A Work in Progress

A Leaning Tower of Books: Library Loot

Good or bad, for as many library books I seem to be coming home with lately, I've actually been reading a fair number of them (as opposed to my own books of late).  The recent excitement over the Orange Prize has had an influence over what I requested as well, which has thrown me off track a little as well.  It's more curiosity than anything else, though the four books from the list I have in my pile do all look like promising reads if I can squeeze them in.  The nice thing is they are slightly older titles, so I can take my time with them and renew them if they do capture my interest.

Face of a Killer, Robin Burcell - I was chatting with a coworker about The Crossing Places by Elly Griffiths and she said I might also like the Burcell novel.  This is set in the US and isn't so much a mystery as a thriller.  I tend not to be interested in FBI stories, but the main character is a FBI agent and forensic artist.  Although the stories sound very different it's the author's use of forensic detail that prompted her to mention it.  

Secret Son, Laila Lalami - Orange Prize longlister set in contemporary Morocco that has a very post-9/11 theme to it.

Arcadia Falls, Carol Goodman - I've read all of Carol Goodman's novels with the exception of the last two--one I just can't seem to get into and one I haven't yet managed to pick up.  Her books tend to be somewhat formulaic, but that's not necessarily a bad thing if the books are well written and you like that particular style.  Her novels are literary thrillers and generally very entertaining.

A Gate at the Stairs, Lorrie Moore - Another Orange longlist title.  I read Moore's Who Will Run the Frog Hospital (long ago, so I've more or less forgotten the story).  I'm not sure how much this one appeals really, but I may be happily surprised. 

Black Water Rising, Attica Locke- And this one is a surprise, though from what I've heard it's very well done.  A thriller on the Orange longlist!

A Week in December, Sebastian Faulks - I'm afraid this one was requested on name recognition only.  I've read a handful of Faulks's books and have enjoyed some of them (some more than others).  Again, not sure this is a story that appeals.  Why do stories with contemporary settings appeal to me less than others?

Savage Lands, Clare Clark - Oh, and one that I wanted to read even before it ended up on the longlist.  And guess what, it's set in 18th century Louisiana! 

Blackout, Connie Willis - I'll be starting this one very soon. This is the book that prompted me to pick up To Say Nothing of the Dog (still unread), which in turn prompted me to pick up Three Men in a Boat.  It's a time travel tale where the characters are sent from 2060 Oxford back to the 1940s.  From what I hear I am in for a treat.  

The Fossil Hunter, Shelley Emling - I want to pair this one up with Tracy Chevalier's Remarkable Creatures.  It seems to be the season of fossil hunting.

Aria: A Memoir of a Bilingual Childhood

For several weeks now as I've been flipping through my essay anthologies my eye has been caught by the work of Richard Rodriguez.  Rodriguez grew up in California, the son of working class Mexican immigrant parents.  He had a Catholic education and was a "scholarship boy" who continued on to university.  He seems to be known for his questioning of the effectiveness of affirmative action and bilingual education, the former causing him to give up an academic career in favor of writing.   Although I read "Aria: A Memoir of a Bilingual Education" included in The Best American Essays of the Century, his work also appears in The Art of the Personal Essay.  Philip Lopate notes the influence of George Orwell (must check out his essays soon I think) on Rodriguez and writes:

"Orwellian, certainly, are the interrogations of conscience and the attempt to write moral essays that combine personal honesty with a political and social dimension."

In "Aria: A Memoir of a Bilingual Education" Rodriguez draws heavily on his childhood experiences and writes what he knows.  I don't know enough about bilingual education--pros and cons--to say exactly where I stand, but Rodriguez is certainly convincing in his argument against bilingual education.  Although this essay is about language and education, he delves into what it means to be in the private and public spheres (when more than one language is involved), about family intimacy and how language can make us feel both separateness and belonging.     

As a young child he spoke exclusively Spanish at home and recalls his older siblings returning from school, where they were learning English, and leaving their schoolbooks near the door.  At home they would use their "family language".  Although his parents coped well in this new country, they were still never totally at ease in public--Americans, los gringos, were the "others" distant from his family.  The only people to come to their home were the many relatives of his family.  "We were the people with the noisy dog, the people who raised chickens.  We were the foreigners on the block."

