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I told y'all about the books I bought in NYC. Now, I am reading one I found on the discount table: Marion Zimmer Bradley's Ravens of Avalon by Diana L. Paxson. First published in 2007, it is the only hc among the novels I purchased.
Here's where full disclosure comes in: I know Diana. Back in my publishing days, I published her (The White Raven, The Serpent's Tooth, and more).
She is a very accomplished writer (I'm prejudiced, yes, but by any standard she writes better than Bradley ever did, although they were good friends. Bradley got the credit for brilliance...Diana is the one who actually possesses it).
Please forgive me. Once again, my back doesn't allow me to sit at the computer for any length of time. I was working on a essay of Freedom by Jonathon Franzen. As well, I was going to continue my reading and writing about Truth by Terry Pratchert. Interesting duo, no?
But I feel less guilt because we've had the honor of two wonderful essays by ellid yesterday. If you haven't read them, you're in for a treat.
Freedom: the book is a look at the early nineties and early 2000s from the perspective of what seems like a typical middle upper class couple. It turns out to be darker and too full of symbols to even outline. I almost put it down a few times but am pleased I continued reading - it jells, it comes together, it sings at the last quarter and the book makes a whole.
Truth, by Ria's favorite author, Terry Pratchert, may be awkward since the book is probably read and understood better by the nuances and themes of the series - but one has to start somewhere. Perhaps this wasn't the best book to start with - but hey, life is like that. I continue thinking about it.
Alas, I am unable to sit for any long period of time - something is going on with my legs. Thanks to a dose of Vicadin - I'm able to write this short post.
Mr. Puzo wrote The Fortunate Pilgrim before he wrote The Godfather, but as he says in a republication of Pilgrim:
I consider my second, book, The Fortunate Pilgrim, my best novel and my most personal one...When I began, the plan was to make myself the hero. It was supposed to be the story of a struggling writer, poorest of the poor, whose family were enemies of his art, and how, in the end, he succeeded in spite of them. It was written to show my rejection of my Italian heritage and my callow disdain of those illiterate peasants from which I sprang. But what a surprise it was when I discovered that my mother turned out to be the hero of the book. And that my mother turned out to be more honest, trustworthy and braver than me.
Indeed, this is a dutiful Italian son. The bond between the Italian son and his mother is one of turmoil and duty - one of worship and disdain - admiration and fear. Puzo goes on in this preface to note the similarity between the Don and Lucia Santa. The Don contains his emotions, however. Lucia is the operatic star of her journey. The novel is written in an ornate, almost roccoco style - and it may take a while for the reader to settle down to its rhythm but any experienced reader will soon take up the pace. This book will be the subject of our next book club and I am now ready to do battle with a few readers whom I know well there, as they will not like this book. It is their prerogative yes. But it is mine to stand up for Lucia and her family - there is a great connection between hers and mine!
Okay, finally a new book. I did think about reviewing The Dollmaker by Hariette Arnow or Grapes of Wrath by Steinbeck, but don't know if I have the clarity and distance to write about these books now. I am living in the roil - too close to write of either tough but heartbreaking novel.
Mankell is known for his Swedish detective series: Kurt Wallender. Though not a mystery, there is actually a similarity between Kurt and Fredrik. A dark etiolated energy of muddled sadness.
A word about the physicality of books, often overlooked by readers. The author structures the book like a symphony. It reads: First Movement Ice; Second Movement: The Forest; Third Movement: The Sea; and Fourth Movement: Winter Solstice. Thus on the cover page, he sets up his novel. I equate these "movements" with the Germanic fairy tales of the Grimm Brothers, the Icelandic Sagas and Tales of Hans Christian Anderson, with a hint of Beowulf. (Don't take a class where you have to read Beowulf, says Woody Allen in Annie Hall. For sure - one could tailor that remark to a book review.)
ICE:
Fredrik Welin, a retired, successful surgeon, has isolated himself to a Swedish island where his grandparents lived, and where he thought he would eventually make a "summer home." He has lived here now for twelve years, alone with his dog and cat. He is 66 at the novel's beginning, and his only visitor is Jansson the postman who flies onto the ice-locked island with his mail and provisions. The landscape is stark, white, cold, lonely. Each winter morning, Fredrik cuts a hole in the ice and dives in the icy water. Why? Well, that is for the reader to discern, though here are Fredrik's words:
Every day I jump down into my black hole in order to get the feeling that I am still alive. Afterwards, it's as if my loneliness slowly fades away....As my feet reach the bottom I can stand up in the water; I shan't disappear under the ice....I am again amazed by what happened to my life. I made a mistake. And I refused to accept the consequences.
