Sunday Salon: The Winter Lurgy Edition

This week was meant to be a time to get geared up for Christmas by reading themed books and watching classic Christmas movies. Alas, the winter lurgy got me on Tuesday and I spent most of the week sleeping and staring at the walls of my bedroom. I did re-read Angela's Ashes on the basis it was familiar and a not very taxing read when ill. However a poor Limerick Christmas wasn't something I was expecting to involve in my Xmas reading plans.

So, instead of updating my thoughts on Hogfather by Terry Prachett (which I bought on Monday and has been taunting me from the top of Mount TBR for the past week) and Christmas Books by Charles Dickens this week, I'm afraid I have nowt to offer. Except I hope people have escaped the winter lurgy :)

Sunday Salon

This week has been rather interesting, as far as reading goes. Earlier this year I joined the Glasgow Women's Library book group which only has one rule - any books read must be written by a woman. Pah! I thought at first. Is this not reverse sexism? Until I realised how little of the books I read were written by women. I don't know how much Marion Keynes counts, my literary equivalent of eating a large box of chocolates in one go.

Anyhoo, the book up for discussion this month was Wise Children by Angela Carter. The basic blurb is that it follows the Chance sisters who are part of a major British theatre family institution. The narrator is Dora, one half of the sisters who are both in their seventies and the story is interworked with current events in their lives and their background. I read it, thought it was an interesting read (you can't imagine a seventy year old woman cackling about blow jobs - can you?) but thought it was all a bit weird.

Until I went to the sodding book group. It turns out this is a set text for most university English/feminist courses and I had missed a lot of symbolism. Of course, how could I forget that? Turns out Ms Carter was dying when she wrote this novel (even my local library cover didn't have that) and this is regarded as her final act. There were a lot of references to Shakespeare that went completely over my head. And, of course, someone who had studied the book was there and was barking on about the symbolism of a burnt swan and twins. Lovely. The redeeming factor of the meeting was the mulled wine and various baked goodies on offer.

Next month's book is The Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffenberger and one of my top ten books of all time (which is a bloody difficult list to make, may I add). I was acting as cheerleader for this book so I'll need to get my arse in gear. February's book is The Mandarians by Simone de Beaviour and looks a meaty read indeed. I have resisted the temptation to start reading it now, purely because I will have forgotten all about it by the time February rolls around.

Another recent hit for me was Pattern Recognition by William Gibson. I originally bought a copy of this book many years ago but just couldn't get into it. So it was bookcrossed and I didn't give much thought. Then I was browsing the library at lunchtime and saw another copy winking at me. So I decided to give it another go. If I can conquer The Crow Road then I can conquer this.

The plot: Cayce Pollard is a freelance coolhunter based in New York. She has flown to London to give her opinion to Blue Ant, an extremely large and powerful advertising company. One thing about Cayce: she has a strong allergic reaction to brands which she keeps as secret as possible. Another thing to remember, Cayce is obsessed with the footage. For months, pieces of footage have been appearing on the internet with no explanation as to where they came from. Finally, Cayce's father disappeared on 11th September 2001 and was last seen in the vicinity of the Twin Towers.

A lot to take in? Indeedy do. The plot thickens as Cayce is approached to track down where the footage is coming from. And so the mirror world (i.e. the physical world) and the 'real' world become intertwined. I think studying Sociology made me more accepting of this book the second time round. My interest in the media has been built up since I first attempted this novel and has made me more receptive to it. The allergy to advertising seems firmly tongue in cheek to me. How can someone living in a society such as ours (the information age if you don't mind) cope with such a condition? The plot spins into a film noir style as Cayce attempts to locate the footage. And I thoroughly enjoyed the ride. Excellent bus book and it made me want to miss my stop and just sit there reading all day.

The latest book to pack a punch was The Vanishing Act of Esme Lennox by Maggie O'Farrell. Another library lunchtime pick up. Some colleagues had been discussing this book during a teabreak, an occupational hazard when you work in a library. The story interested me. Esme Lennox was shunted off to an aslyum in her teens by her achingly middle class Edinburgh parents and remained there till she was in her seventies. This might be a work of fiction but undoubtedly has its roots in fact. In my line of work we've had to break the news to individuals that the relative they thought had died when they were young was actually locked up in an aslyum for a number of decades. Not years. Decades.

