room. I sleep, when I sleep, on two blankets; one to cushion my fragile little body from the tiled floor, the other to keep me warm. But most nights I just lean against the wall, using a small lamp to light the pages, as I balance my ashtray and glass of gin on my flat, well toned midsection. Slightly to my left and a few feet off the floor, there is a shelf which houses the bottle, my Camels and a few knick-knacks from old love affairs (yeah, I'm pretty sentimental that way.) The rest of the empty room is where the rabbits run.

Now for me. My favorite outfit to read in is a pair of my father's old jeans (the kind construction workers wear) and an emerald green sports bra. If I didn't shave my head every morning, my hair would be long, curly and chestnut brown. The last time I wore shoes was at my high school graduation, when I molded them out of an old Cap'n Crunch box and decorated them with glitter. I find that this sparseness of room and self frees up my mind to absorb the most books in the fewest number of hours.

Any further questions?

Happy Valentine's Day

2008-02-14T15:43:00.000-08:00

Happy Valentine's Day, my little lovebunnies!

(I'm still here. Just spending every free hour with my one true love - reading - and haven't gotten as far as sharing my thoughts. I promise that I'll put down the book and put together a post very soon.)

BooMOBYle - drop off 3

2008-01-20T15:40:00.000-08:00

This week Cap'n Ahab hoped to soothe me a bit (after Atonement, you know) by bringing me a bit of fluff. I blew through it in a afternoon while sitting in the tub. It was the most perfect afternoon I've spent in quite a while and although Steve will sneer and groan, I'm not going to apologize for it. And what book has charmed me. Prepare to lower your opinion of me. It was
.
Bitter Is the New Black, a memoir by Jen Lancaster. Jen and her boyfriend had high paying jobs and lived the kind of life that I can only imagine. I, for example, have one pair of shoes, one pair of sneakers and one pair of sandals. Jen on the other hand had a closet full and I'm not talking Payless. They had a gorgeous apartment, cool cars, hung out in the hottest bars; they were everything I live to hate. But then Jen loses her job and can not find another. The top jobs, the ones she feels that she deserves, are swamped with applications from other unemployed, deserving people and the jobs she feels are below her don't want her either. Her unemployment runs out and then her boyfriend, by now her husband, is laid off. Then she becomes a real person.

What I enjoyed about this book is that she is funny. I'm still giggling about the scene where she goes to pick up Marathon information for a friend and realizes that she's the only fat person in the hall. She's also sassy and is not above telling unflattering stories about herself (she cancels her COBRA because her boyfriend's insurance covers "domestic partners" never dreaming that she doesn't qualify.)

So it's not Ulysses. I fell for it and I'm going to read the follow up Bright Lights, Big Ass. Put that in your shoe, Steve, and smoke it

Cap'n Ahab also brought me Everything Bad is Good For You by Steven Johnson. I found it quite interesting although I'm not sure that I'm completely buying it. I guess it depends a lot on what your definition of "smarter" is. His point is that the complexities of modern video games, television shows, movies and Internet are increasing our abilities to learn new things and to adapt our ways of thinking. I'll agree with that; we've all watched our children or young relatives pick up some new technology in minutes. He cites studies that indicate that IQ scores are increasing even in areas where standards of living have not. Okay, I'll go along with that.

I couldn't help but think of Steve while reading this, especially during the chapter on video games. I think that we'll all agree that Steve doesn't understand the complexities in video games because he doesn't play them. I, however, am addicted to Sims and do think that it does indeed teach something about life to kids (I, for example, have learned that raising twins is NOT fun.) Johnson discusses how the average video game takes 40 hours to complete and that a lot of logic is involved in solving the maze like sequences. There is a continual repetition of searching for and trying various alternatives that takes patience and hones thinking skills. Read this part of the book again, Steve, because it makes sense. Better yet, play a video game start to finish.

Johnson's take on television & movies is that plots are becoming more complex, more self-referential and the storytelling less temporally linear thereby making us think while watching. He cites "Momento" and "The Usual Suspects" as examples of movies that give our brains a work out; at the end of the movie, we often want to see it again immediately just to fill in things we missed. True enough. When I watched these two movies, I hit the play button on the DVD player seconds after the closing credits ran.

As for the Internet, Johnson focuses on e-mail and blogging, making the claim that although we may spend less time reading novels, we spend a lot more time writing and that this is beneficial. How can that be a bad thing? (Steve?)

