Russian roulette

"...Interestingly enough, it's a bit harder to draw an immediate direct comparison between the more primary female characters in Dostoyevsky's work and those in Turgenev's. I think that's partly because Turgenev's main female characters are more of the 'genteel', 'upper class’, whose actions and words are restricted--constricted?--by the the impositions placed on them by those specific labels, so they may not be immediately visibly influential in their central role although they're sensed as such. In contrast,[most of] Dostoyevsky's main female characters are deemed a principal force in his novels by virtue of not being burdened by those same class constraints, being of a 'working' or 'lower' class, while noticeably making their mark. However, what is common to both sets of characters is the insistence they have, for the most part, to throw themselves into the those very definitions, even as they're aware of the ramification(s) it has for them, despite their actual lack of desire to succumb to those definitions. In a way, Turgenev's leading ladies are a fine Italian hand at being so, while Dostoyevsky's are all brass knuckles.

That's why it is entirely satisfying to compare the abandonment with which Nastassya Filipovna (The Idiot) pursues her self-proclaimed fate doggedly, just as Maria Nikolayevna (Spring Torrents) does hers, both with destruction in mind. However, in Nastassya's case self-destruction is the primary motivator (that of others only secondary to achieving hers); for Maria, it is completely the opposite. They are both, however, wholly aware of what the end result will be and have no illusions about themselves,their circumstances, or their own role in influencing the circumstances. Their introspection is based in reality, as is that of all the primary female characters in both authors' works.
 
And how different that introspection is from that of the main male characters, both in presentation and in definition. The male characters' internal rumination serves their strong narcissistic need that must be recognized outwardly in order for it to mean anything to them; these ruminations then manifest in various misguided forms from criminal undertakings (Raskolnikov in in Crime and Punishment) to deliberate malice (Gagin in Turgenev's Asya) to contradictory beliefs and behavior (Bazarov in Fathers and Sons) to cynicism (Ivan in The Brothers' Karamazov) to altruistic protection (Prince Myshkin in The Idiot) to... Whereas the women turn an inward eye to themselves, because of a lack of a presence of true love--including and especially self-love--leading up to (and often throughout) the events being depicted in the novels. The men, for the most part, continue to defy the circumstances thinking they can create better ones; the women ultimately assist the circumstances knowing the futility of changing them.

That's not to say the women are more fatalistic than the men are--though, certainly, characters like Nastassya or Nellie (The Insulted and the Humiliated) or even Liza (Home of the Gentry) or Natasha (The Insulted and The Humiliated) seem that way on the surface, especially when compared to the male counterparts (Raskolnikov, or Ivan or Dmitri (The Brothers' Karamazov)). Some are hard-pressed to characterize even superficially as fatalistic, though, especially if you consider the general negative connotation with that descriptor (once again, Maria Nikolayevna or, even better, Varvara Pavlovna (from A Home of the Gentry) come to mind. They both enjoy the pursuit of actions that can really only mean a specific path in life for them, probably because they are two of the characters who are the least blameless in their destiny. But for them there is none of the despair the succumbing to fate usually carries). No, the women are not more fatalistic, it's just that their acceptance of their fate seems more pronounced and less open to interpretation or change, because of their internal assessment and acknowledgement of it..."

***

Mama Was An Opium Smoker - Rasputina 

 

Cor ad cor loquitur

“Mick frowned and rubbed her fist hard across her forehead. That was the way things were. It was like she was mad all the time. Not how a kid gets mad quick so that soon it is all over--but in another way. Only there was nothing to be mad at. Unless the store. But the store hadn't asked her to take the job. So there was nothing to be mad at. It was like she was cheated. Only nobody had cheated her. So there was nobody to take it out on. However, just the same she had that feeling. Cheated.

But maybe it would be true about the piano and turn out O.K. Maybe she would get a chance soon. Else what the hell good had it all been--the way she felt about music and the plans she had made in the inside room? It had to be some good if anything made sense. And it was too and it was too and it was too and it was too. It was some good.

All right!

O.K!

Some good.” 

The Heart is a Lonely Hunter; Carson McCullers

Ennui

"Knowledge would be fatal. It is the uncertainty that charms one. A mist makes things wonderful."
"One may lose one's way."
"All ways end at the same point, my dear Gladys."
"What is that?"
"Disillusion."

