Category Archives: Books

I feel the need…the need to read! and also a blog I’m enthralled by

A shot of the nonfiction bookcase

Check out Todd Pack’s blog especially this post

I was so comforted when I found this blog. Because Mr. Pack is a reader, and passionate about books. Also a really good writer. Sometimes I feel like a freak because I read so much – if I can’t read something during the course of the day I go all of a doodah; something’s wrong and I don’t know what but my brain feels disorganized. Justin actually compared my need to read to alcoholism! He’s still living that one down. I suppose he regards the large bags of library books by the front door as “empties.” It’s funny because he’s a bit of a news addict – he has to read the paper every day and he reads newsmagazines whenever he can. But apart from the odd Clancy novel on vacation he doesn’t really understand my love of fiction. I can share nonfiction with him because he loves to be a know-it-all (so do I; we must be unbearable) but fiction, not so much.

I’ve only just entered the “blogosphere” this past July so I’m still new to this world but am I glad I found it! I’ve been reading blogs for a few years, usually via RSS so I didn’t have to go searching for them, but now that I’m with WordPress I’m finding more and more great blogs. I like this one too. There are countless amazing photography blogs and endless recipe blogs. And everybody reads! I always wondered where my people were. Now I know.

I am so encouraged by the presence of so many readers, and cooks, and photographers. Blogs have also restored my faith in the ability of non-professional writers (unless everyone I’m following is a professional) to write! I get e-mail from my staff and it’s often full of “wanna” and “gonna” and “u” instead of “you” and I despair. And these are not the Japanese, these are Canadians! The texts are even worse! I suppose everyone can’t be everything; I can’t wait tables without spilling on guests; they can’t write in English. C’est la vie. My daughter is learning Japanese and French simultaneously so her written English gives me chills. I expect it will improve but it’s frightening right now. She named her male beta fish “Sapfire” which I thought was the name of some character in manga or similar. But it turns out that she meant “Sapphire!” I just found this out today and I’m still recovering from the swoon.

I took the kids to the library today – they grabbed as many fairy tales as they could get their hands on and I picked up my holds. When I have a tall pile of library books on my bedside table I want to rub my hands together and gloat like Midas. I feel rich when I have lots to read, and slightly panicked when I’m running low.

I want to introduce the girls to so much great children’s literature – I’ve done Laura Ingalls Wilder’s Little House on the Prairie series, (albeit only up to their move to Silver Lake as it gets quite grim in the next book, we’ll do it later), I’ve bought all of L.M. Montgomery’s Anne of Green Gables books (I just like to reread them myself), we’ve already read Astrid Lindgren’s Emil books (I have to get these from alibis.com as most of them are out of print)….I read them A Little Princess and am planning to move on to The Secret Garden soon. John F. Fitzgerald’s The Great Brain series (as many as I could find) are on the shelves waiting for the right moment, so are the Narnia books and of course J.R.R. Tolkein as I am a bit of a Tolkein nerd and feel the need to pass this on. The thing about all of these is that they are quite old – they are books I loved when I was young, and still love. When I take the girls to the bookstore we examine the more contemporary books and I’m usually disappointed by the quality of the writing. It’s just not the same. I would love recommendations of well-written children’s books, the kind that will expand their imaginations and vocabularies and that I will enjoy reading to them. No more flower fairies, please God. But when it comes to their reading on their own, I’m just grateful if they read and at this age I don’t care much about the quality of the material; I just want them to gain familiarity with the English language, and to enjoy themselves. Discernment can come later, or, if they’re prolific readers, it doesn’t even matter as long as it’s not all dreck. I’m a prolific reader; I’ve read a lot of dreck, but a lot of good stuff too. I want them to find the happy place that is total absorption in a book.

When I was about 18, I picked up Pride and Prejudice in the library, and took it to my summer job to read during my lunch hour. I was outside in the sun and people were walking by. I noticed one woman walking by because she was staring and smiling at me. I wondered for a minute whether I had food on my face but realized she was looking at the book. I feel the same way when I see young people reading the classics, or just reading good books. It’s the way I feel when I see people with babies. I’m reassured that the good things will continue.

