The Saturday Big Tent Wedding Party, The Double Comfort Safari Club, Alexander McCall Smith

Terry Kobus, Nguni - Sideways Glance

(April 4, April 17) Read these out of order -- was halfway through The Saturday Big Tent Wedding Party before I realized I didn’t really remember what happened to Phuti’s foot nor that his aunt had a vendetta against Mma Makutsi. What does that say about how these books are going?

The “mysteries” are more and more Isabel Dalhousie-y every day... The Saturday Big Tent Wedding Party was particularly like an Isabel story, not really about its title at all.

But I am not yet tired of these people and this scenario.

Kim, Rudyard Kipling

Edwin Lord Weeks, An Open-Air Restaurant, Lahore, 1889

(March 30) Enjoyed this book so, so much, and was totally surprised by this.

I somehow got away with never reading any Kipling till now, but you can’t help knowing who he was and what his most famous books were about. I was put off by an impression that Kipling would be sentimental and imperialist... and maybe too juvenile. But Kim was being discussed on BookCel and sounded interesting... and was easy to get... so.

I picked it up ...and was not able to put it down. There are maybe the slightest bits of sentimentality, imperialism and boys'-adventure-taleism to it, but it is not juvenile at all... and the reading experience is so rich.

First, Kim is utterly adorable and it feels like he would be no matter where or when he grew up. But, second, he is in India, which Kipling paints as this phantasmagoria, this kaleidoscope, this panorama, this feast! of vivid sights, sounds, smells, tastes and feelings, overflowing with culture and history... and drama and comedy... where people love their loved ones deeply but hide it behind amusing jokes and cheeky teasing... (A Fine Balance and A Suitable Boy do this so well, too)... it’s very endearing.

Basically, a great novel, and now I get why K. is so revered.

All the Living, C.E. Morgan

Matt Schwartz, Girl With Piano, 2008?

(March 22) Thought I got the recommendation for this from Decorno, but now I can’t find any reference to it on her blog. It was a New York Times Book Review Editors' Choice, one of the National Book Foundation's 5 Best Writers Under 35, and a finalist for the Hemingway Foundation/PEN Award for a distinguished book of fiction, and it won third place in Fiction for the Barnes & Noble Discover Award... so these may be reasons she recommended it.

I liked it a lot. It reminded me of Cool Water (backroads small lives) and Gilead (backroads community plus preachers plus American) and maybe a little Edgar Sawtelle (the wonders and beauties of farm life)... and it was so slow to start, and then over too fast. But Aloma’s choice was kind of riveting and it was never a gimme about how it would end... so that was very satisfying.

Symbolism is very, very strong -- in the weather, the scenery, the two houses, and on and on. Really sympathize with Aloma, even though she is a bit dissociated, as is Orren. They have good reasons to be.

The Zookeeper’s Wife: A War Story, Diane Ackerman

Vilhelm Dahlerup, Elephant Gate, 1901

(March 9) Really heart-warming and really scary at the same time... how did people live like that? Even though war stories were part and parcel of my childhood (TV, movies, Life magazine), it’s hard to go chapter-and-verse through the sufferings of a family you get to "know" intimately.

When I heard about this book through BookCel, I imagined it as a story of Jews and underground activists living beneath, or in, the cages of lions and elephants, having to crouch in fake caves or float under the surfaces of ponds and so on to avoid detection. But it’s really about how the Żabińskis were able to shelter people because of the large footprint and variety of buildings of a zoo. The exotic animals are long gone by the time the Żabińskis start harbouring people, and the people rarely stay in the out-buildings.

Actually, there are a lot of interesting stories about the exotic animals at the beginning, but what I found even more interesting and touching -- to my surprise -- were the stories about the very mundane, unexotic animals the Żabińskis managed to keep around them during the occupation of Warsaw... Borsunio the badger, Moryś the pig, Piotr the hamster, Wicek the rabbit, Kuba the chick, Balbina the cat... they had a mini-zoo going on during the war! And all these little animals’ activities are so heartstring-tugging.

Of course, the human activities during the German attack on and occupation of Warsaw are pretty amazing. It’s unbelievable what people can do with passion and numbers.

Ackerman has a strange style, though, one that took me a while to get used to. Strange imagery starts in the very first sentence: "At dawn in an outlying district of Warsaw, sunlight swarmed around the trunks of blooming linden trees..."

Sunlight swarms??