My only complaint with the book is that Johnson overlooks the value of knowledge and that's where things fall apart. I think that we might be soothed by his arguments and not focus on the fact that kids "know" less than they did. It's an interesting topic for debate, so jump into the fray.

Because I enjoyed this, I'd like to read other, similar things and ask you all to make suggestions. I don't mean "similar" as in "presenting the same arguments". I just mean that I want to read other things that will make me look at things in a different way. I want to read some non-fiction that will get me thinking or will present facts in a new light. Recommend away.

(i'm owed) Atonement

2008-01-14T10:23:00.000-08:00

I am very angry at Ian McEwan. In fact if he were here right now, I'd slap him. Not the little playful kind of slap that I give Steve when he is being an ass (ie daily) but a swinging-for-Landsdowne-Street slap. The kind of slap that would make every head in the room snap around and gasp. Yeah, I'm that angry.

It's an odd feeling, this anger. I've never felt it before toward an author or a book I've read. I've read books that disappointed me, books that betrayed me by their banality, books that I've hated but never a book that made me want to hurl it across the room in anger and hit the author. What happened?

I was with this book from the get go; it had me captivated. I was completely drawn into this world and its characters. I had absolute feelings for each and every one of them. We are first introduced to Briony Tallis, a 13 year old British girl who wishes to become an author. She is the villain of the piece because she has the kind of imagination that must create a story for every chain of events, despite the fact that, at thirteen, she doesn't have the understanding to do so successfully. She witnesses a scene from the playroom window involving her adult sister, Cecilia and the charlady's son, Robbie. She doesn't understand the sexual tension involved and describes to herself a scene of malevolence and perversion. Later, after a few more misunderstood events, her testimony sends Robbie off to prison.

Part two of the novel takes place in France, where Robbie is part of the retreat taking place at Dunkirk. He has been released early from prison upon his agreement to fight in the war. This is an amazing section of the book. McEwan writes the hell out of Robbie's experiences. I'm not sure that I took a breath for the full 70 pages of part two. It doesn't forward the initial plot very much, but it does add a whole new dimension to the idea of atonement.

Part three takes place in London, where a grown up Briony is working as a nurse. She realizes her errors and the nursing is part of her personal atonement. This is another well written section which pulled me into the era and the horror of the war. There is a small scene that seemed to me like a misstep on the author's part; Briony writes the story of what she saw from the playroom window and sends it off to a magazine for publication. The story is rejected for being too vague and stream of conscience. "Poof," I thought, "what does this have to do with anything?" But a few pages later, I found out that it does.

The interminable pages about light and stone and water, a narrative split between three different points of view, the hovering stillness of nothing much seeming to happen-none of this could conceal her cowardice. Did she really think she could hide behind some borrowed notions of modern writing, and drown her guilt in a stream-three streams!-of consciousness? The evasions of her little novel were exactly those of her life. Everything she did not wish to confront was also missing from her novella-and was necessary to it. What was she to do now? It was not the backbone of a story that she lacked. It was backbone.

Redeemed. The tiny misstep has been redeemed. How will McEwan atone for his giant misstep at the end (also known as London 1999)? I'm afraid that I can't discuss what I hated so much about this ending without talking about the plot. I can't discuss McEwan's betrayal of me, the reader, without giving things away. THIS IS YOUR SPOILER ALERT! Stop reading now if you care.

What so destroyed any enjoyment that I had gained for this novel is that when we fast forward to 1999, we discover that Briony is now an old woman and attending her birthday party, surrounded by her adoring young relatives. Since when does Briony deserve such adoration? Not since I started reading the novel. But okay, even Hitler had friends. Then we learn that Briony has polished up her novella, added to it and it has become the novel we have just read. A crappy ending to be sure, but Briony has also fucked with the details, just to piss me off even more. For example, the young couple separated by her misunderstanding as a child have not been reunited after all, but died during the war. Everything that we have just read unravels in that moment. It's all been a big fat lie as far as I'm concerned and that just isn't right. If I'm reading a story, I want to believe in that story entirely. If I shouldn't believe,I want the narrative to clue me in along the way-give me that unreliable narrator, give me shifting perspectives and contradictory facts- just don't slap it on as a postscript-like ending.

McEwan owes me.