And I’m very happy to find so many people who love to read.

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Books: Augusten Burroughs’ This is How

I love Augusten Burroughs. He’s written a few novels which I’ve enjoyed but he is a towering personality in his superbly-written memoirs: Running with Scissors and Dry, and also in his essays collections, Magical Thinking and Possible Side Effects. He is always brutally honest, totally unsparing of himself and others and always laugh-so-hard-you-weep funny. With every book that comes out I am amazed afresh at his ability to deliver the truth in beautifully written and penetrating prose. It’s never this received-wisdom-cliché stuff that we often call truth, it’s always fresh and surprising, as though he has a special lens through which to see the world which is denied the rest of us, yet once we’ve read his description we too can see through this lens and be enlightened. Every book of his I read changes the way I think.

This is How is a series of essays, a sort of instruction manual for important moments in life: how to overcome alcoholism (“How to Finish Your Drink”) or obesity (“How to Be Fat”), how to present yourself at a job interview (“How to Get the Job”), and an incredible essay on grief and how to be with a dying loved one (“How to Lose Someone You Love”) which took my breath away. I tried to read some of this brilliant chapter to Justin, and I broke down and cried so hard I could hardly speak. I am not the weepy type, so when I say I actually cried, and I don’t mean a single glistening tear kind of crying, but actual needing-a-Kleenex, embarrassing gulping kind of crying, it is really something. It is so real, so true – Burroughs has clearly gone through this immense pain more than once. There are funny parts where he counsels the use of good food to counteract the shock of bad news. Doctor wants to talk to you about your test results? You get fries. Doctor wants to talk to you in person and not on the phone? Cheese fries. (I’m paraphrasing, not directly quoting because Justin is using my Reader to read Rick Riordan to the girls right now.) I just love that. But he’s not being facetious or flip; he’s funny, but he’s not kidding. This book is full of thoughtful, truthful and touching advice that I have taken to my heart. And it was great fun to read; even when I was crying I was smiling with the joy that his writing gives me. Pure gold.

Enough gushing – read it. He is my god.

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Reading and Eating, Part 1: Reading

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The kids have collected so much sea life from the shore! The buckets of hapless crabs scrabbling for exit remind me uncomfortably of a cleansing of the ghetto. How are they to know that they will be shortly re-deposited on the beach? It’s hard to gauge the thought processes of crabs. Some passively allow themselves to be lifted up, some raise their claws defiantly and try to pinch, some race nimbly amongst the rocks and settle themselves into tiny crevices. When some time has passed and they imagine themselves unobserved, they cautiously lift themselves out of the wet sand and tiptoe across the rocks for a better hiding place. Then I nark on them and the girls pounce and into the yellow plastic bucket they go. One of the children caught a very large (by tiny shore crab standards) crab and although it could have defended itself quite handily it actually seemed content to squat on her arm or hand, like a parrot on a pirate.

The Collaborator

I managed to finish another three books: Under Our Skin, by Donald McRae, The Sisters Brothers by Patrick DeWitt and Cruising Attitude by Heather Poole.