When he went to school he was allowed only to speak English, yet it was a struggle for him. He was no longer Ricardo but Rich-heard!  At home, however, he would resume his place in the family and hear the comforting sounds he was so familiar with.

"Plainly it is not healthy to hear such sounds so often.  It is not healthy to distinguish public from private sounds so easily.  I remained cloistered by sounds, timid and shy in public, too dependent on the voices at home."

There was a deep intimacy with his family, so at odds with the painful feeling of public alienation.  His teachers were aware of his difficulties with the language, at the time it wasn't so much language to him as simply sounds, as well as the problems his older siblings also experienced, so they asked his parents to speak to him in English at home as well.  As he became more sure of himself he learned to speak English and feel comfortable in the language--hearing words not just sounds.  His parents ability to speak English, particularly his mother, also improved. 

"Supporters of bilingual education imply today that students like me miss a great deal by not being taught in their family's language.  What they seem to not to recognize is that, as a socially disadvantaged child, I regarded Spanish as a private language.  It was a ghetto language that deepened and strengthened my feeling of public separateness.  What I needed to learn in school was that I had the right, and the obligation, to speak the public language."

Of course becoming comfortable in this public sphere, learning this public language did not come without a cost.  There was a certain sense of betrayal he felt and that was intimated by relatives that he had somehow committed a sin by learning and eventually only speaking this "public language".  He was playfully called pocho ("someone who in becoming an American, forgets his native society").  In the long run, however, the he never lost that intimacy at home by learning and speaking English.

"Intimacy is not created by a particular language; it is created by intimates.  Thus the great change in my life was not linguistic but social.  If, after becoming a successful student, I no longer heart intimate voices as often as I had earlier, it was not because I spoke English instead of Spanish.  It was because I spoke public language for most of my day.  I moved easily at last, a citizen in a crowded city of words."

I'm afraid my post is an oversimplification of his ideas, as his argument was far more nuanced than what I'm trying to convey here.  I suspect there are plenty of good arguments in favor of bilingualism, too, but it's hard to ignore the earnestness of his beliefs and experiences.

This essay was first published in The American Scholar in 1980.

March 18: Reading Notes

I realize that in the last couple of days you've likely been bombarded with posts on this year's Orange Prize Longlist, but I have to mention it briefly here, too, because I am always so curious about the books that end up on these lists.  You can get a detailed run down of titles and book descriptions via  Fleur Fisher Reads.  Controversy aside (I'll leave that to those who are better arguers than I am), I see this as a way of being exposed to new books and authors and hopefully some good literature.  I think deep down it's also just a good excuse for me to buy a few (new to me) books, but pretend I didn't say that.  Of the list I've only read The Little Stranger by Sarah Waters, but I've got Small Wars by Sadie Jones and Wolf Hall by Hilary Mantel ready to read.  I'd be very happy to see Sarah Waters get the Prize, but I wonder if in the end it will be Hilary Mantel as she seems to be snagging prizes left and right. 

I did see which books I might be able to borrow from the library and discovered they have Savage Lands by Clare Clark (I read her The Nature of Monsters and liked it), A Gate at the Stairs by Lorrie Moore and Black Water Rising by Attica Locke.  Unfortunately the lines run around the block when it comes to The Lacuna by Barbara Kingsolver and The Help by Kathryn Stockett.  I'd have a better chance waiting for the books to come out in paper than getting them from the library anytime soon!  Maybe interlibrary loan? 

And then there are those books that haven't been published here, but now that I've heard about them I feel like I have to read them right now (you know how that goes, the moment you see something you want but can't easily have...)--Hearts and Minds by Amanda Craig, The Very Thought of You by Rosie Alison (have actually been eyeing this one for a while now), The Twisted Heart (oh, this one especially!) by Rebecca Gowers, and  The Wilding by Maria McCann.