BookMOBYle - drop off 2

2008-01-12T09:51:00.000-08:00

I've been having a little trouble accessing blogspot this past week, but things seem to be fine now.

Cap'n Ahab and his crew made their scheduled drop off last Tuesday, right on time. As you might guess, this week's package contained Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger. For those keeping track, it was the Two of Diamonds.

I immediately jumped right into it, having good memories from the last time I read it. If you've never read it, I'm not even going to explain what it is about. You are obviously a)illiterate b)unamerican or c)subhuman. What I'm saying is that everyone who has been a teenager has dug this book and if you didn't, how can I help you now? Even crazy serial killers have read this book!

I initially read it in college. I wanted to see if, now that I'm an adult, I'd bring anything new to the reading. I'm not so sure that I did really. Mostly I was just filled with a feeling of nostalgia. I remembered what it was like to be a much younger Beepy, which was a lot of fun (both being the younger Beepy and remembering her). I also realized that the guy I was dating at the time had a lot in common with Holden, except the craziness. He was a nice memory too. If you're out there, baby, Kiss Kiss.

By the way, the cover I have downloaded here is not the cover of my copy. Mine is the plain red cover with yellow lettering. I picked this cover to download because J.D. would hate it. I heard that he wanted the cover to be plain white and was horrified by the original cover which, I remember, was very busy. There was a kid, a bunch of shops, a street sign. It was not hip and cool. So angry was he, at the first opportunity he resold the rights to a different publisher. And yes, this ex-boyfriend of mine had a copy of that unapproved cover. Sigh.

The second book of this shipment is Spartina by John Casey (the Seven of Spades). It won the National Book Award a million years ago. Okay maybe 1988 or 1989.
You younger readers won't remember but it was once all the rage among the reading public. So far all I can tell you is that it is about a guy, who doesn't have a lot of money, building a boat - a big boat - in his back yard. I'll be spending today getting more acquainted.

Worm Ouroboros by E.R. Eddison

2008-01-07T11:27:00.000-08:00

Somewhere on the open seas Cap'n Ahab is laughing. Ha Ha, the joke's on me. The salty dog picked a real killer as my first novel of the year. I think he knew full well that it would take me the entire week to read, therefore setting me back in my goal of two books a week in the VERY FIRST WEEK. Yes, he is a clever one. But Ha Ha, the joke's on him, because I loved this book.

Why was it so difficult to read?, you ask. Eddison's style and language is the culprit, although it is exactly that which made the book so delightful. Imagine that the daughter of Shakespeare and Elric of Melibone had a child with the son of Tolkien and Homer. Imagine that King Arthur was the godfather and you've pretty much got a sense of what The Worm Ouroboros is like. The language is archaic, as one can see by a brief scan through the notes at the end. gaberlunzie, I'd liever, tassel-gentle, trisulk, disard, cere-cloth, towsed - you get the idea. Speech is fancy and none to swift to the point:

"Well I see the blood thou didst drink in Melikaphkhaz will not allay thy
thirst, and war is to thee thy pearl and thy paramour. Yet, if it be, turn back
from Carce. Thou standest now on the pinnacle of thine ambition; wilt leap
higher, thou fall'st in the abyss. Let the four corners of the earth be shaken
with our wars, but not this centre. For here shall no man gather fruit, but and
if it be death he gather; or if, then this fruit only, that Zoacum, that fruit
of bitterness, which when he shall have tasted of, all the bright lights of
heaven shall become as darkness and all earth's goodness as ashes in his mouth
all his life's days until he die."

I'm just sayin' it's tough reading.

The basic plot is very basic. Witchland and Demonland go to war. Witchland's King is a greedy bastard named Gorice XII who has great powers in the dark arts. We don't see a whole lot of him; most of our time in Witchland is spent among his generals Corund, Corsus and Corinius. Demonland is led by several great warriors, the brothers Juss, Goldry Bluszco and Spitfire and by their cousin Brandoch Daha. Here we see the kinsman all lined up and ready for war:

Other lands become involved in the struggle through their alliances, Goblinland, Pixyland and Impland foremost among them. There is also my favorite character Lord Gro. He is a Goblin by birth and a traitor by inclination. At some point in the past he has gone over to the Witches and is quite tight with King Gorice XII (as he was with Gorice XI as well). If Gro were alive today, he'd be a jet-setting, cocaine snorting, champagne bathing socialite, although one with brains.

