A Work in Progress

Short Story Sunday: The Pig Boy

Last week's short story by Jane Gardam was excellent and this week's is just as good.  If you think you don't like short stories, you should give a few by Jane Gardam a go.  The quote on the cover of the book reads "Pure delight . . . One perfect story after another" and so far at least, I have to agree.  She immediately pulls you in and then keeps you interested.  The stories are such perfect snapshots of life, such careful and interesting observations of the inner lives of her characters--she conveys emotions and sensibilities with a real deftness, and then at the end there is just the right twist that makes you appreciate her mastery.

Here's a curious title for you and I have to say it wasn't all that appealing initially really, "The Pig Boy".  Any ideas of what the story would be like?  I thought it might be an interesting character sketch, and in a way it is but not exactly of the person you think.

"Veronica smelled the pig boy before she saw him and the smell was the essence of her loathing and hatred of Hong Kong."

From what I can tell, and maybe someone can correct me, it seems as though Jane Gardam did not live in Hong Kong (though her husband is a QC just as Old Filth was)?  She certainly writes with confidence and very convincingly of place--not just descriptions but of presence--that of British expats living in other parts of the Empire. 

In the story Veronica is a "brought-out wife" and loathes Hong Kong.  She's a full time painter and lives in England but twice a year travels over to be with her husband as a sort of "safety valve" to keep him from experiencing executive breakdown.  The odd thing for the other wives is that there are no children at home in England or a proper job (well, a job that must keep her at home, whereas surely you can paint anywhere, right?).  What's to stop her from living in Hong Kong permanently.  Everyone assumes there must be a little extracurricular hanky panky going on with one or maybe both spouses and it's just more convenient to lead separate lives, but one look at her husband's tired face and his slide into paunchiness and it's obvious it's only and all business and nothing else.

He works long hours with one goal in mind--to bring it home to England.  He can make in Hong Kong far more money than he could at home and in much less time.  So the idea is to work like a dog for a while and then return home with a nice financial reward.  But for Veronica life in Hong Kong is a bore.  She must entertain herself all day and then it's socializing all evening--cocktail parties and dinners and walking in the neighborhood.  The thing is, it's all just the same as any other place. 

"After a week or so she grew used to it--used to the pace and the impersonality.  It was just a richer, madder Oxford Street on a Saturday afternoon."

Even the conversation with the other wives is all the same.  And it doesn't matter if they are Chinese, French, American or English.  She goes the rounds and does what a proper wife does, but it's all just routine.  "This place isn't any more foreign than London.  None of it."

Or so she thinks.  It's when the unexpected happens, when she is lost in a part of Hong Kong not meant for tourists.  The dirty, dingy part where she's been warned not to go, where life is a little scary that her eyes are really opened and everything is new and fresh and even a little exciting. 

So, yes, you do get to meet the Pig Boy, and see and smell him in your mind.  He's the impetus for the change, but the story is all about Veronica.

* * * * *

If you had asked me a week ago if I liked César Aira's work I would have looked at you blankly.  César Aira?  I always think I know a lot about books, not necessarily a lot about style or content exactly, but what's out there--names and places.  But it's impossible to know really, and time and again when I read each new New Yorker story I discover yet another new to me writer.  Aira is published by New Directions here in the US--about a dozen or so books, and in his native Argentina he published something like a hundred books.  Granted his books tend to be on the short side--more closer to novellas perhaps, but how does someone like this fail to cross my path?  

This week's story (August 11 & 18 issue) is called "Picasso" and was a delight to read (and you can read it, too). 

"It all began when the genie came out of the Magic Milk bottle and as me what I would prefer: to have a Picasso or be Picasso." 

Apparently his playful inventiveness is quite common.  In the This Week Q&A feature (with his New Directions publisher Barbara Epler says about his writing:

". . . his delight in leaping into triple-back-flip dives from the very highest platform, even as the pool vanishes, to land neatly on his toes on a little patch of daisies. It is a very particular kind of joy. Key to his work is that it never feels like work—that’s part of the joy.  Aira possesses a sans souci quality I have never encountered with such purity."

I like that carefree writing style, his ability to just go with the flow.  He inserts himself in the story--at least it feels like it is himself then muses over the question at hand, the implications of each choice and even contemplates the issues of identity and fame.  And an absolutely perfect ending sentence.

Unfortunately the library where I work has none of his books, but the public library has The Hare which Epler upon first reading it said it "knocked her socks off".  Maybe I'll start there.  Somehow he seems an author to read and talk about, so if anyone has an inkling to read any of his books do let me know and we can give him a go together.  I should start a shelf of books bought as inspired by my New Yorker reading.  I wonder how many names long that list is now . . .

The next New Yorker story (I am running behind but hope to catch up when I am on vacation next week) is by Tessa Hadley, whose stories I have read before and know I like.  So am in for another treat.  I plan on continuing on with the Jane Gardam collection, but as September and October are RIP reading months I will turn my attention to ghost stories or something similar.  My next Short Story Sunday will likely be sometime later in the week as I will just be getting back from vacation, but I am sure I'll squeeze on in sometime soon after I get back.