On the other side of the world from comfortable Canada, where I was growing up in a country dedicated to equality (not always performing perfectly), there was a place where white men had established a bastion of white supremacy on the dark continent and although world attitudes towards race were shifting, they were stubbornly determined to maintain their dominance over the 85% majority.  The South African system was supported by a standing army of military conscripts (who were also sent into Angola to suppress black uprisings and communism there). Donald McRae grew up in South Africa in the 70s and 80s – his memoir begins with a child’s view of his world, a South Africa in which white men were rightly in charge of essentially everything, and in which the black natives were “lucky” if they got jobs as maids and waiters in a good hotel. Their own maid was happy enough, wasn’t she? As far as a 7-year-old child knew, even though he was aware that she didn’t eat with the family and had to eat off a tin plate and cup instead of the family’s china. His outlook changes as he grows up, witnesses some disturbing incidents and begins to regard his world with a more critical eye. His stance on his world culminates in his refusal to be conscripted into the army; an unheard-of attitude that army doctors suggested treating with ECT (electroshock therapy). His refusal to enter the army for his National Service partly stems from a revulsion for military life in general and partly from a reluctance to be a cog in the apartheid machine. A typical teenager, he considers his father part of the establishment, but unbeknownst to him, his father was actually instrumental in establishing programs to promote black employees into managerial positions in Eskom, the South African power utility, of which he became the general manager. His father also brought power into the townships, which had previously been completely without. McRae Junior also becomes a teacher in Soweto, but it is clear that his father did more in a practical sense to try to improve the lives of black South Africans. It is also to his credit that he and his wife tried to change the way white and black South Africans regarded each other, by treating black South Africans as equals, publicly, whenever they could. Part of McRae’s memoir deals with the detention and torture of young white South Africans who were also trying to change the system. Neil Aggett, a young doctor, was the first white South African activist to die in detention. So McRae’s stance is that of a white South African, embedded in the system, and his point of view of the struggle for equality (still not a reality in South Africa) is definitely from the white perspective, as is appropriate. There are also brief descriptions of the Steven Biko and Donald Woods story, and stories of other activists against apartheid. McRae ultimately chooses exile over conscription and emigrates to London. It was a powerful book and has made me want to investigate more South African history. On a lighter note, I discovered that the expression “sweet” comes from South Africa! I’m assuming from South African surfers coming to California as it seems to be embedded in surfer dude lingo. Amazing book. I will be looking into more of McRae’s work.

Patrick DeWitt’s The Sisters Brothers has been written about extensively; it’s won several awards and totally deserves it. I loved the spare yet eloquent style – very Elmore Leonard – and the plot, back story, character development, all unfolded like a gorgeous (if blood-spattered) fan at a wonderfully timed pace – not so slow that you start flipping through the book looking for the backstory, and not so fast that you lose the edge of anticipation. I read it in one sitting and couldn’t read anything else for the rest of the day, just went around with a stunned look. A picaresque of two assassin brothers in the Wild West, circa 1880, it reminded me of Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men, except that the difference between Lenny and George lie in morality and not in intellect, yet even the lines there are beautifully blurred. The large soft-hearted brother is a romantic and philosopher; the wiry brother is harder, and a more stone-cold killer, yet he too has his own morality. Eli, the main character, is essentially a peaceable person and dislikes violence, yet realizes and acknowledges that his protectiveness towards his brother stirs violence in him; and that his brother uses this propensity while the blood-lust lasts. After every incident, Eli spends some time in consideration and summation of the significance of the interaction between himself, his brother, and the others with whom they come in contact. The relationship between the brothers is complex and will spark recognition in anyone with a close sibling. And I love period fiction. Anyway, I can’t even do it justice. Read it.

After two such powerful and stirring reads, I was ready for something a bit lighter: Cruising Attitude, by Heather Poole, was perfect. If you’re interested in the inner workings of the airline industry, and the life of a flight attendant, this is the book. There is also LOTS of dishing on flight attendant shenanigans and even more dish on passenger behavior. I am shocked that people still behave like boors on flights but apparently they do. Shame on you, people! Manners are for everybody. Fun read, light and entertaining.

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Tent city dismantled…

So the local government (me) finally cracked down, and the tents have been folded up and taken back to town, which is good because we were beginning to wonder when the bongos and weed were going to appear. No, not really! There’s no bongos on the Island, that’s ridiculous. We’ve had a couple of quiet days, as the Hapa Izakaya staff party was raging last night and Justin had to go back to organize and chaperone, snort. I’m sure he was a model of rectitude, snort.