The novel flicks between Esme's childhood in colonial India, her estranged sister's (Kitty) senile dementia induced thoughts and Iris, Kitty's grand daughter and who becomes responsible for Esme. The aslyum she has called home for most of her life is being closed down and she needs booted out. Iris's step brother, Alex, was an interesting character. His automatic response when Iris has taken Esme home is one of horror and ignorance. "She's a nutter! She wasn't locked up for most of her life for nothing!" Alas young man, many individuals were. I have seen records of woman who would be diagnosed with post natal depression today, being locked up for most of their life. The brilliant twist at the end of this story is being horrifying and tears at your heart strings. I could not put this book down. End of.

The Salon

This week has not been good for all manner of things. Him Indoors was laid up with a mysterious stomach complaint for most of the week. Work, for me, was rather stressful and we had lots of readers in. Next week looks a little calmer, thank goodness.

In the grand scheme of things I've been a tad too tired to read. I did plough through a large chunk of Notes from a Big Island by Bill Bryson. Initially I was disappointed when I discovered it was a publication of articles he had written for the Daily Middle Class and not tales of his travels across the country of his birth. Bryson did have me snorting with laughter over dinner (Him Indoors took over the living room so I had to go to my room for dinner unless I wanted to hear him retching into a bucket) and he was a good post-dinner conversationalist. Not finished it yet but it's a good book to pick up and put down. One for those who have short commutes.

And today? Well, today I decided to dive into the Sunday newspapers. Today's reading choice includes: The Independent, The Observer, The Sunday Herald and *ahem* The Sunday Post. On a sidenote The Sunday Post was wonderfully satirised in William McIllvaney's Docherty as the Dundee Weekly (once the home of the Dandy and the Beano, Dundee's only claim to fame now is to print The Sunday Post) - a favourite of grandparents and that perilous Scottish trait of nostalgia. The letters page for this newspaper is a combination of people complaining about the world and utter pishe about people remembering their schooldays. And it's the only thing I can really concentrate on a Sunday before lunchtime.

So I am back to my newspapers and to munch on the first mince pies of the season. Hmmm is it too early to dig out Charles Dickens's Christmas Tales?

Sunday Salon - a long break?

I was a little horrified to find out my last Sunday Salon post (and last post on here) was in July. July? A lot has happened in that time. One big event was moving flats which caused a bit of a nightmare regarding Mountain Range To Be Read. It's far too big to be just one mountain now, hence Mountain Range. And that just includes the books I have at my flat and not the boxes stored in my old room at my parents's house. After the sixth box of books was transported up four flights of stairs, I think my dad was getting ready to make a massive bonfire in the back garden.

Also, a new toy (for me anyway) on Facebook has made me rather lazy. The Visual Bookshelf is fab and rather easy to manage. Plus I can bore lots of people on my friends list with my thoughts on books. So I better get started here, there's a lot to get through.

In August I decided to re-read the Harry Potter series in preparation for Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince coming out at the cinema. Ha bloody har. Due to shorter hours at work (and ignoring any household tasks for a while) I managed to plough my way through them by the end of August. I do know a lot of people who are snobby about the Harry Potter series. "Pah, a children's book? And not even a well written children's book. Chuh!" To them I say "Sod off. The books do not claim to be a piece of wonderful literature. But even if they get one person who would not normally pick up a book reading then is it truly such a negative occurrence?" Ignoring the bad grammar there, that is my defence for reading Harry Potter. As well as being compared to Hermonie by people - a lot *grins*. I did miss the Harry Potter scrum this year. Usually I had the book delivered to my home and last year the poor postman looked like he was about to keel over. It was only 8.30 am which he reached my house and he reckoned he had already delivered almost 100. So, the ordinary postal workers will be relieved The Tales of the Beetle Bard looks a lot lighter.

So, using Visual Bookshelf I shall do a round up of books I have been mostly reading over the past couple of months.

The Book Thief by Markus Zusak.
A point which shall become relevant later on. If you write a book that is related to the Holocaust or the Second World War, however indirectly, then people will read it. The Book Theif felt like one of those books that relies on a whispering campaign and suddenly it's top of the charts. When a friend who barely has time to read admitted she had read this book, I knew it was time to get my greedy mitts on a copy.