- The Picture of Dorian Gray; Oscar Wilde

***

(Chapter 18 is is one of my favorite chapters from the book, and yet it wasn't even included as it is today in the very first edition.)

Comes and goes

I have a fairly strong love/hate relationship with the group The Killers. Mostly, I find myself thinking too much about other artists' songs when I listen to them; on the rare occasion I don't, then it's a safe bet I'm loving them for themselves.

This song is probably the best example of how I can't stop thinking about similarities between their songs and others; I once described it as the best derivative of all the typical 80s music gimmicks, with a little late 70s thrown in (seriously, I can hear everything from Gary Numan to ABBA to Fleetwood Mac to XTC to take your pick of any hair band from that era to...in this).

It's also a good example of how contrary I--or, really, music--can be. I don't mind this song at all, Quite the opposite.

Tranquilize - The Killers (featuring Lou Reed)



***

Talking of reminding, listening to Lou Reed's voice in the previous song always makes me think of Trent Reznor's in this. I don't why, there's no obvious link and certainly Trent's a subtle backup in his collaboration, compared to Lou's more prominent presence in his. Still, the reminder is there.

Is this where I confess I probably would have never intentionally listened to Tori Amos--or, more specifically, sought out her music--had it not been for this collaboration? Not to say I was sorry when I did--Under the Pink is not only my favorite of all her albums, it's a huge part of my life in the early 90s and still holds up after all this time. (Whether Tori Amos does, anymore, is debatable; I listened to her live concert on XPN's free Friday concert series last year, and she sounds like a bad parody of herself, now. I understand that a good number of artists stay true to their trademark sound and don't veer too much from it but...when your trademark starts sounding less authentic and more of a gimmick, I think it might be time to rethink that, no matter how rabid your fans might be about your sound).

Huh, this was supposed to be short and sweet. So much for that.

Past The Mission - Tori Amos (featuring Trent Reznor)



(And yet more reminders: the video of Past The Mission, which I hadn't seen until this post (I don't think I've ever seen any Tori Amos music videos, come to think of it; just live performances) suddenly reminded me of a book by Toni Morrison, that I listened to as an audio book--on tape!!--over ten years ago, called Paradise. Funny, I hadn't thought of it at all in a long time--although I remember thinking about it a lot when I was listening to it--but I remember quite a bit about it, especially a surprising bit about who all the different characters were--and I am now really tempted to go hunt down a hard copy of it. Er, right after I get my borrowing privileges back from library, after paying my fines for late returns. (I consider that a helpful contribution to my local library funds!)

Three truths and a lie

When people meet my mother for the first time, there are three things that they invariably comment on: how she carries herself, her hair, and her eyes.

My mom is the poster child for good posture. She has that beautiful, straight backed look that makes you think of balanced invisible books on her head. Her walk is like an announcement of who she is: confident, purposeful, and strong, but with a joyful spring to it. There is a line from a Turgenev novella--Spring Torrents--that describes a character's walk as "[she] walks as if she is bringing your life's happiness to you", and I think every man and possibly every woman my mom has ever walked to would agree with the sentiment where she is concerned.

Good hair is a genetic predisposition in my mom's family; there is not one person who has not had an excellent head of one. Even here, though, my mom stands out, because there never is a hair out of place, from the second she gets up in the morning to the second she lays down at night. I can't recall, for as long as I can remember, anytime when my mom's hair didn't look just perfect. I don't necessarily mean coiffed, although my mom ensures her hair has the right curl and bounce in it with the those soft sponge rollers* that somehow magically make their way to her head without anyone ever being the wise. I mean that her hair simply always looks right, even when there is a gusty wind blowing through it or it's pelted with rain.

*(My Aunt P.--my mom's oldest sister [who is six years younger than her] once said that my mom never goes anywhere without her curlers, an iron, and her lipstick. Left at that, she makes my mom sound like someone who just cares terribly about looking good. The fact is my mom's a terrifically smart, astute, and successful doctor and business woman who cares terribly about not looking slovenly--and that's a completely different thing to care about.)


My mom's eyes aren't exactly large, or deep set, or thickly lashed. They're not doe eyes or cow eyes or puppy eyes. There's nothing spectacular about the color. But...there is something about the way they look at you, something about the way they seem to laugh at you and with you, question you and invite you, seeing into you and through you, that grabs your attention. It is impossible to look away when she locks her gaze on you and, quite frankly, you can't think of a good reason to do so anyway. I've never seen anyone even want to try.