Reading The Netherlands: Last Notes

Though I have only visited Amsterdam (as well as a few other places in The Netherlands--Rotterdam, The Hague and Delfzijl) in the pages of books, I am sure it is a place I could happily and easily feel at home.  Now that I have gotten a very small taste of place and the culture I know I must visit it someday.  What happiness-the idea of being in a city that appreciates people who cycle and walk!  Thanks to Cath, I have had some lovely visuals to supplement my reading.  She kindly sent along a city map (I love maps) as well as a 'what's on' guide to the city for the summer, which I most enviously enjoyed perusing and reading.  While August is quickly slipping into September and the events listed (museum exhibits alone fill two pages--oh my, theatre listings a page and a half, and how many cities can boast a 'street food tour'!) will move on to more autumn-like attractions (if Park Life is very summerish, I wonder what is on for fall?), I will be holding on to my A-Mag for quite some time and fantasizing over what I could be doing if I lived somewhere more exciting. 

I didn't read everything I had hoped to read (I never do, though), I am very satisfied with how well my Reading The Netherlands project went.  I have a really excellent list of potential reads by Dutch authors and books with Dutch settings.  As I knew I was nearing the end of my project I decided to whittle down my in progress books (still in the hope of tidying things up by the end the year).  As I had barely started a couple that landed on my reading pile I have shifted them back to the TBR piles for later.  I am however, still working on The Apothecary's House by Adrian Mathews and Inevitable by Louis Couperus.  I am far enough in both that I have invested time and interest in the plot and characters and want to know how things are going to turn out in both cases.    

I wanted to wrap things up tidily however, so here's a little rundown of where I've been (without ever leaving Omaha!).

I thoroughly enjoyed getting to know detectives Grijpstra and De Gier in Amsterdam Cops: Collected Stories.  I will certainly be reading more of their adventures.  Had I not already been in the middle of a number of other mysteries the first proper mystery in the series would have remained on my reading pile.

Dmitri Verhulst was born in Belgium but is part of the Dutch speaking popularion.  Madame Verona Comes Down the Hill is a lovely novella with a lot of magical elements. 

It's easy to see why Simone van der Vlugt is called "Holland's Queen of Crime".  Shadow Sister is a tense, suspenseful story with just the right mixture of atmosphere, edginess, and surprise.  I still have one unread book by her on my stack and look forward to picking it up soon.

And for a little crime French-style, but with lots of feel for Dutch psychology and a wonderfully descriptive setting Georges Simenon's Maigret in Holland was another excellent read. 

The highlight, however, was reading Louis Couperus's Eline Vere.  It's a coup for me as I have had such a hard time with chunky books and a classic novel as well.  It never once felt like an 'uphill' sort of read and while it was in many ways a tragic story, it was also a wholly satisfying and a pleaure from start to finish.  It's easily one of my best reads all year.

Another highlight and perhaps a reason I was able to stay on task so well (when other projects have fallen by the wayside) was Cath's series of guest posts.  Although Cath does not blog she has been a long time visitor here and elsewhere in the book blogosphere and I have always enjoyed our chats.  I have met so many wonderful people online and she is someone I am happy to call friend.  If you missed her posts, she wrote four on various aspects of Dutch Literature: First Lines, The Poetry of Robert Kopland, A Silent Room, and just this weekend Living in a Language.

I wish I would have had more visuals to share, but I did scan a number of postcards I have received in the mail.   Had I planned better I would have investigated Dutch art a bit, but I hope to revamp this project again next summer. 

I'm finishing out the weekend with Paul Verhoeven's 1977 film starring Rutger Hauer, Soldier of Orange.  It is based on true events about a group of university students resisting the Nazis during WWII.  It's an excellent film, but a long one.  I watched the first half a week or so ago and am off to watch the second half as soon as I hit the 'save and publish' button.  Next time around I will definitely look for more films to watch. 

I am wrapping things up just at the right time.  I started my project just after Memorial Day and am ending it just before Labor Day.  Summer will soon turn to fall (hot, muggy weather can please now exit stage left) with leaves turning and hopefully a nice crisp tingle in the air, and maybe an aroma of cinnamon and pumpkin spice wafting in from the kitchen.  Now I will be working on my list of books for Carl's RIP IX (I already have a stack waiting to be sorted through . . . ) and my attention will be on class reading in particular.   

Maybe next year I will try, too, to pick up a few Dutch words and phrases.  But for now, Tot ziens. 

Living in a Language by CathvdL

Many thanks to Cath who has been so kind writing several posts for my Reading the Netherlands project.  It has made my own reading so much richer and added a different and unique perspective on Dutch Literature.  She offers an insider's view which no matter how many books I read will never quite see or understand the nuances in exactly the same way, so to read what she has to say about these books has been a treat for me and for you, I hope, as well.  I've saved her last guest post for the very end and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I have.

* * * * *

Living in a language

When after a car accident reading all of a sudden proved to be difficult ‘My Father’s Notebook’ was, after months of practicing, the first novel I finished. In hindsight I know how Kader Abdolah’s often poetic style, greatly helped. Yet there is more to it. Finally the joy of reading was there again and while difficulty and effort remained they somehow moved into the background.  

My Father’s Notebook is the story of Aga Akbar who has written a book in his self-developed script. After his death the book is delivered to his son Ishmael living in the Netherlands as a political refugee. Ishmael starts to decipher the book.