Doesn't a long list of good books you want to read just warm your heart?  It does mine.  Alas, how many of these I will actually get to anytime soon is another story considering the pile of library books that I've been working my way through, my own reading list has just increased by a dozen or so titles!

Also announced yesterday (though no doubt overshadowed by the Orange Prize) was the Miles Franklin Literary Award longlist, which is Australia's highest literary prize.  I took a quick look on Amazon, though it appears that only a handful have been published over here.  I was gratified to see not only a YA title but also a thriller!  

And a sure sign that spring is really on the way?  It's time for Carl's Once Upon a Time reading challenge.  My reading card is seriously full at the moment, but I would still like to read at least one book.  I was thinking I could pick up Ali Shaw's The Girl with Glass Feet again and read it in earnest finally as I started it not too long ago.  I had planned to read along with another book group, but I seem to have fallen behind in a lot of my plans!  Oh well, there will be other opportunities.

And one last bookish note.  I've gotten my postal reading group book in the mail and am very excited about it.  I'll be reading this book in the next month or so.  Just think, pretty soon I might just be able to sit out on my porch with a glass of lemonade and a good book soaking up sunny rays.  My mantra these days is 'spring is coming, spring is coming'.  I'll just ignore the weather forecaster threatening us with snow on Saturday.  Could Mother Nature possibly be so cruel?

I wonder if it is too soon to start contemplating beach books?

The Forsyte Saga: A Man of Property

I wonder how many people saw the 2002 adaptation of John Galsworthy's The Forsyte Saga (or maybe even the 1967 version), and like me instantly went out and bought the book.  Actually I saw part of the film preferring to read the book first and see the movie later.  And then I wonder how many people took a look at the very large omnibus edition and left it on their bookcase to molder away for years feeling the tiniest bit intimidated by the sheer size, the tiny print and the idea of a very lengthy classic.  My edition contains the first three books that make up The Forsyte Saga plus the two shorter interludes. 

It's only recently that I learned the story is actually comprised of nine novels, and they have been published separately.  For some reason I feel far more ambitious reading all nine novels individually, if I can take little breaks in between, than attempting the hefty omnibus edition that only has the first three novels but well over 800 pages in one go.  Besides the set of nine books has such luscious covers and they look so elegant sitting next to each other on your bookshelf.  Really, though, there's nothing to be afraid of I've discovered.

Upon introduction to the Forsytes in The Man of Property things can be somewhat overwhelming.  There are so many of them, several generations worth and in the opening chapter they are all gathered together to celebrate the engagement of June Forsyte with Philip Bosinney who has been dubbed "the buccaneer".  A young man of no fortune, but progressive ideals, he's an architect.  That alone makes him stand out amongst the moneyed clan and very upper class Forsytes.  "Man of property" is a phrase that's going to be bandied about often in this novel.  The Victorian era is waning, but most of the Forsytes are still deeply mired in the sensibilities of a class bound and determined to create wealth and have all the physical niceties to show for it.  They are only a few generations removed from an agricultural background so wealth and possessions are very important to them.

Soames Forsyte is a true connoisseur of lovely things, and if anyone in this story is a man of property it is Soames.  As a matter of fact he is often called "the man of property", though not necessarily in a polite context.  Next to his paintings, Irene, his wife, is his most prize possession.  You might even say, his property.  He had to have her when they met, and despite turning down his many offers of marriage, he finally wore her down.  Beautiful and artistic she is the antithesis of what the Forsytes stand for, and only too late does she discover (though maybe she knew all along?) what a mistake her marriage is.  Like so many women of that period she married him for convenience and stability, as it would be such a "good marriage."

Irene and June are close friends, so close that Soames would like to take Irene away from London to the country where she won't be under anyone else's influence.  So he hires Bosinney to build him a country house on a well situated and attractive piece of land.  By now, though, there are whisperings amongst the Forsytes about Irene and Bosinney.  It's obvious she doesn't love Soames, but he doesn't quite believe she's capable of treachery.  Bosinney is an artist with impeccable taste.  The house he builds isn't just a country home but a work of art down to all the smallest details and tempers flare each time he exceeds the budget Soames has set for him.  At the beginning of the story the Forsytes are brought together as a family in celebration, but by the end they will be estranged.      