The theory behind it is that humans have a great capacity to adapt to changing circumstances, so that over time even the most dramatic life-changing events have little impact on our overall happiness. This is true whether the event is positive or negative--both of people who have suffered devastating injuries and of lottery winners. Although the immediate impact of these events is huge, it moderates over time, so that several years later, the lottery winners are only slightly happier than average and the injured people are only slightly less happy.
It is the women in Barbara Pym's novels who are interesting and who move the narrative. They run the literary show. None of the men make those funny, startling, revelatory statements which occur throughout this novel (indeed, throughout all her novels) and cause us to smile in complicit satisfaction and sorority with the author. Pym's women behave in courteous manner and submit to the realities of a world that often does not value them. Yet, they have an ongoing genteel subversive interior monologue and while they may avoid unpleasantness, they are never fooled.
Barbara Pym's novels contend that the meek inherit the earth, and perhaps no other aspect of her work accounts for the pleasure they afford the reader. (Janice Rossen from The World of Barbara Pym, St. Martin's Press, 1987).
The protagonist of Excellent Women is Mildred Lathbury. She is a woman in her thirties, the daughter of a clergyman, in immediate post World War II London, living a life centered around the Church, good works, such as the Christmas Bazaars and jumble sales, as well as dinners with her cleric and his spinster sister - Julian and Winifred Malory. She is employed at an organization which helps impoverished gentlewomen
(Please Welcome our New Series
- promoted by RiaD)
Plants have always been my friends. I've treated them with respect since I was a child. It was just inherent. But I didn't talk much about that connection, as people would think I was silly or worse, unbalanced. When I passed the fir trees in alleys with sad remnants of tinsel clinging, clutching it as for life, I was struck with an unexplainable, but native, sadness. Still, I am most balanced in the garden or when I'm taking care of plants.
I can't pass plants in alleys that have been thrown out - many are salvageable. And those that weren't - at least I tried. Right now, there are five perlagonium plants (most people incorrectly call them geraniums) in my southern windows that are fugitives from an alley and the garbage truck's maw. They are thriving and will be put outside this summer.
When I picked up Growing Myself, it was like finding a sister, nay a whole family really - I'm not alone after all. Others besides myself pick up worms writhing on a hot sidewalk and put them in the grass -- who knew? Worms are useful, as you know. Which is more than I can say for many politicians, for instance.
As we approach our first blogoversary I thought it might be fun to look back at some of our first year posts that exemplify our firefly dreaming spirit and mission. Original post with comments can be found here:
No Impact Man by
puzzled
Hello, my name is puzzled and I'm a bookaholic. I love books of almost all genres. Not so much the SciFi, but Ria's been working on me in that regard.
The first thing I noticed about this book when I was skimming the stacks at the library was that it doesn't look like the other books on the shelves. The cover is cardboard and cloth tape, and it looks like it's been around forever. But the materials with which the book is made are reflective of the contents.
I read The Help on our vacation, I live now with the characters in my head with frustration the book ended. I just read that it is being made into a movie and if Kathryn Stockett has mercy on her readers she will write a sequel.
The book takes place in the Jackson Mississippi in the 60's. It is written through the eyes of 3 strong, beautiful, brave, women. As a woman who was born and raised in the south until I was 12, during a time of segregation the images and hateful prejudice are branded in my brain. The railroad tracks divided the small town I lived in, the blacks lived on one side and whites on the other. The black women only crossed the railroad tracks during the light of day to work as maids, nannies and cooks for the whites. As a child I used to look across those railroad tracks with such wonder so much mystery lie on the other side. Even as a child I always wondered why we lived so divided.
The first thing I noticed about this book when I was skimming the stacks at the library was that it doesn't look like the other books on the shelves. The cover is cardboard and cloth tape, and it looks like it's been around forever. But the materials with which the book is made are reflective of the contents.
M. Rochefort is a duellist, a murderer, and a spy.
When Marie de Medici, newly crowned as queen of France, approaches him with a scheme to kill her husband Henri, Rochefort cannot demur. But he doesn't want to see Henri die, either: so he selects the least-likely-to-succeed assassin...who, of course, is successful.
Meanwhile, Rochefort must deal with Dariole, a young man -- and also a duellist -- who wants to take him down a notch, just when the Medici's people are trying to kill him.