‘Aga Akbar was born a deaf mute. The family, especially his mother, communicated with him in a simple sign language. A language that consisted of about a hundred signs. A language that worked best at home, with the family, though the neighbors also understood it to some extent. But the power of that language manifested itself most in the communication between mother and Aga, and later between Aga and Ishmael.’

Iranian Kader Abdolah (1954) was born in Arak. He had already published short stories when he fled his country in 1985, after his involvement in the opposition to Khomeini was discovered. He came to The Netherlands in 1988 as a political refugee. After five years of self-study he published his first book of short stories in Dutch in 1993. In 2006 he was writer in residence at Leiden University.

Kader Abdolah’s style is both simple and lyrical. ‘I want to make the river of ancient Persian poetry flow into the sea of Dutch literature’ he says, and ‘one doesn’t learn love for a language in a language- course, that’s why I started reading Dutch literature. When I discovered poet Rutger Kopland I found the magic of the Dutch language. His poems are short. He grabs you with a few words. His lines stay with you for months. That was the power I was looking for. I couldn’t yet write in Dutch but tried, in his style, to voice my homesickness. I wrote: I go to town. I buy a parrot. The parrot says: Can I go home? Do you feel the power of that last sentence? That’s the magic.’

While reflecting on his particular place in the Dutch literary landscape I thought of Salman Rushdie writing in his essay ‘Imaginary Homelands’ (1982): ‘It may be argued that the past is a country from which we all have emigrated, that its loss is part of our common humanity. Which seems to me self-evidently true, but I suggest that the writer who is out-of-country and even out-of-language may experience this loss in an intensified form. Sometimes we feel that we straddle two cultures; at other times, that we fall between two stools. But however ambiguous and shifting this ground may be, it is not an infertile territory for a writer to occupy.’

Maybe Kader Abdolah expresses it even better himself: ‘I am not Dutch, and not a foreigner either, I am an outsider. A position I will always have. I have taken the old key of the house with me, but it will never fit again. The Dutch language is my homeland now.’

How happy I am he is living there.

Books in translation by Kader Abdolah are: My Father’s Notebook (2007), The House of the Mosque (2011) and The King (2014).

* * * * *

I wish all my reading projects went as smoothly and satisfyingly as this one has.  I'll be back later this weekend to wrap things up a bit.  I was afraid I would not find enough books to read, enough variety, but the problem now is that I have added too many new Dutch authors and books to my reading stacks, including now Kader Abdolah.  Always a good problem to have, however.

Maigret in Holland by Georges Simenon

A week or so ago I shared a teaser from Georges Simenon's Maigret in Holland (Un Crime en Hollande translated by Geoffrey Sainsbury) and just as the TLS describes Simenon's style, so I found this wonderful and wonderfully atmospheric mystery.  It's short, straightforward, not terribly complicated plotwise yet filled with enough red herrings and potential suspects to keep readers guessing and no political or historical markers which give the story a timeless quality even though it was published in 1940.  His geographical descriptions of the coastal town of Delfzijl, however, are very inviting and part of the draw for me for this story.  And Maigret is entirely likable.  While the story may be morally ambiguous (certainly Simenon doesn't interject his own opinions), Maigret himself is quite sympathetic.  Actually he's sympathetic but he has a certain mischievous streak to him at times, too, which I find amusing.

I've not read many of Simenon's Maigret novels, but of the few I have read there always seems to be a no-nonsense approach to the writing and plotting.  Crime novels seem to be the perfect place to show a society's ills, reveal its shortcomings.  You can tell a lot about a society from the crimes that are committed and by whom.  And it's often not confined to the seedy underbelly of a city.  Sometimes the detective or crime-solver is just as flawed as the criminals.  But with Maigret you get a crime, you get a piecing together of a puzzle and a little traditional sleuthing.  Maigret, however, relies as much on his gut feeling as on his close attention to the details of the crime, his observations and sorting through the clues to make it all fit together to get a satisfying resolution.  As for Maigret's life--I can't tell you much.  He smokes a pipe, likes to indulge a bit occasionally on a good meal and a few glasses of spirits.  I know from my other reading that he is married and has a good relationship with his wife, but Simenon doesn't spend a lot of time on the personal (except perhaps to draw a picture of the suspects and their motivations).

I think what's important in the Maigret stories is presenting a problem, in this case murder, looking at it from all angles, sorting the clues and the personalities and the motives and facts and then solving the crime.  A very basic, traditional mystery--but presented in a wholly entertaining way.  Maigret has been called to Holland from Paris to aid in the investigation of a murder.  A local man has been killed and the most obvious suspect happens to be a fellow Frenchman.  He very inconveniently found himself holding the gun which killed the man thereby putting himself under suspicion.  Curiously he had just given a lecture on the responsibility of criminals for their actions and has his own ideas of who killed the man and sets out his own ideas on who the killer is and how the crime was committed.  He's not the only potential suspect of course. 

The murdered man was a former sailor now settled down with a cultured and conventional wife.  He had a penchant for attractive young women (perhaps he settled down too soon without sowing his wild oats in full?), though only dabbling really.  He happened to have been dabbling with a local girl who is known for her flirtatiousness.  As a matter of fact a young cadet who was one of the murdered man's students is in love with her.  Then there is the murdered man's sister-in-law who has just finished her studies to become a lawyer who seems forever in a state of taciturnity, and the owner of a ship who's cap has inexplicably been discovered in the dead man's bathtub. 