The initial structure of the book frustrated me. Each chapter (or relevant scene) is summed up at the beginning in a few simple words. By the end of the chapter each topic has been covered. The narrator is Death (and he isn't Prachett's Death) and he is telling the story of Elise, a German girl. For some reason (but one suspects her parents are Communists) she is packed off to live with a German couple. When an infant is dead within the first 10 pages, you know the story is not going to be a cheerful one. One important thing to remember about Elise. She is a book thief and these actions have an important impact on her life.

The book did veer towards stereotypes: ordinary family sheltering a Jew, one lone person standing up against Nazi ideals, lives shattered by the Great war. And the ending was a bit weak. After a build up of characters and storylines, the ending did seem a bit flat.

As does this blog entry. My plans to update for almost every book I've read since I trudged off into the sunset are a bit great. So perhaps I shall write a quick list of upcoming attractions here which may force me to update more often.

Books which I have read and mostly enjoyed:
Complicity by Iain Banks
The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas by John Boyne
The Reader by Bernard Schlink (see what I mean?)
Miss Garnet's Angel by Salley Vickers
The Day of the Triffids by John Wyndham

and a few others.

Popping my Salon cherry

Finally, after joining months and months ago, here is my first Sunday Salon post. I was introduced to this by the lovely Ms Damonwolf earlier this year. However this discovery clashed horribly with my final year exams and my life revolved around work, cleaning flat, studying, eating, studying with very little time to read for pleasure.

Reading for pleasure is something I have re-discovered in the past couple of months. I have been in that grey area between graduating and finding a proper job which has left me a lot of time on my hands. Another re-discovery was the wealth of my local libraries. After moving away from the parental home I found out I could have a library card with my new local council as well as keeping my current card for another area. They're both within travelling distance which is awesome news. One library offered Of Human Bondage by W. Somerset Maugh, a worthy novel and took over a month for me to polish off. Phillip, the main character, strikes me as the original rebel teen though no doubt someone will correct me of that assumption. Though at times I did want to shout at him to pull himself together and sodding Mildred was taking him for a complete ride.

Another book which has made an impression on me was The Road by Cormac McCarthy. A well-read friend sang this book's praises so I picked it up in a charity shop a few months ago. This book was extremely well written but hard to read. The topic matter was bleak. We follow a man and his son (their names never revealed) as they travel across a devastated America, caused by some catastrophic event. Obviously it has affected the rest of the world as they have no hope of rescue. McCarthy gives a convincing insight into the "what if" of such an event. The scene that horrified me was the discovery of humans being kept for food by the two protagonists. What was hidden behind the door jumped at me from the pages and truly gave me the fitzwiggens.

Yet, throughout all this despair, the love between this father and his son shines through the book. As they fight each day for survival their care for each other shows an inkling of human hope in this post-apocalypse world. It's a short read but perhaps not one for the holidays. It goes without saying the tone of the book is not exactly Five Go Mad In Dorset a la Comic Strip style. I believe The Road has been made into a film and is being released early next year. This month's Empire magazine had some magnificent photographs of the set and the book is set during the bitter winter. So a January release date seems apt.

The End of Mr Y by Scarlett Thomas was another spiffing read. I wangled it as a freebie from the publisher and was not disappointed. Due to the nature of the book, the pages have a black and burnt effect on them and the front cover is dominated by the colours red and black. A good impression before I start to turn the pages. First, a quick explanation of the plot. Ariel is a post graduate student who is searching for a copy of The End of Mr Y, a very rare book which is rumoured to place a curse on anyone who reads it. Because I am a big wuss I didn't read this book when I was home alone. Sad I know.

At times it's obvious Thomas is a creative writing teacher. Her writing seems a tad too perfect at times, almost as if she's demonstrating to a class how to produce good descriptive writing. Her knowledge does astound me. The book covers topics as diverse as alternative therapies to thought experiments to Darwin. I recently took a class in Victorian England and could see a lot of similarities between the book and topics discussed in class. Thomas certainly knows her stuff.