***

I should probably be using a different tense for these past paragraphs. For the past several months, my mom's hair is all but gone. For the past couple of months, her ability to walk and then stand has greatly deteriorated, to the point where she can only get around with the greatest difficulty, and a lot of assistance. And for the past couple of weeks, her eyes don't focus as well, and once in a while the look in them holds no recognition, from a few to sometimes several seconds at a time.

***

I was greatly angered by the book Atonement when I finished reading it a few years ago. I felt cheated and used as a reader, and I felt the points being made about what is real and what is imagined, and the responsibility of the author to the reader with respect to those two circumstances, came at a cost that was unfair to me and the time I had invested in the book and the characters and the plot. Still, here I am, having done somewhat the same thing, and wondering at the end of it all, who does the truth serve, anyway? What good does it do you, to know those physical attributes are no longer applicable to my mom? What good does it do me, to be honest and upfront about what was and what is?

There is no god where I live my reality. What is so terrible about being one where I live my creation, then?

Second hand feelings and fights

In light of yet another remake of another highly 'artistic' movie from the olden days (aka 70s and 80s!), let's take a look at a couple of remakes of music from the movies of that time, shall we? (Both from the same album, Hollywood, Mon Amour; a collection of 80s movies' theme song covers, arranged and produced by well known cover band Nouvelle Vague's producer.)


Flashdance (cover) - Yael Naem
I think I still like her other cover better, but this is pretty good, too.



Eye Of The Tiger (cover) - Katrina Ottosen



(I can't mention Eye Of The Tiger and not link to this. See it AND read it, if you haven't already.

Getting high

"Some people read for instruction, which is praiseworthy, and some for pleasure, which is innocent, but not a few read from habit, and I suppose that this is neither innocent or praiseworthy. Of that lamentable company am I. Conversation after a time bores me, games tire me and my own thoughts, which we are told are the unfailing resource of a sensible man, have a tendency to run dry. Then I fly to my book as the opium-smoker to his pipe."

The Book-Bag; Somerset Maugham

(READ IT)

Bedtime story

When I was in 7th grade I got my hands on some excellent anthologies of short stories, and went to town on them. On a whim, I went looking for some of my favorite ones online and, to my delight, found a good number of them. I'll be posting links here from time to time, as much for myself as I am for you.

***
It's funny to me now that I initially knew Chekhov more as a short story writer than a playwright. I think his plays are possibly some of the best pieces of work ever in prose--I swear, every time I read Uncle Vanya (my absolute favorite), it's just as fresh and heart wrenching as the first time--but this is the story that made me fall in love with him in the first place. (May I suggest you read the entire collection?)

The Bet - Anton Chekhov

***

This is just a delightful little story, not only for it's punchline, which is unforgettable, but for the multiangled narrative, which was rather ahead of its time, considering when Katherine Mansfield wrote this. (And from another collection I recommend you read.)

Feuille D'Album - Katherine Mansfield

***

Once again, it's funny to remember now that, for about year or so, all I knew of Thomas Hardy initially was this short story which absolutely fascinated me. Then I came across a copy of Far From The Madding Crowd (which stayed a favorite despite fierce competition from Tess and Jude--but how can you compete with a heroine called Bathsheba, I ask you?) and I never went back to reading any of his short stories (something I mean to correct some time this year, I hope).

The Withered Arm - Thomas Hardy

Sixteen going on seventeen

I love this girl, I really do. From 2007

My Manic and I - Laura Marling

"I find it dull when my heart meets my mind"



Going back thirty years: Janis Ian can do no wrong in my eye, either. First recorded when she was thirteen (thirteen!), it charted in 1967.

Society's Child - Janis Ian



(P.S. Check out the song At Seventeen by Janis Ian, as well. Then read 'The Virgin Suicides'. Then watch 'The Virgin Suicides.' Then write me a thank you e-mail. You're welcome.)

For argument's sake

Now it is such a bizarrely improbable coincidence that anything so mindbogglingly useful could have evolved purely by chance that some thinkers have chosen to see it as a final and clinching proof of the non-existence of God.

The argument goes something like this: "I refuse to prove that I exist," says God, "for proof denies faith, and without faith I am nothing."

"But," says Man, "the Babel fish is a dead giveaway isn't it? It could not have evolved by chance. It proves you exist, and so therefore, by your own arguments, you don't. QED."