I finally got a few more books read after washing all the duvets and pillows and sheets, good Christ. When the kids take duvets and pillows out to the tent, it’s nearly impossible to figure out where they all originated. And when I was done cleaning up I consented to draw for the girls. I like to do crafts but I have to watch out when I’m doing crafts “with” the girls, it’s more like working for the Medicis. They’re very exacting and demand multiple types of princess: fairy princess, mermaid princess, princess princess, Viking princess (my favourite because I can put her in a cloak and avoid drawing both hands), etc. It’s a lot of princesses, plus when I stray from their specifications they’re quick to make me erase and re-draw. Today they asked for dancing girls – not the easy-to-draw kind with many diaphanous veils, but Tango Dancer, Disco Dancer, Ballroom Dancer, Ballet Dancer….I refused. Way too many limbs to draw. I am not Da Vinci. Princesses are ok because I can put them in long dresses and not have to worry about drawing legs. So the girls did their own drawing which is good for them anyway. It’s all about practice! There’s a reason I’m good at drawing princesses; I’ve been drawing them for about 4 years now.

Back to books: Harry Bucknall’s In The Dolphin’s Wake – a travelogue about Greece. Lots of history. I wish I’d been to Greece but it’s definitely on my travel wish list now. Fairly amusing in a very low key way, and inspiring me to read Lawrence Durrell’s Spirit of Place. I didn’t care for the Alexandria Quartet when I read it but I was pretty young then and mostly scanned reputedly risque novels looking for smut (Owen Meany in John Irving’s A Prayer for Owen Meany, “One book about having sex in a foreign country is enough”), so I should probably have another look. I’m a fan of Gerald Durrell’s books, and his portrait of his brother is so hilarious it’s kind of hard to read Larry’s books without remembering his little brother’s descriptions. “Small” and “portly” are two words I remember Gerald using. Hard to live that down.

I finished Ali Wentworth’s memoir, Ali in Wonderland, in about 90 minutes. A comedian and actress, she appears quite anxious to downplay her patrician WASP background – her mother is Muffie Brandon Cabot, one of Nancy Reagan’s social secretaries, no less. (I mean, Muffie!) It’s just hard to downplay something when you talk about it as much as she does in that inverted way that says she doesn’t really care. But obviously she does, otherwise why are we making such a big deal about it? You know the kind. Constantly reminding the reader about her pedigree to say it doesn’t matter at all, she’s actually just like real folks. Except not… It’s the juxtaposition that’s meant to be amusing but after a while it gets tired. In the same way she paints herself as a real slob, but if you Google her you get an Architectural Digest article and pictures of her apartment – it’s unreal, she should charge admission! Have a look.  Oh well. She’s privileged and she knows it but she’s still keepin’ it real. Sort of! She’s is funny and lovable, and she did throw herself into the kind of lifestyle and profession that would horrify most WASP parents, or at least she did for a while. Because eventually she marries George Stephanopolous and winds up right back in the whole Beltway world! Talk about being back in your comfort zone. I like that she embraces the whole Greek thing, which is cool, especially as I hear it’s not so easy. Her mother sounds fairly awesome, but you don’t hear anything about her father, which, as the book goes on, becomes more and more of a white elephant in the room. So curious about him now! Ali needs to write a book about that, there are clearly issues of abandonment – she sees so many shrinks I want to recommend mine to her – and I think it would be a much deeper and significant book than this one which is light and fluffy. You know, fun, funny, but forgettable. I think there’s more there, but it needs to be dug up and examined. Now that would be a great book. That’s how you know her shrinks are crap, there’s not much insight and she hasn’t really been challenged to look at things in a critical way. Things never get so tough for her that she’s forced to really consider the sources of her neuroses and make real changes in her life. Because apparently when patricians have a tough time they head for the Four Seasons and camp out there a while. That kind of blew my mind. It gives you an idea of the sort of financial safety net she grew up with and takes for granted. She was at the north end of Manhattan when the south end got devastated during 9/11 and still had to go be pampered at the Four Seasons! Whoa! Reality check! I think the sort of unsparing honesty that Augusten Burroughs brings to his work would benefit Ms. Wentworth in hers. There could be a great book there, but it’s possible she’ll never venture into that territory (maybe because she wouldn’t want to annoy Muffie), which is a shame.