The book did go a bit ropey in the middle for me. I don't want to reveal too much (because it will spoil it for you) but the sudden presence of KIDs (and I meant to spell it that way) was a tad weird. I feel Thomas could have created the same effect with other characters without resorting to these children dressed up as cowboys. But that is my only criticism. Apart from the ending which seems to suggest post-modernism was right and everything is made up.

So now I've popped my cherry. Am I late for this week's Sunday Salon or early for this week's?

Return to Regular Service?

It looks like this blog could be returning to a more regular service. Only one exam stands between me and the rest of my life. Which is liberating and scary at the same time.

One thing I will be joining is the Sunday Salon which the wonderful Ms Wolf introduced me to. I do feel intimidated by the various amount of reading challenges people are on. I am considering starting my own titled 'Reading what I bloody well want after four years of being told what to read'. Not as snappy as some but it could work.

For the moment I am going to discuss something a little morbid. I suffered a family bereavement a couple of weeks ago. Alas this is usually followed by a funeral. Something about religious funerals has always bothered me. This is written from a mainly Christian perspective because I have not been to another faith's funeral ritual. In the past year I have attended two sketchy Church of Scotland funerals. As far as I was aware both individuals being remembered had not displayed any strong religious tendencies and the decision to involve the Kirk came from their families.

Attending both these services convinced me I want a humanist funeral. Neither minister knew the deceased and pieced together tid bits given by the family members. Each sermon ended with the usual advert for the free meal or an extended welcome for those present.

Fuck that.

When I die I want my friends to talk about "Remember the Flaps story?" or "Remember the kick arse nights out we had?" or set off some fireworks or something. Something which celebrates my life and what little achievements I may have made. Funerals are for the living. So why don't they have a bit of life to them?

Oh and funeral directors are robbing bastards. At the last funeral there was an extra charge of £100 because it was held at the weekend. Ignore the fact the family had little choice in the matter and the weekend was the first available time after the death.

Hypocritical Eco-Warriors

The past week or so has been a bit weird. A combination of eating lots of junk food, drink and stress lead to me taking Thursday off university. Unable to sleep I spent most of that day (and the next) watching programs on 40d. On a side note I love how internet based television has taken off. Both the Beeb and Channel 4 have woken up to the fact fewer people have video recorders (and fewer still know how to work them) and have started putting programs on their websites so people can catch up with them. Channel 4 has some subscription based access whilst the Beeb is free. I still maintain the Beeb is one of the best government based media outlets in the world. Even the Chinese government thinks so

Enough rambling. Back to my topic line. I had exhausted more of Channel 4's database and turned to my guilty pleasure of telly: Wife Swap. Yes I know it spouts on about how it's a "sociological" experiment but we all know it's really so people from totally diverse backgrounds can shout at each other. The episode I dipped into had a Spanish theme. Ex-pats had migrated to Spain (I wonder if they bothered to learn Spanish?) and both families lived very different lives. Family no. 1 were rich bastards who owned 3 million cars and a vast arrangement of servants to run after them. They spent money like no tomorrow and were all bleached to perfection. Oh, and this becomes important, Mummy dares to use a vast range of GM foods and nasty cleaning products. Family no 2: read eco warriers who lived on a boat and were as self sufficient as possible - to the extend of recycling their own wee. I settled down for some top telly clashes.

For those who don't know the format, halfway through the swap each wife gets to run the household the way they want to. In the rusty tin of a boat, socialite mummy dared spray some air freshener around their hovel of a living room. Eco Warrior Dad (complete with bandanna) went off on a huge rant about how she was poisoning his baby and how dare she bring chemicals into his home? Meanwhile, at the other home, Eco Warrior Mum is telling one of the younger children how much pus goes into pre-packed supermarket milk. I'm all for making people more environmentally aware but they were doing it in such a self righteous manner I wanted to tie them down and washed them in SLS shampoo and soap.

But what Hypocritical Eco-Warriors I hear you ask? Well, fast forward the program around ten minutes. Eco Warrior Dad is perching aforementioned baby on his hip and is trying to hide smoking a roll up from the camera. So, smoking tobacco around a baby is very healthy? And one skoosh of an air fresher is going to kill him?

Pot, kettle, black?