The brutal nature and weather imagery continues apace. According to Ackerman, nature and the weather are scarier than war, it seems, and she doesn’t drop this trope for long. The following tiny sample of strange imagery took me only seconds to gather:

p. 41 "...she realized that for Ryś the Baltic Sea he’d visited three years earlier probably existed only as a hazy memory that included the crashing surf and the glassy heat of noon sand."

Glassy heat? OK... just strange, not scary.

p. 51 "Tall lindens had begun turning bronze and oaks the burnt maroon of stale blood..."

There is so much blood in her nature descriptions -- this is just one of many images in which trees or plants are "blood red"! And not because of the war! Just because it’s autumn!

p. 125 "As the nights crackled with cold and frost feathered the windowpanes, winds knifed through the rinds of wooden buildings and slit life from the piglets."

p. 301 "Flocks of crows circled the sky before landing in the snow-covered fields, on one of those claggy, warm January mornings when dark tree branches glisten through fog and just breathing feels like inhaling cotton."

I, for one, don’t know "those" January mornings, don’t know what "claggy" means and can’t remember not being able to breathe in a fog. Smoke, car exhaust, hairspray, yes, they feel like inhaling cotton.

It all makes Ackerman’s book memorable, anyway (though not in the way I think she meant).

The Charming Quirks of Others, Alexander McCall Smith

Henry Raeburn, Mrs. Alexander Allan With Her Granddaughter, Matilda, 1815ish

(February 15) Love, love, love Isabel. But was a little disturbed in this book by how faithless she was about Jamie, and how she went to others first the moment she heard news that made her doubt him. Also noticing for the first time (or it feels like it) that Isabel is almost always 100 per cent wrong with her first conjectures. She is anti-Holmes, who always knows immediately who’s done the deed and only reveals it later. It’s a different way of keeping the reader in suspense, because you always want to agree with Isabel and her first conjecture.

Stories and misunderstandings were interesting as usual and Isabel is so charming in the way she thinks.

But she is always wrong and I think she always was and I just didn’t absorb it till now -- I gave her the benefit of the doubt.

Jamie cries a lot in this book. Thought that was going to come to something.

Also, garlic gets dwelt upon a couple of times, and I thought that was going to come to something, too.

Neither did.

And, in fact, a lot hinges on a visual impairment that we don’t know about till the very end... so... ::head tilt::.

Gunn’s Golden Rules: Life’s Little Lessons for Making It Work, A Guide to Taste, Quality and Style, Tim Gunn with Ada Calhoun, Kate Moloney

(February 4, February 16) I really like Tim Gunn -- he’s open, naive, he enjoys a good story, he loves pasta and meatloaf. In Golden Rules, he says he’s revealing his secrets for good manners, which surprised me -- I thought it was going to be a fashion book --, but really he wants to dish the dirt on people, well-known and anonymous, who have been rude. There is some anger there, some love of revenge, so it made me a bit squeamish... until this sentence at the end:

But let’s talk some more about the bad ones, because they’re the most fun to gossip about, and they deserve a little public shaming.

and he’s right, so, OK.

Contains the most unexpected sentence ever:

Sometimes it takes two years for these patients to build up the strength in their stumps so that the prosthetics will work.

O_o

A Guide to Taste, Quality and Style was much more the style guide that I expected with the other, but I still felt less style-guided than I did with the Nina Garcia books. This book is very witty and fun, like the other. His beliefs about posture jive with all my own beliefs about posture, and this was very gratifying.

The Mists of Avalon, Marion Zimmer Bradley

The Forgotten Goddess, Blue Morgana

(February 19) This took months to read -- it’s an enormous book and I had to put it down several times to read other books that were on tighter deadlines at the library, but I kept on coming back to it enthusiastically.

What a saga -- not just because it’s long and has two or three perspectives (two major, one minor), but because Zimmer Bradley has incorporated all the old sagas known to English lit into one big ball of cohesive saga-material. I was really impressed by how she endeavoured to “make sense” of the many contradictions in Arthurian legends.

She tries to do the same with all Western religions while she’s at it.

I was also impressed by Zimmer Bradley’s ability to capture the “feel” of Old English narratives in speech and dialogue -- there was enough OE vocabulary and sentence structure to sound “right” but not so much as to become unintelligible or twee or ridiculous.