I don't want to give too much of the plot away, but just enough so you'll go grab the book yourself and start reading.  I've left all the best parts for you to discover.  This is a wonderful social satire that is full of "drama, passion, and scandal" just like the book promises.  The cast is very large but manageable once the story starts really moving.  And while this isn't a story with a lot of action, the characters are so fully formed and completely flawed you can't help but be drawn into their lives.  It doesn't matter whether they are likable or not, you still want to know them.  Soames is a fairly reprehensible character, but I still felt pity for him.  He truly didn't understand how he could love Irene so much yet she couldn't or wouldn't love him back.  Irene is a bit of an enigma.  The reader is never let into her head to know what she really wants or feels, only through her actions is any idea given of what she thinks.  For a novel that verges on melodrama it is quite complex and has left me with much to think about.

I'm curious to see what will happen next with the Forsytes and will be able to find out soon in In Chancery, though I am taking a little interlude myself and reading another short classic before continuing on.  I believe Series I of the 2002 film adaptation covers the first two books, and Series II the third book.  I've heard the adaptation is excellent and can't wait to watch it.  I wonder if I will be able to make it through the remaining eight books before the end of the year?  If the first is anything to go by, the story is certainly addicting.  why aren't more people reading him?   

Teaser Tuesday: The Crossing Places

I'm not entirely sure where I first heard about Elly Griffith's The Crossing Places (it may very well have been via Kay), but thank you to whoever it was as I am thoroughly enjoying it.  This is a first mystery, though the second has already been published in the UK and a third is due out sometime next year, with an interesting and unexpected sleuth.  The protagonist is actually a lecturer and forensic archaeologist and is quite refreshing when it comes to main characters.  Often times they are so perfect both physically and socially that it's nice to read about someone flawed and really very average even though she ends up in an unusual situation--the middle of a possible murder investigation.

The story reminds me a little of Erin Hart's mysteries set in Ireland, though the sleuth in those books happens to be a forensic pathologist from America.  I'm not usually a fan of murder mysteries where the dissecting of bodies is a main component of the story (sorry, Quincy, even though I did watch your show years ago...a little bit goes a long way with me), but somehow when we're talking about bog bodies or someone who's been buried for the last millennia or so it makes it a little more palatable.  After a lag of several years Erin Hart's third mystery, False Mermaid, has just been released and I'm eagerly waiting for a library copy.

What I like about both authors is how they incorporate not only history in general but folklore and mythology into their stories.  In the case of Elly Griffiths, she also is using an atmospheric setting as well--the marshlands in Norfolk.  I recently read an essay about marshes--that place between land and sea, so it's interesting to see it pop up in a book I'm reading, too.  But the excerpt I want to share is about Ruth Galloway, who chooses to live in such an isolated and often inhospitable place.  

"In the shower, the water unglues her eyes and sends her hair streaming down her back.  This is baptism, if you like.  Ruth's parents are Born Again Christians and are fans of Full Immersion For Adults (capitols obligatory).  Ruth can quite see the attraction, apart from the slight  problem of not believing in God.  Still, her parents are Praying For Her (capitols again), which should be a comfort but somehow isn't."

Ruth rubs herself vigorously with a towel and stares unseeingly into a steamy mirror.  She knows what she will see and the knowledge is not more comforting than her parent's prayers.  Shoulder-length brown hair, blue eyes, pal skin--and however she stands on the scales, which are at present banished to the broom cupboard--she weighs twelve and a half stone.  She sighs (I am not defined by my weight, fat is a state of mind) and squeezes toothpaste onto her brush.  She has a very beautiful smile, but she isn't smiling now and so this too is low on the list of comforts."

If the rest of the story is as good as the start I may have to consider ordering her second book from The Book Depository.  I sometimes wonder if my anxiousness to read new books and inability to wait for them to be published here puts a damper on the profits of US publishers.  Not that I buy that many books, but...