"Oh dear," says God, "I hadn't thought of that," and promptly vanishes in a puff of logic.

"Oh, that was easy," says Man, and for an encore goes on to prove that black is white and gets himself killed on the next zebra crossing.

- The Hitchiker's Guide to the Galaxy; Douglas Adams

Started off this morning (very early this morning? last night? I'm not sure; the current state of my head and eyes tell me what little sleep I got wasn't in any way what could be considered the marking end point to a day and the start of another) rereading The Long-Lost Teatime of the Soul, and even had opportunity to quote it before breakfast. My sister and I used to quote all of Adams' books extensively to each other, as part of another, but this time accidental, bonding ritual and it's amazing how you can find pretty much an appropriate one for any situation.

There are worse ways to ease into a weekend.

I am the warrior

"Real war is not fought when two imbecile powers decide to drop a bomb. Real war is fought in the field of uncontrolled love and hatred, especially when the battle is over. Gio, the battle has left your mind and heart lacerated by a very bad wound: but the others are unaware of it, because you still look outwardly the same. Leave them in ignorance. Don't tell them you're changed, don't tell them about the battle that changed you. The tribe you belong to doesn't know what to do with martyrs or heroes. They don't conform to the rules, they trouble the conscience of simple people, they're the mad element in world of sensible folk. You must keep silent or lie, if you don't want to alarm them."

- Penelope Goes To War; Orianna Fallaci

Fallaci's work--and Fallaci, herself, especially after an interview with the Shah--was quite popular back home, especially in the couple of years leading up to the revolution, when several of her books were translated (and very well) into Farsi and published during the last hurrah of the Shah's attempt to allow freedom of publication. (He himself was not fond of her. For good reason.) I read most of her published books ( except 'The Man') in Farsi; they made quite an impression on me, especially this book and 'To A Child Unborn'. English translations of her works are near impossible to come by (in some cases, they don't exist), but I did finally track down an old paperback copy of 'Penelope..' a few years ago. Whether it's because I've now lived for nearly two decades in the country that was idolized by Gio, the protagonist, and am less likely to be charmed by her naivete, or because I find the feminist slant less original and more tired, being an older woman compared to the teenage girl who first read it, or because my youthful impression of Fallaci as a free spirited, strong-minded, and independent woman has been influenced by my changed perception of her as result of her actions in the last decade, or simply because the writing is, realistically, not as tantalizing in English (or, perhaps, even in general) as it appeared to my 14 year old eyes; whatever the reason, I am far less enamored of this book than I was twenty some odd years ago.

And, yet, it is not without its charms still, and in Gio I still sense a familiarity after all this time. I also can't deny that the title and the concept behind it still calls to me: I, too, never was, never am, and never will be a Penelope who sits placidly and sagely at home, weaving intricate deceptions and awaiting fate. I'll go, enthusiastically and possibly foolishly, with no sleight of hand but just straight intentions, into battle to face it.

Punching out

"Is there in the whole world a being who would have the right to forgive and could forgive? I don't want harmony. From love for humanity I don't want it. I would rather be left with the unavenged suffering. I would rather remain with my unavenged suffering and unsatisfied indignation, even if I were wrong. Besides, too high a price is asked for harmony; it's beyond our means to pay so much to enter on it. And so I hasten to give back my entrance ticket, and if I am an honest man I am bound to give it back as soon as possible. And that I am doing. It's not God that I don't accept, Alyosha, only I most respectfully return him the ticket. "

- The Brothers Karamazov; Fyodor Dostoyevsky

I wouldn't do it respecfully, though. I'd spit on it, tear it up, and throw it in his fucking face.

Whom the gods love

"How much [mercy] had you for me when your lies drove me out to be slave to them on the sugar-plantations? You shudder at that--ah, these tender-hearted saints! This is the man after God's own heart--the man who repents after his sins and lives. No one dies but his son. You say you love me--your love has cost me dear enough! Do you think I can block out everything, and turn into Arthur at a few, soft words? I, that have been dishwasher in filthy half-caste brothels and stable boy to Creole farmers that were worse brutes than their own cattle? I, that have been zany in cap and bells for a strolling variety show--drudge and Jack-of-all-trades to the matadors in the bull-fighting ring; I, that have been slave to every black beast who cared to set his foot on my back; I, that have been starved and spat upon and trampled underfoot; I, that have begged for mouldy scraps and been refused because the dogs had the first right? Oh, what is the use of all of this? How can I tell you what you have brought on to me? And now--you love me! How much do you love me? Enough to give up your god for me? Oh, what has he done for you, this everlasting Jesus--what has he suffered for you, that you should love him more than me? Is it for the pierced hands he is so dear to you? Look at mine! Look here, and here, and here----"

He tore open his shirt and showed his ghastly scars.