There is a diversion from the battle by an expedition by Juss and Brandoch Daha in an attempt to rescue Goldry Bluszco, who has been swept away into enchanted mountains by the evil of Gorice XII. Here, in these mountains, our heroes encounter manticores, enchanted castles, a hippogriff and the immortal Queen Sophonisba. We are also introduced to the idea of the worm ouroboros and it's importance to the plot. Ouroboros, for those who may not know, is a serpent or dragon feeding on it's own tail. It represents eternity and, we are told, is the symbol of the Gorice reign. Apparently when Gorice dies his spirit finds a new physical host and the next Gorice comes to power. Pretty cool, if you ask me.

Anyway, I don't want to ruin the plot for any brave soul that might take to reading this book. It's not perfect by any means (come on, Lord Spitfire?) but overall it is magic. I wish there were sequels and prequels but alas, being written in 1922 instead of 2002, there aren't. It has won a permanent place of my bookshelf (cough, cough, I mean Ahab's BookMOBYle) so I can reread it.

BookMOBYle - Drop off 1

2008-01-01T15:27:00.000-08:00

Here they are. The crew of Cap'n Ahab's BookMOBYle have arrived. After waiting nearly all day for my initial shipment, they have finally arrived. They reek of liquor and sea salt; they are disheveled and hungover but they are here. Ahab descends via the gangplank, throws a bundle at my "feet" and sneers "Thar ya are, ya dingy cow."

The package is small and rectangular, done up with brown paper and string. I am overcome with excitement. As I struggle to open the package, I realize the great drawback to my manatee flesh - I curse Neptune who gave me these fused digits and no thumb. I'll have to speak to the good Cap'n about different packaging for the next shipment.

After hours of tearing at the paper with my teeth, a small crab takes pity on me and snips my books free in a matter of seconds. The books tumble onto the rocks proving the old adage "no good deed goes unpunished" by nearly crushing my helpful friend, who scurries off a wiser crustacean.

I present to you the first two books I'll read in 2008. Atonement by Ian McEwan and The Worm Ouroboros by E.R.Eddison. For those of you who are keeping track, the former is the King of Clubs, the latter the Two of Clubs.

Check back later this week for my progress.

Are ye bettin' men?

2007-12-23T20:00:00.001-08:00

The waters of Beepy's Lagoon have been a little rough lately and, sadly, the last big wave washed away my crate of books. Luckily, I had The Duke's Children tucked in a little waterproof flap under my flipper and am, therefore, not left totally bereft of books. As I imagined reading and rereading the same book for the rest of my sorry-sea existence (as wonderful as Trollope might be), a tiny ship dropped anchor and a strange little man emerged. He explained that he was in charge of the vessel and asked if he could be of assistance. It turns out that the ship was "Cap'n Ahab's BookMOBYle" and for the price of a kelp meal for her crew, I could have two books delivered to my favorite rock each week. I readily agreed.

That's 2 books a week, 8 books a month, 24 books a season, 104 books a year. Not much to some maybe but am I, bleary eyed, sleep obsessed, lazy manatee that I am, up to it? Place your bets now folks. Winners will receive a free meal of their choice come January 1, 2009.

2007-12-13T08:32:00.000-08:00

Before I get a late night drunken phone call from a rather "puckish" character and end up with shattered eardrums and plunging self esteem, let me explain what I meant by not adoring The Duke's Children.

First of all, this book is, I believe, the fifth in a series. I've not read those that came before. Although that is not necessary to understand the action in this story, there is a lot of background in the characters' lives that I don't know. The editors have done their best to fill in the missing information with textual notes, but that's not enough for me. I'm curious, I guess. For example, I'm told that the Duke had his doubts about Mrs. Finn's motives in befriending his wife, but by the time this story starts he is over them. However there is still an underlying discomfort and I just don't understand it; it all took place in a previous novel. A minor problem, sure, most readers probably wouldn't even care, but I do. I want no secrets from my big, fat, Victorian novels.

Over that (almost), I read on and encounter more rocky ground. Like most manatees, I can't tell a Whig from a Tory and there's a lot of political babble in this novel. Lord Silverbridge, naughty son number one, is running for Parliament and his father does not approve of his political views. I am so lost that the surrounding waters could be the Gobi desert. I know it's a fault in my reading abilities, but when Trollope starts talking politics, I start thinking about whether the devil really does wear Prada.