The Postmistress by Sarah Blake

In her afterword to her novel, The Postmistress, author Sarah Blake discusses the inspiration for her story.  She had been living on the tip of Cape Cod and often noticed the woman who delivered mail out on her route.  She wondered if she ever read the postcards she delivered and how she kept those secrets to herself.

"One afternoon I had a vivid image of this woman standing in front of the sorting boxes in the back room of the post office with an envelope in her hand,  I saw her standing there looking down at what she held, deciding, and then simply sliding the letter  into her pocket.  So Iris James, the postmistress, was born."

While the postmistress might have her secret, that's not the only story told here.  Ultimately Blake is writing about truth and lies and the reality of what we see and hear; and World War II and the lives of three very different women were the perfect setting and storytellers to do it. 

While the bombs are dropping in the London Blitz, life continues as usual in Franklin, Massachusetts.  It's late in 1940 and there's still no talk of America joining the fray, but into these calm lives comes the voice of "radio gal" Frankie Bard.  One of the few women war correspondents she has the enviable job of reporting the news, broadcasting all she hears and sees to those back home working along with Edward R. Murrow.  It's her earnest desire to help rouse America to take a stand and not sit back complacently watching while so many people are enduring the horrors of war and devastation of the bombs.   

In Franklin, spinster Iris James has recently arrived to take over the job as postmaster.  Her bright red lipstick causes the women to question her motives, but Iris is only interested in keeping order and it's quickly decided there's nothing to worry over.  She's a conscientious worker and efficient in all her tasks, which makes it all the more surprising when later in the story she sets aside a letter rather than delivering it.  Emma Fitch is another newcomer to Franklin having just married the town's doctor.  Utterly alone in the world Emma wants stability.  She's only too willing to shut off the radio and keep the world and it's dangers far away.  When one of Dr. Fitch's patients dies he decides to go to London and lend his skills to those who really need them, which is crushing to Emma, but it's as if he needs to set to right something that went wrong in his life.

When Murrow offers Frankie the plum assignment of going into Occupied France and on to Germany to tell the story of the Jewish refugees, something she's been so desperate to tell but a story that's not been deemed important, she packs immediately and sets off taking with her a device to record voices.  News may be facts, but what Frankie sees and wants to tell the world are the stories of the people and the injustices done to them.

"And what had Frankie thought?  That she'd get over here and find the single story that would make the world sit up and listen?  These are the Jews of Europe.  Here is what is happening.  Pay attention.  But there was no story.  Or rather, she turned from the window and considered the portable recorder.  There was no story over here that she could tell from beginning to end.  The story of the Jews lay in the edges around what could be told."

Frankie is plunged into a world of chaos and disorder.  So many people are trying to get out, but so few trains are carrying passengers.  Her journey is a harrowing one, and the story she was sent to tell is not the one she finds.  Everyone feels a dizzying sense of dislocation and Frankie gets only a momentary glimpse into these lives.  Her story isn't of just one of those voices but of many.  Whatever feelings she had that she could provoke some kind of change in attitude are quickly diminished by her own missteps and misunderstandings.  And this is a theme that runs through the story and will tie the threads together. 

Whatever optimism Frankie came into France with is defeated by the time she leaves, so she returns home to America.  She carries with her another letter to be delivered, one she will take back to Franklin and the doctor's wife.  A chance meeting between Frankie and Will Fitch in a London bomb shelter before she traveled into Europe means she has reason to travel to Cape Cod and bring the story full circle.

Although this was in many ways a compelling read, it's one I have mixed feelings about.  Sarah Blake sets herself a difficult task with the construction of this story.  Although the different threads do twine together not all the stories felt equally told.  Frankie's stands out against the rest and perhaps that was intentional as she seems to be the lens through which everyone and their actions are seen.  I felt her character had more depth and breadth than the others in the story.  Still, there's much to admire about it, too.  She's a very good writer, even if it's a bit uneven in the way the story is told.  I liked the way she portrayed the disarray of London and the rest of Europe juxtaposing it with the calm indifference of life in America, the reader being aware that the U.S.'s entrance into the war is only months away.  It's a different angle she tells her story from as well--the American homefront viewing the war from the perspectives of war correspondents broadcasting live.  She throws a lot of ideas out at the reader, and now I wish I had taken notes as I was going.  I'd be very curious to hear what others think of The Postmistress.  I'm glad I read it, though it's one that I seem to appreciate more after the fact than during.