"Padre, this god of yours is an impostor. His wounds are sham wounds, his pain is all a farce! It is I that have the right to your heart! Padre, there is no torture you have not put me to; if you could only know what my life has been! And yet, I would not die! I have endured it all, and have possessed my soul in patience, because I would come back and fight this god of yours. I have held this purpose as a shield against my heart, and it has saved me from madness, and from second death. And now, when I come back, I find him still in my place-this sham victim that was crucified for six hours, forsooth, and rose again from the dead. What are you going to do with me? What are you going to do with me?"

- The Gadfly; E. L. Voynich

Mix it up

"I know people for whom music is just background noise. They don't listen to it. They just consume it. These people have never made a mix-tape for anyone. These people are not my friends. These people have no soul."

- Love Is A Mix-Tape; Rob Sheffield

I've written before about the first time I ever made a mix tape. Everything about it was right: the delight of finding new music and trying to take it all in, the very real awareness, and not implied, of bootlegging because of the restrictions back home, the heightened sense of needing to achieve perfection because of the scarcity of cassette tapes, necessitating the need to sacrifice an existing one. It was exhilarating and challenging and I was hooked.

***

"The mix tape is a list of quotations, a poetic form, in fact: the cento is a poem made up of lines pulled from other poems. The new poet collects and remixes. Similarly an operation of taste, it is also cousin to the curious passion of the obsessive collector. Unable to express himself in 'pure' art, the collector finds himself in obsessive acquisition. Collecting is strangely hot and cold, passionate and calculating."

- Mix Tape: The Art of Cassette Culture; Matias Viegener (edited by Thurston Moore)

I started listening differently to music after that first mix tape. Always, somewhere in the back of my mind, there was a separate train of thought that listened to, and appraised, music--especially songs--separate of its own merit and as part of a bigger possibility. I'd now subconsciously start to cross reference artists and their songs for their compatibility, for their divisiveness. It was as if I was hosting different parties of songs and trying to decide who to invite, based on the party's theme: a quiet Sunday dinner? A rambunctious cocktail party? Candlelit small tables by the river? Who could come? Who would come? How would they be seated? And how would the party turn out?

***

"To me, making a tape is like writing a letter — there's a lot of erasing and rethinking and starting again. A good compilation tape, like breaking up, is hard to do. You've got to kick off with a corker, to hold the attention (I started with "Got to Get You Off My Mind", but then realized that she might not get any further than track one, side one if I delivered what she wanted straightaway, so I buried it in the middle of side two), and then you've got to up it a notch, or cool it a notch, and you can't have white music and black music together, unless the white music sounds like black music, and you can't have two tracks by the same artist side by side, unless you've done the whole thing in pairs and...oh, there are loads of rules."

- High Fidelity; Nick Hornby

I adhere to some of the better known rules of the game, and I have some of my own, which have seen changes over the years. (Up until a few years ago, every single mix I ever made contained a Queen song. Somewhere along the way, it became an either/or situation with songs by Elliott Smith. This year? I tried to do neither and see where that would take me.) I don't slice and dice the choices very much, though; for me, a mix happens or it doesn't. Similarly, I almost never listen to a mix all the way through, even in sample mode (i.e. playing the beginning or end snippet of a song to see how it flows). Maybe because that first mix was made for me, and not someone else, I've always continued to feel that way, even when I have a definite theme or person in mind. I still like to be a little surprised by my own creation.

***

"I do recognize that not everyone feels as bound by the implicit playlist-exchange code of conduct as I do. That's why the code is probably implicit only to me.

She must not understand. Greater even than my desire for her to consider me [...] is my desire--no, my need--to hear, in great detail, her every single thought about each single song, each artist, each lyric: Which songs did she like, and why? Which ones has she listened to most and which ones does she find herself skipping over automatically? The order of the songs, did she notice the flow? Admire the transitions? Feel my beating heart inserted into each track?