I called it “The Mists of Estrogen” in my head because it was dripping with '70s - '80s feminism -- the idea that women are run by (and have power because of) their menstrual cycles and birthing and breastfeeding and being receptacles of the creation of life -- the Gaia-Goddess-Fecundity-Vegetation Mystery Tour. From reading just a little background, I think she may in fact have had a big hand in creating that gestalt.

Anatomy of the Spirit, Caroline Myss

Fernando Vicente, Deslenguado, 2008

(January 19) This book was a roller-coaster ride, if a roller-coaster ride can be thought of as starting off in a mildly exciting way, then becoming totally disappointing, and then turning out OK.

A Greener Tea recommended this, and it sounded vaguely interesting (spiritual, in an Eat, Love, Pray kind of way), but when I got it home, it turned out Myss is an amazing mystic intuitive, able to diagnose illnesses and physical problems simply by meeting a person and even by just hearing about a person through a certain person. And she said that this book would teach you how to become one yourself!

But after a few amazing stories of her diagnoses and cures of various people, the book got severely disappointing. It suddenly appeared that she wanted to do an exercise in comparative religions -- she was going to show us how the seven Christian sacraments, the ten Jewish sefirot and the seven Hindu chakras were all the same thing. (She didn’t add in Islam because she doesn’t know anything about it. :/)

So she goes through all these moral truths and shows how they relate to the sacraments and the sefirot, etc., but she really isn’t teaching us to be medical intuitives! And some of the so-called parallelisms between the three religions were pretty forced. And what about those of us who don’t need to have ideas legitimized by Christianity, Judaism and Hinduism?

It was very strange. It was a sudden shift and a kind of incoherent one.

But then about two-thirds through, the stories about people who were sick or in trouble because of something they screwed up in their chakras seemed to become more interesting. So... OK.

Cool Water, Dianne Warren

Marlys Farn-Guillette, The Fence Is Down

(December 25) Got this when I heard it won a 2010 Governor General's Literary Award for Fiction. Can see why it won something -- it's very serious (reminds me of Ann Patchett) -- everything happens in one day and everything that happens echoes an event that occurred in the area 100 years ago (to the day) -- so the Saskatchewan landscape never changes and is the ultimate victor over puny human happenings à la Ozymandias -- and so on and so forth.

But a book like this -- you can never stop being aware that you are reading a book that has been carefully crafted to evoke all this symbolism -- it never lifts you out of yourself and out of the feeling that you are reading a carefully crafted book and into the realm of vicariously lived excitement, and that's what I really want from a book.

However, I was surprised and enchanted to learn that there's a desert in Saskatchewan. Everyone in the book acknowledges or comments fleetingly on the fact that no one knows there is a desert in Saskatchewan, and they are right. Which is kind of cool.

Cutting for Stone, Abraham Verghese

Aleka Gebre Selassie Adil, Mother Ethiopia, 1960

(December 6) Really liked it, especially at first: for about the first two-thirds, it was wondrous... vivid and evocative in a way that reminded me of Half of a Yellow Sun, with a mild hint of magic reality to it à la Gabriel García Márquez, which was lovely. (I'm thinking of the story of the parents, particularly.)

But then, once it left Ethiopia, the story seemed to think it was about medicine primarily; instead of being about people who also practiced medicine, it morphed into a creaking, artificial set-up for a medical drama. The symbolism groaned at you.

But the first two-thirds -- gold.

One Day, David Nicholls

Niki Sands, Love's Melody

(November 16) This book surprised me in two ways: first, I didn't realize it was a rom-com till I was well into it and really liking the characters. It was written by a man, after all! But it was totally rom-commy ... so light, so like a Sophie Kinsella book ... but with just a slight bit more.... complexity? I had to keep looking at the book jacket photo to make sure Nicholls was a man.

It was so likable. When at one point I had to return it to the library half-read, I really missed Em and Dex.

Second, this book blindsided me like no other in a long time. Well, Fingersmith blindsided me only six months ago... but, really, only those two books in my whole life, I think.

Ape House, Sara Gruen

Marc Johnson, Smoking Monkey

(October 21) She had me at "Ape," plus I already loved Water for Elephants.

This book was worth it for the information about bonobos alone, but Gruen also kept a few plot-plates spinning with great flair.

The book did devolve a bit into TV-sitcom territory eventually, but I was fine with that since the alternative might easily have been animal abuse and too much drama.