Library Loot and Other Miscellanea

This year Sundays have been my day to read essays and write about them, but today I just couldn't muster the energy to do so.  I wanted to relax and watch a movie (am still working on the Inspector Lynley Mysteries that I started watching at Christmas--and have finally made it to season five, so I'm almost done) and work on a needlework project that I am also nearly finished with.  It's amazing how stitching during the day with bright light makes a huge difference than doing so at night with only lamplight for illumination.  It's vastly easier (at least when working on small stitches), and despite the lack of sunshine (it seems to be taking an extended vacation here unfortunately), it was nice taking advantage of the natural light.  

Weekends should be filled with rest and relaxation and doing things that you can't do during the work week, but mine tend to be bogged down with chores and catching up on errands.  Lately I feel like I have to rush to read my essay and then try and digest and understand it and then write about it, which takes up most of my afternoon, and I've not been enjoying that rushed feeling.  I love reading essays, but writing about them is always a challenge.  And I find myself looking for an interesting essay to read but one that isn't too long as I am not a fast reader.  I think I'm going about this all wrong, so Sundays are no longer going to be my essay day.  I know if I don't set myself the task of writing something about what I'm reading I will most likely get lazy and stop reading them regularly.  I'll leave things open ended and simply try and post sometime later in the week, but I will still hopefully read a new essay every weekend.

Instead I can share the new stack of library books that I brought home this weekend.  I was very pleased that a couple of new mysteries finally turned up as I've been looking forward to reading them.  Elly Griffiths's The Crossing Places has received lots of good reviews in the blogosphere and after starting to read it I can see why.  It's set in the marshlands of "windswept" Norfolk and features archaeologist Ruth Galloway, who on first impression I think I'm going to really like.  The other mystery I've been eyeing is Last Nocturne by Marjorie Eccles.  I read an earlier book by her that I enjoyed and have happily anticipating her new book.  Aside from the fact that I know I like her writing style, this novel is set in London and Vienna early in the twentieth century, a period and places I can't seem to get enough of.

I've also been very curious about Sophie Hannah.  She writes thrillers, and of The Wrong Mother Tana French writes: "What makes this book quite so gripping is Sophie Hannah's utter fearlessness as a writer.  In her expert hands, all the little annoyances and worries and complications of everyday life are transformed, gradually and inexorably, into the raw material of pure terror.  It's like watching a nightmare come to life."  If you like thrillers, that's seriously glowing praise.  I wonder of Hannah can live up to it.

I've never read anything by Louise Erdrich, which somehow seems wrong to me.  There is a good handful of contemporary American authors that I feel like I should have read (like Anne Tyler, Jane Smiley, and Louise Erdrich to name a few), but haven't managed to get around to yet.  I'm not sure her newest, Shadow Tag, is the best place to start, but it sounds like an interesting read.

I'm not sure about Gail Carriger's Soulless.  It sounds like it could fit in with the steampunk genre, but the characters happen to be vampires and werewolves, high society vampires and werewolves in London, but vampires and werewolves nonetheless.  I know vampires are very much the in thing when it comes to new books, but a little bit goes a long way with me, so I'm not sure how I'll get on with this one.  It sounds very quirky, which can be a good things, but this might be a little too outside my comfort zone. 

The last book is a treasury of short stories about 1920s Melbourne sleuth, Phryne Fisher, A Question of Death.  I wasn't really sure what this was about when I requested it, so it maybe something that I end up reading bits and pieces of. 

Looking over my list of library books I see how totally predictable I am in my reading.  Is everyone the same way, or do you take lots of risks and try new things?  If I see a book set in a particular time and place it is almost a guarantee that I will pick it up.  My reading tends to follow those lines rather than thinking I've not yet read Jane Smiley and this week I'm going to pick up one of her books, no matter when or where it's set.  I wonder if I should really be doing more of that than sticking with what I know I will like?  I suppose there are good things to be said about both types of reading.  How do you choose your next book?