Or am I asking too much?"

- Naomi And Ely's No Kiss List; Rachel Cohen & David Levithan

My speciality is personal themes--that is, any theme but always, somewhere in the back, there is a 'someone' in mind. Even when doing large mix exchanges, there is still that sense of sending it to someone. Mostly because I think a person's music choices, and then especially a mix, is a calling card of sorts. An invitation, however subtle, to take a little peek into them. Of course, when you issue an invitation like that, you're not content with someone just stopping by, spending a little while, and then moving on without a word. You want some sort of guarantee that you didn't just waste your time entertaining them at your very own, personal expense.

So you wait. You hope. And when you hear back, you mostly feign nonchalance and pretend to almost miss it, to preserve some sense of dignity. Because sometimes you won't hear back.

There are rules, you see.

***

"I thought you had a rule never to use the same song twice."
"Not if the mix has a completely different theme and recipient."

- Memories Of A Teenage Amnesiac; Gabrielle Zevin

I noticed over the last few months a reluctance in me to finish a lot of the mixes I'd started. Usually, I am good for one or two every couple of months; the past 12 months, quota fell far shorter of that. It seemed that every time I'd decide on a song or a certain arrangement or theme, I'd get a sense of deja vu. It took a while (I'm not always quick on the uptake for everything!) to realize that this space had become, in my mind, a little mix project of its own, albeit with a lack of [deliberate] desire to share. Even so, and despite the little to no feedback solicitation, I couldn't easily shake a sense of been there, done that. It seemed too much of a challenge to have different perspectives for the same view.

Too much of a challenge. I'm hooked again.

***

This mix came about in the best way possible: prompted by another mix, some late night exchanges, and reactions to events in a very particular point in time. When it's effortless, that's the best.

Isn't that the truth.

Back Chat Mix

That's what it's all about

"Other bands, it's about sex. Or pain. Or some fantasy. But The Beatles, they knew what they were doing. You know the reason The Beatles made it so big?"

"What?"

" 'I Wanna Hold Your Hand'. First single. Fucking brilliant. Perhaps the most fucking brilliant song ever written. Because they nailed it. That's what everyone wants. Not 24-7 hot, wet sex. Not a marriage that lasts a hundred years. Not a Porsche or a blowjob or a million-dollar crib. No. They wanna hold your hand. They have such a feeling they can't hide. Every single successful love song of the past fifty years can be traced back to 'I Wanna Hold Your Hand'. And every single successful love story has those unbearable and unbearably exciting moments of hand-holding. Trust me. I've thought a lot about this"

" 'I Wanna Hold Your Hand,' " I repeat.

"And so you are, my friend. So you are."

- Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist*; Rachel Cohen & David Levithan


I Wanna Hold Your Hand - The Beatles




I Wanna Hold Your Hand (cover) - T.V. Carpio (from 'Across The Universe')
How perfectly does this capture it? Also, if you do not like this movie, do not talk to me about not liking it.



*P.S. An end to end N&N review--meaning book, movie, and soundtrack--coming soon as part of a regular series I thought might fit well in this space. Stay tuned...

On the nightstand

So, a while ago, I supposedly brought my book log over.

And then promptly forgot about it.

Today, I was all set to update on the comics front and decided that I should at the very least do a little write-up on the books I've read or am reading, so as not to seem like a complete geek girl. Hopefully, more detailed posts coming on a few of these. Don't hold your breath, though.

***

Reservation Road: As mentioned before, this packed a punch, not just because of the topic, but the way the event and the subsequent characters' reactions were written. It was a stark, cold novel without actually being stark or cold in writing, if that makes sense. I keep going back and reading snippets that still wrench my gut unpleasantly, but I almost can't help it.

Revolutionary Road: Let me first get this out of the way: I loved this book. Not at all forgiving of its characters' flaws, it nevertheless made them sympathetic. The theme of frustrated hopes and aspirations, and of finding out that you not and never will be special, is an easy one to identify with, but this book does so much more with representing it; it lives it out in between those pages.

That said, the book ended in a way--or, specifically, had an event towards the end--that, put simply, infuriated me. Mind you, the actual last chapter or so did much to redeem that particular twist (I especially liked the tie-up with Shep Campbell's character). I've since calmed down, but the general sentiment I wrote in an e-mail still remains. I do think this something I want to write about, eventually.