Ditto, Major Tiptoe and horse racing.

However, when Trollope starts talking about the relationships between father and offspring, offspring and romantic partners, romantic partners and their rivals, my interest perks right back up. Silverbridge, with his father's blessing, sort of proposes Marriage (yes, I meant the capital "M") to Mabel Grex, a poor but well bred young woman. Mabel Grex is sort of in love with Frank Tregear. Frank Tregear used to love Mabel Grex (but they are both poor so tough luck to them) but now is engaged to Mary Palliser. Mary Palliser is the sister of Lord Silverbridge. Her father does not approve at all of her engagement. Oh yeah, it's the girly stuff that gets to me. All I need is an illicit affair or an out-of-wedlock pregnancy and I'll be over the moon.

That is all I have for today. But tell me what you're reading. I really want to know!

The Missing Picture

2007-12-11T21:44:00.001-08:00

When bad things happen to good Dukes

2007-12-11T21:10:00.000-08:00

The Duke has three very naughty children. The eldest son, Lord Silverbridge, is the naughtiest. In fact, he's a bit like the George W. Bush of Trollope's time. Backed by a wealthy, politically savvy family, he finds himself elected but would rather just spend time at his club, eating fancy food and smoking fine cigars. He'd really like to know what is being debated on the floor but it's just too hard to follow along. Perhaps someone can explain it to him later.

In addition, his naughtiness extends to his friends. Under the influence of Major Tifto (hereby referred to as Major Tiptoe because it amuses me) he bets on horses and loses a great deal of money. Oh, and he owns the horses he bets on (does that make it better or worse - I can't decide.) He asks one woman to marry him because he feels he ought to and then falls in love with another.

Oh, he is a bad seed.

The younger son, Gerald, is well on his way to naughtiness as well. He has been thrown out of University (following in the footsteps of Lord S.) because he was attending a forbidden horse race and got caught. (Maybe he's George W. I can't decide.) Neither he nor his brother are too upset by this and indeed celebrate with salmon and kidneys after a long night of drinking.

A bad seed as well.

You'd think with these two as brothers, Lady Mary would have a free ride with dear old dad. But Mary is also very, very naughty. She has given her heart (but only her heart) to a penniless Joe. This Daddy Duke can not forgive. He can't think where he has gone wrong with her. Has he not impressed upon the girl that money is everything when it comes to marriage? But she insists on being true to her love and in classic Victorian style is sent off to quietly desiccate in the home of some elderly friend or relative (in this case Lady "Catnip" or Cantrip as Trollope insists on calling her.) Having been so pawned off myself when I fell for Steve back in 187-, I have the most sympathy for her. Still, a very bad seed, I think.

I am also being very naughty. Steve would have me love this book, but I am falling short of his desires.

The Age of Innocence and me

2007-11-22T12:56:00.000-08:00

Whenever the subject of Newland Archer comes up, all 17 of my brothers simultaneously look down, shake their heads and mutter "poor bastard." That pretty much sums things up. Newland Archer is a poor bastard. He is, as many of you are, torn between his affections for two different women. To complicate matters the two women are cousins, members of a very well to do and influential New York family. May Welland is a young, respectable (i.e. a virgin), beautiful girl. Her every move reeks of compassion and innocence and it is only as the novel progresses that we begin to see how cold and calculating she is and lose all sense of pity for her. Her rival is the Countess Olenska, less young, less fresh (i.e. a strumpet), less beautiful woman. She is ruled by her passions and her independence and steadily gains our respect as the novel progresses. Unfortunately, Newland Archer is a tool and chooses May.

The novel opens at the opera, where Newland gets his first glance (since childhood) of Ellen Olenska. She has returned from Europe in disgrace. A failed marriage, a possible - no, probable - affair with the man who helped her escape her unhappy condition. She has lost much of her money, she lives in an unfashionable section of the city and she - gasp - is dressed inappropriately for the occasion. Later, she is held in contempt for visiting social climbers and other disgraced people, because she enjoys their society. Her family initially rallies around her but soon deserts her because she can not follow the rules of proper society. And, darn her, she just will NOT return to her husband so that they can forget about her.