There were ironic-twist sub-stories showing how an L.A. lifestyle compels people to change everything that's unique and lovable about them (for example, the parallel between two characters who get a lot of plastic surgery, one because of injuries from an explosion and the other because she's trying to make it in Hollywood) and questioning whether prestige and integrity go hand-in-hand in the media (a writer only finds himself when he stoops to work for the worst rag in the country).

But mainly, it was the bonobos.

The Global Forest, Diana Beresford-Kroeger

Laura Milnor Iverson, Nature's Bright Peace

(October 13) Heard her interviewed on the CBC and was entranced with her descriptions of the biochemistry of trees, wanted to read more.

And this book is interesting, eventually... but I had a hard time getting past the style at times. She wants to invest her remarks with "ancient wisdom" and tries all sorts of methods of doing this -- writing in the style of fairy tales, children's readers, the Bible, and so on. (She even tries an erotic style once or twice.)

A favourite style is to machine-gun you with a lengthy series of short declarative sentences. I enjoy a short declarative sentence, but more than 10 in a row and you begin to think a writer's first language is not English. Sample:

There is a new violence in the world. This violence stands apart from all the other familiar forms. This one is silent and it shows no mercy to the young and the old. It is in the air we breathe. The air is no longer clean.

The new violence is measured in microns, a size smaller than a pollen grain. The violence is particulate pollution. This form of pollution is composed of tiny fragments of matter that will become airborne. Anything can become airborne if it is small enough or light enough or has the right kind of aerodynamic form to fly. These tiny particles are now finding a new name depending on their diameter, expressed as particle microns, or PM for short.

Size matters. Any pollution particles that measure PM 2.5 or less are lethal to the human body. They are also lethal to much of the rest of the animal kingdom.

The book is billed as a collection of essays, so I guess this entitles a writer to try different techniques of infusing grandiosity, but since none of the essays repeat information, you know they were intended to be published together, so "collection of essays" just becomes a license to not have a more intrinsic structural plan.

Plus, overall, there is this cliché of "we are destroying the planet" at every turn. I could maybe forgive her if the book were five years old, but the publishing date is 2010, and, lady, we've heard this refrain.

Don't know why the biochemistry of trees can't be treated as interesting for its own sake.

Eat, Pray, Love, Elizabeth Gilbert

Pablo Picasso, Girl Before a Mirror, 1932

(September 29) Read this to be able to join in on the general sneering, for that's the only reaction to it I ever saw on my internet travels. Case in point: it was endorsed by Oprah, in some ways the worst thing that can happen to a book's credibility (though it means it will sell well).

But I liked Eat, Pray, Love quite a bit. I liked Gilbert's voice, I identified with her quest, I laughed out loud many times.

The Hunger Games, Catching Fire, Mockingjay, Suzanne Collins

(September 15, September 20, September 25) This "Young Adult" series was getting all kinds of hype because Mockingjay came out in August... so I took it up in hopes it was the next Harry Potter or Golden Compass.

The Hunger Games was a bit disappointing, at first, because nothing can be Harry Potter or The Golden Compass or even Twilight, after all, and also because I found it really Young Adult, really teenagery... with teenage preoccupations (dating, clothes, rejecting authority). Collins worked hard to come up with a story that would allow her heroine to balance two amazing love interests forever.

But then, by Catching Fire, the story had built up momentum for me, despite the Contrive-o-matic Machine lumbering along in the background. It was interesting to see what Collins was going to do with this love triangle, after all.

Mockingjay took the series into darker and more horrific territory than I ever would have imagined. There were some really interesting points made about how a rebel movement can be just as corrupt as the government it attempts to overthrow; it wasn't just a Star Wars-style battle between good and evil. But the final book is one long blood-bath and the resolution of Katniss's love troubles is very anti-climactic.

Year of Wonders, Geraldine Brooks

Hendrik Kerstens, Shopping Bag, 2008

(September 5) I enjoyed this quite a bit, even though it is a tad grisly in its descriptions of plague victims and the day-to-day brutality of 17th-century village life.

It's a little like a Sarah Waters novel, in that the first-person narrator is crafted to have the preoccupations and language of a bygone age -- but Brooks is not as convincing with this as Waters was with her Victorians. On the other hand, if Brooks did try to make it as authentic as possible, no one would be able to understand it. See Pepys' Twitter account.

This is also a little like Diana Gabaldon's 18th-century novels with all the interesting details about medical knowledge and superstitions of the time.