No mystery worth its salt is complete without a hoard of secrets and lies.  So many suspects, so many motives and opportunities and a sprinkling of clues--love letters, a sailor's cap where it shouldn't be, a stray cigar butt and the light from a lighthouse which illuminates more than just the coastline.  Maigret is up to the challenge, however, and in true Porot-like fashion he re-creates the murder scene with all the players in place and deconstructs the crime.  The Dutch detectives are no match for Maigret's sleuthing prowess despite his 'unofficial' capacity in the case.

Since I read this as much for the setting as for the mystery, I would be remiss if I didn't share a few of the interesting cultural bits that I came across--keeping in mind of course that the book was published in 1940, so perhaps life has changed considerably in the passing years.

***

"The schnapps was drawn from a porcelain tap with brass fittings.  It was that which gave the place its pervading odor, as it did every other café in the Netherlands, and which was so very different from any café in France."

***

"The evening before, he had dinner at the table next to the professor's.  But now three places had been laid on the round table in the middle of the room.  The tablecloth was snowy white and the creases had not yet gone flat.  Moreover, three glasses had been set for each person, and that was a thing done only on grand occasions in Holland."

***

"In Holland we never drink with meals, only afterward.  In the course of the evening--that is, at large repceptions--they serve a small glass of wine with the cigars . . . Another point on which we differ from you: we never put bread on he table."

***

"It's the very embodiment of cleanliness and order."

***

I've wanted to read more Maigret for ages and this was only a brief foray into his world.  I'll be back for more.  Maigret in Holland is doing double duty for me.  It's not only the next spot to be filled in my Vintage Bingo card (three more to go to fill my row and get 'bingo'--this one is for the 'one mystery set other than the US or England slot) but is my last 'formal' book in my summer Reading the Netherlands project.  I've got a couple of books left that will spill over into the end of the year, but I'll be wrapping things up this weekend  in anticipation of other reading plans to see me through the end of the year.  Cath has kindly written a last post, which we'll be sharing tomorrow and I have a few loose ends to tie up over the weekend.  I might end up with one of those spillover books in my travel bag next week, or maybe another Maigret mystery or maybe another book to help fill in my Bingo card.  So many good choices.

Learning About: Israeli Literature

You know how sometimes the stars align in just the right way and something you had been hoping to do and looking forward to all comes together perfectly?  I mentioned I was hoping to audit a literature class at the university where I work?  Last night I had my first class and I am excited about it--about the topic, about the coursework and the readings we'll be doing and the films we'll be watching.  Why haven't I been auditing classes all along I now ask myself.

I have been working on ordering materials for the library that instructors will be using in their classes and the books being studied in a couple of Jewish/Israeli Literature classes caught my eye.  First I noted down interesting-sounding books, and then I ordered a few for myself.  Then I thought why not just take the class and get to enjoy all the good things that come along with studying a topic in earnest and learning from someone who is knowledgeable.  Going through the admissions and registration process (since it has been longer than two years since I took a class on campus) certainly has given me a renewed appreciation for what students have to go through--all the hoops they need to jump through and the expenses associated with studying.  I'm lucky as working for the university means I get a break on tuition (as well as only auditing and not taking the class for credit), so it is a terrific perk I will be taking advantage of in the future.

I had initially wanted to take a class about Jewish American Literature, but as it is offered off-campus it was more convenient to enroll in one that meets on campus (one of the limitations of depending on city buses unfortunately is I can't get to lots of places in the city easily or quickly).  Part of the draw for me was that a visiting Israeli scholar is teaching the courses.  Apparently it has been quite a coup that the department has drawn not just one but this is the second scholar to spend a year on campus.  (Now I wish I had taken one of the classes last school year as her book orders--she taught art history courses--were equally as appealing).  How often do you get to take a class offered by a published author?  He's written seven books, two of which have been translated into English.

As for the course--it is 'Israeli Literature in War'.  It's not a class about the various wars and conflicts associated with the formation of Israel per se, but rather the wars are used as a lens through which to learn about the country and the people.

"The course will explore questions of identity, nationalism, Zionism and war.  In addition we will also examine questions of perspective and memory by studying books from the actual time period and those written in the following decades from the perspectives of the 'inside' and the 'outside', as well as in fiction, non-fiction and film."

We've started out talking about the concept of the Sabra--a term I had never heard before.  A 'Sabra' is essentially a native born Jew--Israeli's born in Israel.  But there is a whole mythology surrounding the concept and we will be exploring how this concept is manifested in literature.  We've started out reading exceprts from the text above, The Sabra: The Creation of the New Jew by Oz Almog.

The reading will consist of chapters from books, excerpts and short stories as well as movies.  It should be very 'do-able' (and allowing me to continue on with my 'other' reading).  Next week we will be reading Moshe Shamir, moving on to S. Yizhar and then to Amos Oz who is one of the best known and best regarded Israeli authors, but there will be many others.  I'll share my reading as I go.  The class is fairly small--only eight or nine of us along with our instructor.  Only four of the students are taking the class for credit, the rest are auditing.  And is a nice mix of people, ages, backgrounds and life experiences.  It should make for excellent discussions and I am so looking forward to this experience. 