Now I guess I will go and select an essay to read at leisure and not worry just how long it is!  Post to follow later this week.

March 13: Reading Notes

Just a couple of quick bookish things today.  I'm trying to optimize my time this weekend and maybe get caught up on blog reading.  My Google Reader is crammed with posts I want to read properly and comment on.  We'll see how many of the hundred or so I have saved I can actually get to.  Since I am admitting to my poor organizational skills (actually it's more a matter of not enough hours in the day that I can call my own), I should say here, thank you, to each and every one of you who so kindly leaves me comments during the week.  It is most appreciated.  And if you happen to have a blog, truly I am not ignoring you, but most likely have your last several posts marked to read!

It's almost time once again to announce the longlist for The Orange Prize.  All discussion aside as to the prize's worthiness and all that, I always see it as a way to be introduced to potentially wonderful new authors and books.  Thanks to Jackie for the heads up.  I was interested to see her predictions for possible nominees for the prize.  I've read two of them and have two more on hand and am thrilled to see new books by Margaret Forster and Joanne Harris.  Now I can't wait to see the actual list the judges come up with.

You can also check out the longlist for the Independent Foreign Fiction Prize.  I am happy to see Claudia Piñeiro's Thursday Night Widows on the list.  I wrote about the book here.  Most of the authors are new to me, but I do have Philippe Claudel's book on hand to read and look forward to checking out the others.

Oh, and I've discovered that Rufus Sewell will be playing the part of Aurelio Zen, Michael Dibdin's Italian sleuth, for the BBC.  This almost makes up for the Inspector Lynley Mysteries being canceled!  If you twist my arm, I will have to admit that Sewell is rather easy on the eyes and the combination of dark, brooding, good looks with an Italian setting, and oh well, swoon.  I've read a Dibdin book, but it wasn't a Zen mystery.  Guess what I'll be digging out in anticipation?   

My to do list this weekend includes a library visit (time to switch out a few books) and hopefully I will be finishing John Galsworthy's The Man of Property sometime as well.  It's been a wonderful read, totally living up to my expectations (surpassing them even).  I'm going to take a little breather from the Forsytes and looks for another classic to read next, but I'll be starting the second book in the Saga soon!

Have a nice weekend everyone.

New Books, Part 2: More Mysteries

Actually this is "more mysteries" and a science fiction novel.  All but the book on the bottom of the pile were recommendations.  The  middle four I saw mentioned in the comment area of this interesting post.  I love mysteries, but I tend towards either international crime novels or British cozies and police procedurals or historical mysteries.  Glaringly absent from my reading piles are mysteries by American authors (with the exception of a few and some of those set their books outside the US).  I'm not entirely sure why that is other than I have a strong interest in British literature and I guess books set here in the US are just too familiar.  I suspect I am missing out on some very good books, however, so I am going to try and broaden my (mystery) reading horizons.

Doomsday Book, Connie Willis - After I mentioned wanting to read To Say Nothing of the Dog, someone (perhaps a few people even) that this was an excellent book by Willis as well.  It's another time travel book set both in the future and in Medieval England.

I'll admit to not knowing a lot about the following books other than they are mysteries by American authors and set here in the US, but as they seem to have come highly recommended I thought they were worth a try:

Deal Breaker, Harlan Coban - The first Myron Bolitar novel.

The Monkey's Raincoat, Robert Crais - This features Elvis Cole, an L.A. private eye, "who's a literate, wisecracking Vietnam vet determined not to grow up."

The Black Echo, Michael Connelly - The first Harry Bosch novel, a LAPD homicide detective.

Tell No One, Harlan Coban - I believe this is a standalone novel, that's a "suspense thriller".

Any my last book is a "Golden Age Classic" by Anthony Berkeley, The Poisoned Chocolates Case (...English cozy, thank you).  I came across it on the Felony & Mayhem online catalog and it sounded to good to pass up. The crime?  Death by chocolate (literally!).  A society of intellectuals determines who is the culprit but each member gives a different solution.  It sounds like fun.