What I really liked about it was that it set up certain expectations about the outcomes for certain individuals -- and then did not take us there at all! Quite surprising! In fact, the way the novel ends is basically a bolt from the blue. But an interesting bolt -- for our heroine is much better off and more empowered in the culture of "our enemy" than she ever was before.

What I found hard to take: all the sad dying. But, what are you gonna do? It's a novel about the Plague Year.

The Amazing Power of Deliberate Intent; Ask and It Is Given, Esther and Jerry Hicks

Goddess Selket, Pharaoh Tutankhamun, Egyptian Museum, Egypt, 1323 BCE

(August 31, February 20) This is another version of The Secret and The Science of Getting Rich; this one is a lot more sure about the way things are, especially death.

I really like Abraham's voice, actually -- "they" are very no-nonsense, balls-to-the-wall about everything.

Lolita, Vladimir Nabokov

Polixeni Papapetrou, Olympia as Lewis Carroll’s Beatrice Hatch before White Cliffs, 2003

(August 25) I am so surprised to be saying that this is a great book and that I enjoyed it. I never wanted to read about pedophilia and believed I'd never read this novel, but Lolita is always included on "best" book lists, including recently a "30 books to read before 30" -- which is really cutting it fine, right? -- so I gave in.

And so it is a great book -- an amazing book, all the more amazing because it makes an unsavory subject completely enjoyable. As Stephen Metcalf says, "with Lolita, you must work past its beauty to recognize how shocking it is", and it is sometimes very hard work to get past the beauty.

The Little Stranger, Sarah Waters

Bsidez, Photo of the Chateau de Miranda

(August 3) This is Waters’ fifth and most recent book; ::sigh:: now I will have to wait two and half years for the next one.

Like Night Watch, this is set in post-Second World War England; like Affinity, there is a supernatural element; like the first three (Tipping the Velvet, Affinity and Fingersmith) it is a first-person narrative.

But unlike them all, the narrator is a heterosexual man... and there is no lesbianism in it at all... unless you count the very slight hint that Caroline might be lesbian. (This is never resolved, nor in some ways even relevant.)

AND.

There’s no plot twist! Unless the lack of a plot twist is the twist!

For, knowing Waters, I paid careful attention all through the book to any doubts or suspicions hanging vaguely around a character’s words or motives, and yet none of the “planted” clues -- the narrator’s early destructive act in the house and his latter despair and recklessness over his broken engagement, Seeley’s pompousness, Caroline’s hardness, Mrs. Ayres’ snobbishness, Roderick’s shell-shock, Betty’s acting skills... and dozens of other little sinister moments -- none of them congealed into a villain responsible for a number of deaths.

The house was tagged as the villain from the start, and that is how it is left. In fact, it is a little alarming at the end that the narrator is still hanging about the house, although Waters doesn’t make him seem insane.

Nonetheless, I expected till the very last page that there would be a rational explanation, since Affinity created the same air of the possibility of supernatural events and then quite dashed it in the end.

Here it was not dashed; this time there is no real explanation. And, really, it’s the house that dominates the story like a lead character. The house has amazing presence for an inanimate object.

Atmosphere is everything in this story, and is actually very rewarding despite the absence of a neat tying-up of loose ends. It’s spooky and suspenseful... haunting... the more so because of those loose ends, really.

Furious Love: Elizabeth Taylor, Richard Burton, and the Marriage of the Century, Sam Kashner and Nancy Schoenberger

Howard Terpning, detail of art for Cleopatra movie poster, 1963

(July 22) It took two people to write this? Heh.

Actually, it was really professionally written -- really easy to breeze through, with lots of timely repetition and signposting so you don’t have to think too hard about anything.

The book doesn’t surprise with more inside dirt than I remember from the gossip mags of the time, which built an industry on Liz’n’Dick stories (today’s “Brangelina” phenomenon is a mere shadow in comparison). Still, it’s good at organizing everything into a linear narrative, drawing parallels and pointing out significant turning points.

It was surprising to get to the end of what is touted as the story of a romance and find out the book was really meant to be a biography of Richard Burton -- at least that’s apparently what the authors let on to Elizabeth Taylor it would be, since she wanted a memorial to Burton.

But I guess that’s not a cheat -- it’s clear Burton’s whole life was affected by Elizabeth Taylor, right down to how he’s memorialized.