Soon after this moment, Newland announces his engagement to May so that the Countess may have the support and protection of the Archers as well as May's family. He is continually thrown against the Countess and soon he begins to like it. She is everything that May, apparently, is not. She has traveled, is well read, and has had thoughts and feelings of her very own. While May strikes Archer as a blank page that he will get to fill in, the Countess is an equal and therefore interesting. When sparks start to warm his desire, he marries May. Poor bastard.

I don't want to spoil the plot for anyone who hasn't read it. Let's just say that May isn't the innocent flower that she appears. Oh, yeah, she's a virgin but she's no pushover. She has a steel core and will tolerate no one messing with her perfect world, including her about-to-stray husband and her hussy cousin. May needs a good spanking but no one's man enough to hold her down. Especially her husband.

One of my favorite images from the book is captured on this edition's cover. (This is not the edition I read though. Mine had a crappy movie cover that completely missed the point of everything) May Archer, nee Welland, is frequently compared to the goddess Diana - virginal, athletic, with classic beauty and aloofness. You will remember that Diana was the archer in mythology, goddess of the hunt. A perpetual virgin, Diana killed any man who attempted to sully her in any way. She showed no mercy and no heart. This is also a perfect description of young May Archer and is underlined by her triumph at an archery contest which occurs half way through the novel. Diana is also, for some reason that I don't understand, the goddess of childbirth and this also reflects in May's character.

After reading The Age of Innocence, I want to know more about Edith Wharton's life. I'm intrigued by the fact that she also had an unhappy marriage and ended up leaving her husband. But, alas, this is all I know. Perhaps Steve or Sam could bring another layer of understanding of the book for me. Especially since my reading will definately include more of Edith Wharton's books. Soon, I hope.

Final loop-the-loop and I stagger off

2007-11-07T18:06:00.001-08:00

Phew... I finished the book today and I'm exhausted! The end of the book did not let up, not for one second. It was wonderfully satisfying and satisfyingly wonderful. (Sorry, the book I read before this was Lady Chatterley's Lover and Lawrence does this a lot, switching two words, adverb to adjective. It drove me nuts but now I keep doing it.) I've got to go rest now.

Buckle Up!

2007-11-05T10:38:00.000-08:00

Wow, this book is a ride. A very disturbing ride. Not that I'm stepping off when it slows down. Not that it slows down much. Anyway...

As I mentioned in the last post, 42 students start off on a "field trip." Soon we, the reader, have an uncomfortable feeling. There are mentions of secret government going ons and a description of a wrestling game which ends with only one soldier standing. Soon our hapless students are gassed and find themselves smack in the middle of a hideous game. Each child is given a weapon and told they must kill each other until only one remains. Weapons are random and seem to range from something as lame as a fork to the king of weapons, a machine gun. Each child wears an electronic collar so that the government can monitor their whereabouts and they are told that the collar will explode if a) they try to remove it b) they try to escape c) 24 hours passes with no death or d) they enter a forbidden zone. More and more forbidden zones are announced during the games to keep the players from hiding out throughout the entire game. Then they are released one by one into the "game" to hide or fight as they see fit. It's all very scary.

As you might imagine, the violence starts almost immediately. Chapters alternate between our hero, Shuya Nanahara, trying to help his friends or find a way out and brutal, inventive slayings. I don't know what kind of sick mind came up with this story and plotted out the deaths, but I hope I never meet him. Especially at night. Especially alone. I wish that I could think of a good one to share with you but you really have to witness it for yourself. We're down to about 17 kids now and I don't think that the author has even reached his peak yet.

Now the book isn't pure poetry or anything. There are lots of clunky sentences (it's hard to tell though whether that's the fault of the author or translator). But I rate it well worth reading just for the fun of it. There are two reasons for the fun. One is just the imagination behind the violence. Once, in high school, I wrote a short story about the brutal death of all 9 players on the field during a baseball game. The first few deaths were a piece of cake, (bat hitting head, outfielder hitting wall, etc) but then where do you go? Yeah, the last few players became much harder to kill off. I'm guessing it was the same for our author, but he is proving his mettle by making me flinch again and again. There is also the psychological aspect of it. What would you do in similar circumstances? Would you trust your colleagues? Who would be the first to turn on you? Who would you gladly go after? Is there a way to outwit the game? It's very creepy and should have been part of my October Halloween reading.