So out of curiosity, has anyone read the middle four books?  And if you happen to read American crime/mystery novels do you have any authors or books in particular you can recommend (there should definitely be some women authors in that list)?  I'm sure there are probably some classic novels out there that I should have read.  Perhaps it's time once again that I turn to my handy little reference guide, The Rough Guide to Crime Fiction, which will offer a few suggestions as well.

Coming soon, part three--the last of my new books.

Three Men in a Boat (to Say Nothing of the Dog)

I've come to Jerome K. Jerome's Three Men in a Boat in a roundabout way.  Recently I picked up To Say Nothing of the Dog by Connie Willis not realizing it pays homage (at least in part) to Jerome's light hearted story and wanted to be in on all the jokes, so decided to backtrack and give Three Men in a Boat a go first.  It's a very quick, gentle sort of read, the sort that will elicit more than a few chuckles, and even an odd guffaw or two at the characters' antics.

Originally Jerome K. Jerome set out to write a travel guide but apparently couldn't quite get things going, so the narrative veered off towards the comical.  Three Victorian gentlemen decide a boat trip up the Thames is in order to cure them of the many ills that are ailing them.  And pretty much every ill ails them save housemaid's knee!  This is not an undertaking to be contemplated lightly and much thought and planning goes into their two week holiday.  Where to go, what to take, the question of food and the occasional lodgings are all considered and debated in some detail.

The three gentlemen were based on Jerome himself and two of his friends, but the dog Montmorency is, alas, plucked from his imagination--a sprightly fox terrier that gets into any number of scrapes (including one with a cat--the cat wins).  The novel turns out to be part travel guide, part meditation on the joys (or perhaps more the trials and tribulations) of paddling up the river (skiffing?) with a bit of drama thrown in for good measure.  J. (Jerome) tells the story, but with a good number of digressions along the way.  The story verges on farce as each new situation or the relating of a prior adventure is shared with the reader.     

It's a lot of great good fun and much of it is still relevant to the sorts of things travelers go through today.  Tea is made out of questionable river water, inns are passed over for their lack of honeysuckle growing over doors, rowers are left floating in the river without their poles, and I can only assume swans are the vicious creatures portrayed in these pages. One of my favorite episodes describes the creation of what I can only say sounds like the most vile stew ever and convinced me there are far worse cooks in the world than myself.  

"George said it was absurd to have only four potatoes in an Irish stew, so we washed a half dozen or so more, and put them in without peeling.  We also put in a cabbage and about half a peck of peas.  George stirred it all up, and then he said that there seemed to be a lot of room to spare, so we overhauled the hampers, and picked out all the odds and ends and the remnants, and added them to the stew.  There were half a pork pie and a bit of cold boiled bacon left, and we put them in.  Then George found half a tin of potted salmon, and he emptied that into the pot."

"He said that was the advantage of Irish stew; you got rid of such a lot of things.  I fished out a couple of eggs that had got cracked, and we put those in.  George said they would thicken the gravy."

"I forget the other ingredients, but I know nothing was wasted; and I remember that, toward the end, Montmorency, who evinced a great interest in the proceedings throughout, strolled away with an earnest and thoughtful air, reappearing, a few minutes afterward, with a dead water rat in his mouth, which he evidently wished to present as his contribution to the dinner: whether in a sarcastic spirit, or with a genuine desire to assist, I cannot say."

Upon publication in 1889 critics panned the book calling Jerome's use of slang "vulgar", and while I agree that the story is somewhat uneven in the telling and the prose on the sentimental side, Jerome K. Jerome got the last laugh.  The book sold extremely well and has never been out of print.  It's # 33 on the Observer's 100 Greatest Novels list (I get to line another one off!) and Esquire ranked it #2 on their 50 Funniest Books Ever Written list.  The three Victorian gentleman (to say nothing of the dog) may be bumblers but they are well-meaning for all their silly larks.  I can only say it's nice to have a good laugh now and then.