(Oh, spoiler warning, if you have not read the book or seen the movie; it does give the ending away):

"Finished Revolutionary Road while waiting to pick up J__ from his indoor kiddie soccer class (excellent for wearing down a kid) and are you FUCKING KIDDING me, that is how he decides to end the novel? I am so pissed off right now--at the ending, I can still appreciate the wonderful, insightful writing up to then--because GAH, how typical. Why is that 3/4 of male authors writing about frustrated and emotionally/mentally/physically thwarted strong minded women think the right, 'real' ending is through a tragic act, preferably at the woman's hand, directed at herself? It was annoying when they did in the 19th century and doubly annoying now. You know what a real frustrated and thwarted woman does? She sucks it up and almost always plods miserably on, without breaking away spectacularly. And when she does,the very, very few times she does, it's not at that dramatic a cost. Men like to think it is, to soothe their wounded egos. If she moves on, believe me, she is going to do it with as little fuss as possible so as not to have any ripples dragging her back, and certainly not in a way that completely defeats her leaving, if and when she works up to it. What is this fascination with making the woman die?"

You can see that is is GREAT FUN to be on the receiving end of an e-mail from me. Doesn't that just make you want to be added to my e-mail contacts?!

The Reader: This was read at a bit of a breakneck speed during a recent dropoff at B&N store, while the boys ran errands, so I could sniff at new books and touch shiny, smooth covers and spines to cheer up (and if you think I am kidding, then you really don't know me). Oh, and read or buy (or both) some, too. It grabbed me and was--in spite of the underlying topic, which is always sobering--a page turner. I read up some more on the author and the book itself, the last day or so, and it turns out that Bernard Schlink, the author, was typically a writer of detecive novels, a style that clearly carried over to this one. There are also a number of nuances in language that are lost in translation, starting from the very title itself (Der Vorleser apparently translates to a reader who is does so out loud), as well as the use of chiasmus (isn't that a lovely word?) to mirror the parallel themes in the plot itself. I think I am going to read this one again.

Before the Chalet School - The Bettanys of Taverton High: I knew I was going to like this, because my other favorite 'fill-in' Chalet book was also written by Helen Barber. I enjoyed the balance of school and family life in this one, which was much more evocative of the earlier Chalet books by Brent-Dyer herself (which also explains why all but one of the fill-ins are from the earlier period of the series--the latter part became so tedious with the same, recurring school themes and very little in way of family or social events outside of the school). It's also nice to go back and read about the headstrong Madge of earlier times, before she faded into the background as the good wife, later on, and to be reminded of how Joey was precocious once without being insufferable. All in all, a very good addition and something I suspect EBD would have approved of, herself.

Le Petit Prince: Picked this up at the Friends of the Library shelf for 50 cents and was, admittedly, stoked to find that I could still easily read the French. There really is a different in reading it in its native language versus in English; I'm not French, obviously, but certain nuances (that's the word of the night, isn't it?) in the tone of the Prince talking to Saint-Exupery are lost in the translation. Interestingly, the Farsi translation, which I also read years ago, is much more attuned to those nuances.

(In general, Farsi translations of French classics have always seemed to me to be more accurate than English ones. I've always wanted to flesh out that theory a bit more, seeing what similarities in language structure? colloquialism? culture, even? would make it so. Some day, when I have time...)

Usual New Year's rereads: Worthy of a separate post, but over the years, I've started rereading a few books at the beginning of each year (well, usually starting a couple of days before Christmas Eve). I suppose it's a way of leading into the new year with the assurance of the old. Anyway, the books were, as usual, The Handmaid's Tale (Atwood), The Shell Seekers (Pilcher), The King Must Die (Renault), Shake Hands Forever (Rendell), Savushun (Daneshvar), the Janie Johnson series (Cooney), the entire Trebizon series (Digby), and the novella collection of Asya/First Love/Spring Torrents (Turgenev). In case it wasn't apparent, the last time this list was added to was a long, long time ago. But it's like comfort food for the soul, and just as you can't call it the same mac 'n' cheese comfort food if you switch out the bright yellow fake cheese with something all grown up and snooty, I can't switch out books and still have it have the same sense of warm, welcome familiarity.