I hear that it's also a movie. I'd recommend reading the book though. Better to savor the mayhem when it's laid out in black and white.

Voting Results

2007-11-01T08:44:00.000-07:00

After alerting the people on Steve's blog and giving out my address to about 550 people I know, I'm proud to announce the results.

The votes tabulate:

Battle Royale - 3 (one being a verbal vote from Mama Chan)

Age of Innocence - 2

The Duke's Children - 1

The World Is Flat - 1

And two write in votes: Cages and War and Peace

Thank you to all who voted. Please feel free to vote for the next book I'll read. So far Age of Innocence is in the lead. But all that could change with YOUR vote.

So I will be reading Battle Royale by Koushun Takami. The title refers to a type of wrestling match, which the beginning chapter explains, is when 20 or so wrestlers all enter the ring at once and have a free for all. They may fight one on one or gang up on the same person. As a wrestler is pinned, they must leave the ring. Finally, only one wrestler remains and wins it all.

The second chapter is a secret government document. It is not clear what they are talking about but there is obviously evil afoot. The government appears to be a totalitarian type government whose concern for its people is nil.

The third chapter introduces a bunch of junior high school children, 42 in all. They are on a bus going on some sort of field trip. Could they be the participants in our Battle Royale? We learn about a young man, Shuya Nanhara (Male Student No.15). Yes, male student no. 15. How ominous is that? Each student introduces is given a number. We discover who is the school jock (Male Student No. 3), the protagonist's love interest (Female Student No. 15), the school bully (Male Student No. 10), the school patsy (Male Student No.1). It's very freaky. The chapter ends wiht the words "42 students remaining."

Yeah, this one has my interest.

Survivor: Beepy's Bookshelf

2007-10-21T08:47:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, as I sun myself on my favorite rock, the ocean delivers up a little surprise. Most of the time it's just medical waste, but occasionally it will be something that somebody did not mean to lose. Yesterday was one such day. A crate washed up next to me and after eating all the seaweed caught among its slats, I decided to open it. Oh, sure, I was hoping for more food or perhaps some fine wine, but was overjoyed to find that it contained books.

So now I turn to you, Steve's friends and my few acquaintances, to tell me which one I should read. You may base your vote on having actually read the book, or you may be completely arbitrary and play eeny meeny miny moe with the choices. You may choose the book based on the cover being your favorite color or once having been friends with someone who shares the same first name as the author. I don't care. Just tell me which I should read and give me a brief reason why.

These are the books which washed up:

1. The Riddle of the Sands by Erskine Childers

2. The Age of Innocence by Edith Wharton

3. The Duke's Children by Anthony Trollope

4. The Blood Doctor by Barbara Vine

5. The World is Flat by Thomas L. Friedman

6. Battle Royale by Koushun Takami

7. The Diviners by Margaret Lawrence

8. The Geographer's Library by Jon Fasman

9. The Glass Books of the Dream Eaters by Gordon Dahlquist

10. Operation Shylock by Phillip Roth

11. Lord Byron's Doctor by Paul West

12. The Yiddish Policeman's Union by Michael Chabon

Arrivals and Departures

2007-09-10T06:41:00.000-07:00

Well, it's been a busy couple of weeks at Chez Beepy. As almost all of you are aware, I adore my 47 dogs, but what only a few of you know that I also love guinea pigs. They are sweet, charming, cuddly, funny little creatures and they make me immensely happy -- until they pass away. Last week my little Alice passed away at the age of six years. She and her twin sister, Fanny, came to me as young adults, after having been found in a dumpster by a friend of a friend of mine. She was a dear little thing and I'll miss her.

Although my plan was to hold off before bringing another animal into my life, fate wasn't listening to my plans. On a trip to see my mom, I stopped at a Petco for supplies and came out with an adorable little guinea pig, which I named Fender. He was free. According to the manager he had been for sale, but had grown up before being sold. Now no one wanted him. (Apparently many customers are turned off by white animals with pink eyes. Whatever!) He is incredibly friendly and has already wiggled his way right into my heart.

Anyway, between mourning, celebrating and visiting my mom, I haven't had a chance to post. If anyone at all has been here looking for a new post, I apologize. I have, however, been reading (aloud to the dogs and the piggies no less) and have finally finished "Master and Commander." Let me repeat that - I have finally finished "Master and Commander." Finally. I finally finished it. Yes, finally.