Now am hugging myself with pleasure as I’m starting The Haunting of Maddy Clare by Simone St. James (that’s a pen name if I’ve ever heard one) and it’s promising to be  a super-fun ghost story. I love ghost stories! But I need to get going on it before the next round of guests arrives.

The weather today is beautiful! Hot but in a Pacific Northwest way, which means not really hot, but sunny, clear and with just the lightest delicious breeze. A day when you’re just so grateful to live in this part of the world.

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Things are looking up: homemade barbecue sauce!

It’s getting warmer, although still cloudy, and we’re barbecuing today. We made a barbecue sauce:

  • 1 T. olive oil
  • 2 t. chopped garlic
  • 1 c. ketchup
  • 1/4 c. vinegar
  • 1/4 c. water
  • 1/3 c. brown sugar
  • 1 T. paprika
  • 1 T. chili powder
  • 1/2 t. instant espresso powder or 1 t. instant coffee
  • 2 t. soy sauce

(If I had agave syrup I’d use it in this. But I don’t have any here.) We sizzled the garlic briefly in the olive oil, added everything else and simmered it for 10 minutes or so then turned the heat off and let it cool.

We rubbed skinless chicken thighs and a pork tenderloin with rub made with a mixture of :

  • 1 T. garlic salt
  • 1 T. paprika
  • 1 T. chili powder
  • 2 t. dried thyme
  • 2 T. brown sugar
  • 1 t. black pepper
  • 1 t. ground coriander

My main goal in Bowser is to get some good uninterrupted reading done and I haven’t been here quite long enough for the uninterrupted part to happen, especially as there aren’t any other kids here so my girls are looking to me to entertain them, or at least turn off the TV and point them outside. But I’ve managed to get through Paul Theroux’s new novel, Murder at Mount Holly, Camilla Lackberg’s The Ice Princess, and Justin Halpern’s I Suck at Girls.

I’m loving Swedish authors – like everyone else! I was reading Henning Mankell for ages, and then of course the Stieg Larsson novels…then I got into John Ajvide Lindqvist, who wrote Let The Right One In that was made into a very spooky and unusual vampire movie. His take on the undead in Handling the Dead is fairly awesome too; not your usual zombie horror story. I love commonsense treatment of these horror-fiction staples. Lindqvist’s vampire suffers – he/she/it (it’s never quite clear) is truly limited by the vampire’s physical limitations and it’s clear that she’s at a disadvantage in the human world. So unlike the majority of vampires in popular fiction, like Anne Rice’s Lestat and Co., and of course the Twilight vampires who are vegetarians by vampire standards, drive great cars, dress well, and are essentially superheroes. They’re just so awesome, right? Who wouldn’t want to be one of them? What’s the downside, really? Nothing a little therapy couldn’t handle. Anyway, no Twilight ranting here because I’m meant to be talking about Swedish authors. I’ve just sampled Camilla Lackberg – The Ice Princess – and I didn’t find the writing as absorbing as Henning Mankell or Stieg Larsson although it was a good mystery novel. And of course I’m reading Astrid Lindgren’s Emil books to the girls. We love Emil! Although he’s mostly out of print, alas; I had to find ex-library copies through alibris.com….

Justin Halpern I LOVE. So funny. His dad is one cantankerous foulmouthed character but his remarks to his son are pithy and wise, if delivered in a hilariously crude fashion. He’s gross, but he’s right. I love that he’s a doctor, too. I adore incongruities. Although I’m puzzled as to why they cast William Shatner in this role (I haven’t seen the TV series, mind) – I totally see Philip Baker Hall for this. He does cranky so well. I guess he’s already doing cranky old guy for Modern Family. But William Shatner’s so jolly. I should probably watch it first before making this knee-jerk judgment! But he’s really jolly, right?

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