With the exception of the YA stuff, which I know can't be everyone's cup of tea, and the Pilcher one, which seems to send almost all my male acquaintances, and some female ones, into convulsions--mostly, I suspect, because of their snottiness about supposed 'good reads' than anything else--I'd recommend the rest to anyone. They're all enjoyable reads.

***

I didn't mention another book which I've been reading on and off, for about two months now, because the whole reason of why I am taking my time with it is something that I could write pages and pages about. In fact, I spend as much time writing notes about it as I do reading it, and am planning to transcribe them when I am done. It's one of those books that makes me, solitary reader that I am (and like being), miss having someone who would enjoy talking about it as much I as do, while I am reading it, very much.

***

There, I think I've appeased the red-headed stepchild enough. Out to traffic to play again, it goes.

Exceed excess, without a clue

Both are about quick to rise to the top pop artists. Both talk about the naivete of the protagonist towards the actual meaning (and longevity) of their success. Both have great videos. Both reference the word 'Wide' in their title.

Both are hella catchy tunes.

(Can't find the videos complete and decent anywhere else. Oh, well.)

Wide Boy - Nik Kershaw

Nik Kershaw - New Music - More Music Videos

I have no basis for this, other than I read it at the same time I first saw this video eons ago, but I'd like to think Nik's last look back at the doctors and nurses, where he sees them all sporting animal heads? Is a nod to Daphne Du Maurier's short story, 'The Blue Lenses'. Great set of short stories, by the way, in the same named collection; the title story should have been made into a Hithcock short. (I'd say Twilight Zone, too, except I think they may have not given it the chilling undertone it deserved without making it a wee bit campy.)

Into the Great Wide Open - Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers

Tom Petty - New Music - More Music Videos

(Originally, Winona Ryder was supposed to appear in the video with Johnny Depp, and there was to be a lot more scenes about 'Eddie' and his girlfriend, but the real life couple broke up before shooting began ,and Gabrielle Anwar was hired at the last minute, after which they changed the storyboards. WHY do I know these things??! HOW do I know these things?)

What not to do: The F.R.O.G. in a funk edition

In a black funk? Here is a F.R.O.G. handy tutorial on what not to do in the following categories in attempts to draw yourself out of it.

***
Books:

Don't

- Pick up the book Reservation Road by mistake, thinking it is Revolutionary Road, and start reading it. Not that the latter is a barrel of laughs, either, but the former? Ends its first chapter on every parent's worst nightmare, written so meticulously matter-of-fact that it will make you instinctively call out for your child or a child near and dear to you.

- Finish the book Reservation Road on the premise that the worst has already happened, how much more depressing can it get? (Guess the answer, genius.)

- Switch to Revolutionary Road, not having learnt your lesson, apparently, because what you need at this moment is yet another well written book about the complete fuckup that is life and relationships.

Music:

Don't

- Listen to Elliott Smith. You know and I know he is the master of eloquently describing all the reasons to slit your wrists. Do you honestly need to revalidate that, after all these years?

The Biggest Lie - Elliott Smith



Pisteleh - Elliot Smith



- Decide listening to Elliot Smith is cliche and move on to a CD that you yourself once described as the ultimate post-breakup-'waaah'llow-in-my-misery-album, from beginning to end. What, the slit wrists wasn't enough, you have to go rub coarse salt into them?

Positive - Marry Me Jane

- Switch to your favorite radio station and stupidly continue to listen, even though it is the Sunday morning program that always has that one song that you would rather forget. (And don't go playing the song five times in row--what is this, the lime juice squeeze topping off the salt rub?)

Bombed - Mark Lanegan



Movies:

Don't

- Think this is a good time to reconnect with your roots and go dig out movies from back home. Dash Akol is not an uplifting romantic movie, anymore than Gaav is a hilarious comedy.

***
You're welcome.

Merger complete

Wow, that was surprisingly painless, and very fast. What did we do before XML?
Anyway, the red-headed stepchild has been invited to come sit at the big table, instead of of rinky-dinky one made from an upended barrel and a crate for the chair. Books and related stuff is now officially part of this. Prepare to read a lot about comics, for the time being.

Merger announcement

I'm going to bring over what posts I have in my book blog over here. Last year was a bit of the bust in the reading area (again, compared to what a typical year in new books looks like for me), but I'm over the slump now and I'd like to keep track of what I'm reading somewhere else other than scraps of paper. Besides, maybe a little literary interlude now and then will help break up the monotony of the same old same old type of posts around here.

More to come.