I'm not sure what to say about it because my reading experience was so bumpy. I found the language created a barrier which kept me out of the story. With too many naval terms paralyzing me, I'd often fall asleep right in the middle of an "action" scene. I never got exited during the battle scenes; my heart never skipped a beat nor beat faster. Sometimes reading it was as much work as walking through waist deep jello. As a result, not once did I imagine myself as part of the story (it's hard to imagine being under the bosun when you're not sure what a bosun is), which I almost always do with a good book.

On the other hand, I really enjoyed the parts that were about the men themselves. I appreciated the historical details that were not naval. Oh how I perked up and paid attention when a young sailor fell overboard and was saved from drowning by being hung upside down and having cigar smoke blown into his lungs. Oh how I cheered (and gagged) when Maturin picked up a knife used for cutting up corpses, wiped it off and used it to cut his meat. Oh how I wished the book had contained more of these touches.

So where does that leave me? As much as I hate to say it, I have to rate this first of Steve's recommendations a failure. I see that it would be a wonderful choice for someone else but not for me.

Up next: "Love Among the Butterflies" (finally)

More alike than not

2007-08-31T10:21:00.000-07:00

It has been pointed out to me that my blog is just like Steve's blog. Okay, that is true but my defense is that Steve and I are so very similiar in life as well. Let's take a look at the evidence.

1. Steve and I have both worked in more bookstores than most of our colleagues have read books.

2. We both have one too many dogs.

3. We are both Paris catwalk hot.

4. We both like to spend long hours in the tub (I prefer Sandelwood bubblebath; Steve, Sweet Jasmine - in case anyone is thinking ahead to Christmas)

5. Neither of us smokes.

6. We each have a tattoo which we keep covered and deny when questioned.

7. Neither of us has ever pleased a woman in bed.

8. We are each living in a century that doesn't understand us.

9. We have both fought the law and the law won.

10. We both love the Tudors (although Steve also "loved" the Tudors, if you know what I'm saying.)

If you can think of any other similiarities between me and the great Steve, please comment.

comment anyway...

The New Me

2007-08-19T08:23:00.000-07:00

So this is where I am...

In the past few months, I haven't been reading. Let me rephrase that. I haven't been reading successfully. Oh, I've sat with books, I've turned pages, I've comprehended the text, but I haven't been Reading. I haven't been loving it. I haven't been hurrying through my day just to get to the few moments of peace and joy that a book may bring. I've been sampling, reading a chapter here, a chapter there and moving on to the next thing to catch my eye. I've been using books the way Brittany Spears has been using men. It's not me and I don't like it.

In desperation, I've turned to Steve (of Stevereads.blogspot.com and OpenLettersMonthly.com) for help. I can hear the wail rising up "Good Lord! She must be desperate!" but calm yourselves. Steve has very rarely done me wrong when it comes to books. Yes, yes there was the time that he swore I would enjoy "Hannibal" by Thomas Harris but I'm almost over that so you should be too. Even a man blessed with all the things that Steve is blessed with can be wrong once and awhile.

In any case, I've given over my future reading to Steve's command. I read by his will, if you'd prefer. I've promised to read what he suggests and only what he suggests from start to finish with no wandering nor whining. The first book on his list is "Master and Commander" by Patrick O'Brian. From what I can gather, being two or three chapters into it, it is about some men on a boat. I'll keep you all informed if I suss out anything more.

Seriously, it seems like it might be highly enjoyable if only I can get past the "sailorese". I've yet to learn what a "bosun" might be, even after O'Brian has used the word 50 times to describe the action. And don't get me going on the various masts and sails. I feel like I'm reading letters coming out of some government office with paragraphs of information blacked out for security reasons. It's all very confusing and O'Brian offers little help.

As I said, I've only begun to read and I AM in for the long haul, so I'll keep you posted. Surely Steve knows what he's doing... doesn't he?

Welcome

2007-08-19T08:12:00.000-07:00

Welcome to Beepy's blog. This is my first experience with blogging and also with writing for the general public, so please be kind. (that means you as well, Steve)

The idea that I have in my head is to create an area where we can talk about what we are reading. That's what I love - finding out what others are reading, what they think of it and what they'd recommend to their friends. In other words I'm more interested in you than in yammering on myself.

And so we begin...