It's unlikely I will be posting on Wednesdays from here on out until the end of December as Tuesdays (did you know I always write my posts the night before they actually appear?) are really long days for me, but I was so excited I wanted to share sooner than later.  It's sort of curious--I knew I wanted to read more Jewish Literature, but really I hadn't been seeking anything special out--and here a grand opportunity falls right into my lap.  Serendipity. 

The Lie by Helen Dunmore

I really like stories that surprise me.  Stories where I think I have it all figured out, feel a little let down that they are following a predictable path and covering ground that has been tilled many times over, but then am thrown at the end.  I thought I knew where Helen Dunmore was going with her WWI novel, The Lie.  Maybe it is war fatigue on my part.  When you have been reading about a certain topic from so many different vantage points you begin feeling a little jaded.  So, a war story about two friends of different classes--one comes back and the other doesn't.  Throw in a little shell shock, a few battlefield scenes and you begin feeling as though you've already read this somewhere else, right?

The lie.  I thought I knew what the lie was going to be.  If not what exactly the lie was, I had a good idea from where it would stem.  Daniel Branwell has returned from the War outwardly unscathed, strong and in one piece.  He has returned to his home in Cornwall, though his family is gone now.  Appearances are misleading--they are misleading all over this story as a matter of fact.  This is a story about the consequences of war on one individual who has returned home alone and scarred psychologically.  Daniel went to war as an ordinary soldier, but Frederick, as the son of a wealthy man went as an officer.  The two men have known each other all their lives.  They've grown up together though not as equals of the same class.  Frederick has had all the advantages but Daniel has all the wits and book learning.  The two share an intensely close friendship.  I think of him and write of him in the present as though he is here in the story, yet he's only ever in Daniel's memories and his imagination.

Maybe it is survivor's guilt?  Frederick does not survive the war, and what happened to him in France weighs heavily on Daniel's mind.  As a matter of fact his recollections of the war and the horror of trying to save his friend and ultimately his inability to bring back his friend to safety--either to the safety of the trench or back to Cornwall--will be his unravelling.

But there is much more to the story than that.  Frederick is always a palpable presence in the story, and certainly in Daniel's mind.  So much so that he often appears at the end of Daniel's bed covered in mud and smelling of fear and death.  The story might almost be taken for a ghost story, but Frederick only is ever really present in Daniel's mind.  What happens takes place after the war has ended yet the war is so tightly woven into the fabric of Daniel's life that the flashbacks roll along with the story almost imperceptibly.

Daniel has taken over a cottage belonging to an elderly friend of his mother's.  Until she took ill she kept a small garden and some hens and a goat.  Upon her death she wills it all to Daniel and asks him to bury her close to her home having no desire for a proper burial.  She wants only to lie in her own land and not under a stone in the village.  He honors her wishes but is secretive about it.  He doesn't tell anyone she has died leaving them to believe he is taking care of her.  It isn't through a desire to mislead only he isn't sure who to tell and then as time passes he feels it's too late.  He's not even entirely truthful with Felicia, Frederick's sister, with whom he has a burgeoning relationship.  She grew up with Daniel as well, and was a devoted sister to Frederick who is always there between the two.  She married and had a daughter but like so many other men her husband didn't come home either.

Frederick is the glue that holds the story together but there is more at play here.  It's a tragic story in so many ways and a look at how the war lingers on through the ones loved and lost.  It's such a subtle story and one that has unexpected turns.  But as I was finishing the book I was thinking it is as if you can't see the forest for the trees.  It's Dunmore's handling of the lie that raised the story up for me.  I could be reading more into it than is there, but there is almost a play on words and a juxtaposition of facts and plots.  The lie was nothing that I initially expected though it was there all along.  I was just looking in the wrong place going on my own expectations.  And the story ends in ambiguity.  Strangely all these elements that would normally signify a little frustration for a reader were what alleviated my own frustrations for how I expected the story to pan out.  

I've liked everything I've read by Helen Dunmore, and I liked The Lie since it was a typical sort of story handled in an unexpected way.  While this is not my favorite story by her, I'm glad I didn't let the book get lost amongst my other reads.  There is more here than meets the eye and more to think about, which I have barely touched on, which is for me always a sign of a good read. 

I read Helen Dunmore's The Lie for Caroline's Literature and War Readalong.  You can read her thoughts on the novel here.  Next up is a memoir by Edmund Blunden, Undertones of War.  He was a war poet by the way.  I'm afraid I've left it too long to start now (as I am working at catching up on my own reading pile), so I will give this one a miss and join in with Louisa Young's My Dear I Wanted to Tell You for September, which I've had on TBR pile for ages and have heard many good things about. 

End of the Summer Library Loot

And something easy for the end of a hot summer day.  Let's see, how many weeks to go before it is officially Fall?  Roughly a month, I guess.  I don't like to wish time away, but I do wish a little Arctic Canadian air would make its way down here.  Much more preferable to have it now than in January.  In January when it is bitterly cold I will look back at today's weather with fondness I'm sure.  So I will try and appreciate it--all that warm cozy air that I am literally blanketed in.  Yup, warm and cozy.  (Really cozy). 

Okay, that's enough appreciation.  As soon as I finish typing this post I am going to get some ice cream, I think.  So I had better type fast.  It's been ages since I shared any of my library finds.  Aside from the excitement of new books to look forward to perusing and hopefully reading (one or two of them anyway?), it is a nice mindless sort of task to write about them when it's too hot to think otherwise.

My pile is actually larger than the one in the photo, but these are a few of the highlights.  I have a feeling I am  not the only reader who ends up with more library books than time permits reading before due dates call them back, and so many will get requested a second or even third time.  These are the newest of the lot.   From top to bottom;

The Major's Daughter by J.P. Francis -- Another wartime story, but this one set in WWII and in New Hampshire rather than Europe.  It's a story of forbidden love--a young woman whose father is the Major at a POW camp falls for one of the German prisoners.  The "forbidden love" makes it sound a little bit lurid, but I think it is actually going to be a pleasant read.

I've heard lots of good things about Joanna Rakoff's My Salinger Year.  "Poignant, keenly observed, and irresistibly funny: a memoir about literary New York in the late nineties, a pre-digital world on the cusp of vanishing, where a young woman finds herself entangled with one of the last great figures of the century."  For some reason I thought that this was a novel, but I'm pleased to see it is really a true story.

Vienna Nocturne by Vivien Shotwell -- "A sweeping historical love story and a portrait of an age.  This deeply moving debut novel brings to life two extraordinary figures--a thirty-year-old Wolfgang Mozart and a young English soprano, Anna Storace, who was his muse--in prose as spirited, timeless, and touching as Mozart's greatest compositions."  Sounds very promising--I'm always on the lookout for good historical fiction (set in an era other than the war years!).  I wonder how much the story is based on fact?  The author is an opera singer, so I expect she'll get the details just right!

I'm always on the lookout for a good collection of short stories.  Lorrie Moore's Bark: Stories was shortlisted for The Frank O'Connor International Short Story Award (Young Skins by Colin Barrett won the 2014 award--it's due out here in paper next March!--so far away!).  It's been ages since I read anything by Lorrie Moore, so I look forward to giving some of these stories a go.  "These eight masterly stories reveal Lorrie Moore at her most mature and in a perfect configuration of craft, mind, and bewitched spirit, as she explores the passage of time and summons up its inevitable sorrows and hilarious pitfalls to reveal her own exquisite, singular wisdom."

I've never read any of Lauren Willig's Pink Carnation books (think The Scarlet Pimpernel), but I think I'd like them.  I like, too, the sound of That Summer, which is one of those parallel stories novels.  "From modern-day England to the early days of the Pre-Raphaelite movement, That Summer,  takes readers on a riveting journey through a mysterious old house a hidden love affair, and one woman's search for the truth about her past--and herself."

Do you think it would be a bad idea to take one of these books on vacation?  Not bad exactly, more risky to take a library book so far away from home.  I've never lost a book I've taken on vacation, but I hate to tempt fate either. I'm still contemplating vacation reading material.  The anticipation is building.  Just one week to go (and a long weekend to enjoy before that).  Surely one of these books deserves to be cracked open and read now, right?

Short Story Sunday: The Tribute

Stories like Jane Gardam's "The Tribute" are the very reason I read short stories in the first place.  I always think of a collection of stories being like a box of chocolates.  The kind without a key to what's inside each one.  You never quite know what you will get--whether you'll like it or not once you take that first bite.  Sometimes you get an unwelcome surprise and just put it back in the box, but sometimes that bite just melts in your mouth and you sigh in satisfaction.

"The Tribute" came with a sigh of satisfaction.  It always takes a few pages to orient myself.  Who's telling the story and what's the story about.  If there are a lot of characters, who's who and what are their relationships to one another?  Sometimes it's obvious quickly and other times I just have to let things go and go with the flow until the plot reveals itself slowly. 

"Fanny Soane rang Mabel Ince and Mabel Ince rang old Lady Benson to say that poor Dench was dead."

"'Who?' screamed Nelly Benson."

"'Dench'."

"'Dench?"

"'Yes.  Poor darling Denchie'."

"'Thought she'd died years ago.  Must have been a hundred'."

"'Nonsense, Nelly'."

"'She was old in the War'."

"'She was wonderful in the War'."

"'Wonderful means old.  I've been wonderful for years'."

"'Nelly--' Mabel was hoping to be brief.  Calls cost money.  She was ringing Kensington from Berkshire.  Certainly after six o'clock, but still--."

"'Nelly, I think we ought to do something.  Put in a tribute--'."

"'The Times has gone.  No sense in a tribute.  No tributes now.  Nobody getting born.  Getting married.  Getting tributes.  Or dying--more's the pity'."

So Dench is dead and it's her tribute that is getting the ball rolling.  While ostensibly the story is about Dench, by the end it is the true characters of the three women--Fanny, Mabel and Nelly which will be revealed (better yet, unmasked).  I kind of like stories where the important character is not actually present for the action.  You get to learn all about her through the eyes of others. 

If you've had the pleasure (it was one of my favorite reads of the year) of reading Jane Gardam's Old Filth, there is a similar feel to "The Tribute".  Is she a friend of the three women?  It would seem so by the discussion they have over whether to submit a tribute to her to the newspaper.  They reminisce about her, sharing stories.  It seems at first that she is an equal and good friend, but as the story moves along there is something not very equal about their relationships at all.  Dench never married.  "Poor Dench, she was never a Diplomatic Wife. Or any wife at all."  The three women were diplomats' wives who traveled out to India. 

If you've read Elizabeth Jane Howard's Cazalet Chronicles (must get back to rereading those books) there is a governess, Miss Milliment, who features in the story.  She lives in genteel poverty, having helped educate the family's children.  The family is wealthy, or at least live in relative comfort, but Miss Milliment barely gets by, with her shabby clothes and small meals.  I picture Dench leading the same sorr of life, though maybe not quite so abject.  The three women talk of their own problems in making ends meet, but certainly that was not always the case.

The three women along with Dench's niece decide to have their own tribute by meeting for lunch in a posh restaurant attached to a nice department store.  They can have very dry sherry, and wine with their lunch in elegant surroundings (you know the sort of place--where 'ladies who lunch' go).  So a tribute to Dench (filled with the womens' reminiscences), but one that can be enjoyed by all.  And there's the catch.  As glowingly as they might speak of Dench, how generous have they really been with this 'friend' of theirs?  This friend who looked after their children in foreign countries where their husband's had been posted. 

If you read closely, follow their stories, tuck the details away for later, the last few paragraphs will send a knowing look to your face.  A look of admiration for the skill Jane Gardam has for telling an excellent story that reveals so much in such an unassuming way with a wonderful twist at the end.  Just my kind of story.

Next week, "The Pig Boy" (what a title).  I already have two story collections in hand or in mind for RIP, which will start in just over a week.  My short story Sunday will be devoted to ghost stories for September and October--or at least stories that elicit fear and dread or serious unease (have Joyce Carol Oates in mind for that as she does all of the above so very well), but more about that later.  I like the Gardam collection so much I will try and keep it going in the background. 

* * * * *

I'm still working on this week's short story from The New Yorker, "Picasso" by César Aira.  I'm hoping to also read the next issue's story by Tessa Hadley, "One Saturday Morning".  Hadley is a fairly regular story contributor to The New Yorker, and I find I like her stories very much so was excited to see a new one by her for me to read.  (Or I can listen to Hadley read the story aloud--how cool--as that is an option in my digital issue on my ipad).  It's been a busy weekend without much free time and even less reading time.  Monday I will hopefully be registering to audit a literature class, and Tuesday night I'll be attending it.  Posting may be sporadic this week.  Hopefully I'll have something bookish to share tomorrow and then will share how my class goes later this week. 

Now, go find this Jane Gardam story collection.  I'm just a fourth of the way in, but I think this is one I'll be able to heartily recommend to you.

An End of the Week Mishmash

Less than two weeks to go before my vacation begins!  I can't tell you how much I am looking forward to it.  I have even started a small pile of clothes and things I might take with me.  And I have a mental book list going, too.  In light of my plans to whittle down the reading pile, I will mostly be choosing reading material from my in progress books.  I do plan on taking Sandra Dallas's Fallen Women (which I have on order as it is coming out in paper just before I leave) with me.  Dallas lives in Colorado and has a number of books set there (and I have to read at least one 'Colorado' book).  I had started Fallen Women earlier in the summer but then had to return it to the library only partially read (curse those quick due dates and books that can't be renewed).  I'm looking forward to getting back to it.  It's set in late 19th century Denver.  Since proper go-away vacations don't roll around very often for me I think I will allow myself one 'new' read as well.  Maybe a RIP book since it will officially be RIP reading time.  But who knows, maybe something else will have caught my eye that I absolutely must read now.  I think a little splurge for vacation is allowable.

I am down to the last 100 pages in my Simenon and Hill novels and hoping I can finish one or maybe even both this weekend.  Two books finished means I get to start a new book.  At the moment I am contemplating adding Lauren Willig's That Summer to the reading lineup, or maybe Amy Tan's The Valley of Amazement.  Restricting myself (or trying to anyway) to waiting to start new books is going to be very challenging.  And then two books from the nightstand pile get to graduate to the bookbag (and daily reading) selection.  But no worries, I won't be so very rigid with my reading, but I still want to focus and whittle (my new mantra--focus and whittle, focus and whittle).

I have a new challenge.  My book buying habits have gone as wonky as my reading.  I give in to temptations so easily.  I am going to make a concerted effort not to add to my TBR piles (wish me luck, as it is easier said than done), and stick to either writing down titles that sound good (to investigate later) or trying to find them at the library.  (The problem with library books, though, is I have to give them back sooner than I can manage to read them).  Who knew books and reading could pose such a serious dilemma in my life.

My credit card is going into retirement for a while (it deserves a much needed rest).  I have cancelled my Soho Crime subscription and am contemplating cancelling my Audible subscription, too.  While I have unused tokens I can't cancel or I will lose them.  (As an aside--I had no idea that audio books could be 'returned' and exchanged for something else--I've returned two that simply didn't pan out for me so am now back up to four tokens).

I still get monthly Melville House novellas, and I am not sure I can give them up, even though I have done a horrible job this year keeping up with them.  For less than $13 a month I get two new books, which seems such a good deal.  And I have to have something nice to look forward to each month.  Book mail is like an addiction and I am sure I will go into withdrawal without something nice in my mailbox.

And that leaves my TLS subscription, which is also billed monthly.  Keep it or not.  Again it is not a substantial cost, but when I am trying to trim my bills each month every little bit helps.  It is a weekly newspaper and I do like reading each issue.

Yes, I am truly spoiled when it comes to reading material.  How does one learn to be frugal?

With my vacation looming in the near future I have almost forgotten that there is a long weekend coming up soon.  I'll have three days off, work the Tuesday after Labor Day and then go on vacation.  Five days away from work and I'll be visiting somewhere really beautiful.  (Fingers crossed for more autumnal weather).  How cushy is that?  How many books (granted in progress books) can I finish between now and then?

Some exciting news now.  I think I am going to audit a Lit class at the university where I work.  I have been ordering books for faculty who need new materials and one of the lists caught my eye.  I was thinking that I need to jot down the titles and check them out later.  But then I thought why not just take the class?  As an employee we get cut rates on undergraduate classes.  It's almost a sin that I don't take advantage of the perk.  We can take up to six credit hours a semester.  I'll only be auditing, so I can read along and participate in the discussions and listen to the lectures but won't have to write any papers or take any tests. 

I'm very excited (I have all sorts of nice things to look forward to this fall, don't I?).  I only have to wait until Monday, which is the first day of classes, to register as an audit student (students taking the class for credit get first priority for seats--but I think there is still plenty of room).  I'll share more about it next week when I am properly enrolled.  I have always loved taking classes and going to school and I am really looking forward to this.  Who knows, maybe I'll try and take a class each semester and learn something new.

I will likely not be posting everyday (or nearly every day) starting next week.  The class I will be taking is on Tuesday nights.  I'll have extra reading to do, so I am not sure what sort of schedule I'll follow here.  Hopefully before things get too hectic I can catch up on my book posts (I have a small stack of books I still need to tell you about) and blog reading, too.

And one other little note before I settled into the weekend . . . I am thoroughly enjoying listening to Rhys Bowen's Her Royal Spyness.  It's great fun and makes my walks go by much more quickly!  I totally like Goergie who narrates the story in first person and the actual reader is wonderful differentiating the voices of the various characters!

I'll be back on Sunday with a few short stories.  Have a great weekend everyone.

The Age Old Question: One or Many

How often do I struggle with this question?  I already know the answer, but of late when it comes to reading and whether I am a one at a time or many at once reader, I seem to have gone overboard.  Yes, I am most decidedly a more than one book at a time reader.  Before I began blogging I never gave it much thought.  I might have two or even three books on the go at once, but not more than that.  I read about one book a week and rarely more than that. 

So, is it blogging (and access to so many books and so many other readers who tempt me even more books--yes, you . . . ) or is it just the general state of my life lately?  I don't just read two or three books at once.  I won't even mention how many books are sitting on my nightstand at the moment (let's just say that photo above is not entirely accurate).  I know I have mentioned this many times this year, but with no resolution to the problem. 

But my reading has truly gotten a little out of control this year.  I think it reflects the state of my life, which is restless at best.  It's not that I can't settle to one or two good stories, as I am more than happy to read any book from my night stand.  I want to read all of them--that's my problem.  Everything sounds interesting.  Or maybe my attention span has just shrunk.  I know other readers have similar habits---reading a couple or three different books at once or having certain books for certain places or times of the day (a bedside book maybe and one for the sitting room or one to take on the daily commute . . .).  Yes, that's me, all of the above. 

As enthusiastic as I am about my books, even I can't read all the books I set out to in a day (I find myself sneaking ever more books into my bookbag lately).  I start out with a couple that I set aside the night before, but then take a few more to the breakfast table to read a page or two or look over a new book or a library book, and all of a sudden I find myself slipping just one more into my bag.  Even I find it a little ridiculous and then I can't possibly squeeze them all in over the course of the workday--lunch, two short breaks and my gym workout.  It adds up to a nice chunk of reading time, but not that much time.   

It must stop.  I have to get back to a more reasonable reading routine.  I need to learn how to focus again.  I need to stop myself from giving into bookish temptations at every whim.  I wish sometimes that I was a faster reader, that I could finish more books in shorter periods of time, but I can't.  I have to slow down and let myself be in a story and let myself enjoy it and not rush off to the next one so quickly (and without having finished some other book first).  It sounds easy, doesn't it?

So, this is my idea.  Before I can start a new book, I have to finish two in progress books first (until the stack is whittled down into something a little more reasonable).  Into my bookbag will go my ipad (which has two galley copies on it and Thomas Hardy's Far From the Madding Crowd).  And then, so I don't go into a terrible state of withdrawal--two other books.  The ipad is what I take to the gym to read and I have been very good lately at just rotating between the books I am reading on it.  As for the other two books?  The books I am closest to finishing, of course--Maigret in Holland by Georges Simenon and The Summer of Dead Toys by Antonio Hill, which is also a review copy and a very good read indeed.  As soon as I finish one, another from the night stand can go into the bookbag, and after two books are finished I can either allow myself something new or just keep moving through the pile.  My motivation is going to be being able to pick a RIP read soon (or a new book to take on vacation--yikes, how will I get around vacation reading?).

It sounds really easy in theory, don't you think?  And I know many of you have much better reading habits than I do and must be mystified by this post in general.  I guess if there is one aspect of my life I am going to obsess about, books are probably one of the more harmless.  If I can learn to take things slower and easier, maybe the rest of my life will follow suit.

And you?  One book or many?  Do you ever find yourself getting too involved in too many books at once?  And what do you do to get back on track?  Do you have a reading rotation or some sort of system to keep the books under control?  Check back in a week or so and I'll let you know how I get on.  If I fail miserably I can put all this down to the heat!