TRH Reading Catch Up — The Movie Tie-In Edition

So, I’ve read a number of books since I’ve been, well, unblogging, if we can call it that. Two weeks in the hospital and a number of weeks of recovery still to come means I’ll probably read a pile more before I head back to work at the end of the month. I’m going to start with three books I finished up in July, before my appendix met its untimely demise:

1. Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban (#38): The folks at work could not believe that I had never read the Harry Potter series. I’ve always enjoyed the films, and the one based upon this book still remains my favourite, but figured I’d get around to the books at some point. I read it in one sitting. There’s so much more to the books and there’s a real sense of wonderment that gets kind of lost in the Hollywood versions.

2. The Strain (#39): While technically not a movie tie-in (yet; I can’t see Guillermo del Toro not making a movie from these books), the novel is truly cinematic, both in its dialogue and its plotting. The story follows a scientist/doctor (can’t remember if he’s either or both), Ephraim Goodweather, as he tries to uncover the truth behind a number of mysterious occurances through his work with the Centre for Disease Control. When a plane touches down at JFK with a cabin full of very dead people and little explaination beyond a very strange coffin-like container on board that may have something to do with their deaths, Eph and his co-workers have quite the mystery on their hands. Creatures start to take over Manhattan (um, the body bags tend to do strange things when left in the fridge and that’s all I’m going to say about that terrifying moment in this book) and Eph has to convince the world that there’s a serious medical crisis, an infection, that’s spreading across the island. Will people believe him? I guess we’ll have to wait until the next book to find out for sure. It’s an entertaining novel, and not my typical fare, but it truly creeped me out in places, which was fun for summer reading.

3. Julie and Julia (#40): Now this book I loved. As Stuff White People Like says, us whiteys like to read the book before we see the movie. So, when I was shopping for a 70th birthday book for my aunt in June, I picked up Julie and Julia on a whim because I knew I wouldn’t be able to resist the movie. Oddly enough, this was my favourite of my three “movie” books. It’s charming, delightful, well-written, entertaining and utterly engaging. Yes, she swears a lot. But it’s kind of funny once you get used to it. And I loved the concept of the book and the blog; there’s just something so interesting about self-met challenges. On the whole, I hope the movie is half as good as the book so I enjoy it too.

Okay, that’s it for today.

Still The Worst Time of My Life

I’ve been back in the hospital since Friday morning with complications from the surgery. Essentially, the necrotic (sp?) appendix has caused further complications, problems that most people don’t have during such a routine operation. Because of the disease, my organ tissues are sensitive, and because the appendix stayed in my body for so long being so rotten, my bowels have simply stopped working.

Graphic, I know.

1. We came back into the hospital on Friday morning after I threw up on Thursday night and then again in the AM. My body was retaining so much water that my legs were three times their normal size and my scars were so swollen and bloated they were poking out of my legs.

2. Unlike the first hellish visit, we managed to see a doctor after about an hour. They put a tube up my nose and down into my stomach because while sitting on the bed, I “projectile vomited” (as the RRHB) said pure green bile. Seriously, it looked like grass.

3. The NG tube started to suck up everything left over in my stomach: essentially any and everything I hadn’t already thrown up based on two days of eating “normally” out of the hospital.

4. They need to give my bowel a rest, which means no food or water. That’s been since Friday. It’s now Tuesday.

5. The doctors keep saying to be patient, that it’ll rectify itself and get better but we’re still here waiting for my bowels to work.

6. First it was 24-36 hours, then Tuesday at the latest and now they just don’t know. More tests today, I guess.

7. The surgeon who came in this morning said that he’s not surprised there are these complications. I asked him, “but I am going to get better, right?” Yes, was the definitive answer but I can’t say that I am not terrified every single moment I am spending in this hospital.

8.They’re desperately trying to avoid more surgery, which I can understand. I don’t want more surgery. But I also wish that everything with my health wasn’t so bloody complicated.

9. Lessons in it can always get worse, I suppose. And we’re clinging to the positives. Piles of gas in my belly means pain but also that things are working, but not completely. Piles of antibiotics means that they are killing the infection but also my poor tummy. There will be a lot of restorative yoga and healthy eating when I get out of here.

10. Still a rotten way to spend a birthday if you ask me.

I Had The (Worst) Time Of My Life

It all started off so well. My dad surprised me at the cottage. My RRHB’s van broke down so the tour was cancelled. Plenty of people were around for my birthday and I had managed a delicious dinner with veggies and herbs from my Recession Garden. And then it all went way, way down hill from there. I’m unwell, so here’s the list, and here’s a warning that it’s a little graphic:

1. I started throwing up at about 10 PM. We were up at my aunt’s cottage, the elder generation imbibing, and I went back to my grandmother’s cottage because I was feeling so unwell. And then I couldn’t stop throwing up. My brother took me to the Campbellford hospital around midnight, and I spent many hours barfing and being in massive amounts of pain. They couldn’t figure out what’s wrong: ran some blood tests, did an x-ray, and made me feel a bit better by the time I left. 

2. We got home from the cottage (on my actual birthday) and everything started up again, well, actually, I didn’t barf again, so that was something. But I have never experienced that much pain in my life. Not when my tragic hip was acting up, not when I had hip surgery, nothing was like the pain in my stomach. It lasted all night.

3. The next morning my RRHB called our family doctor, whose offices are at Toronto Western. She saw us for about 30 seconds before she sent us down to Emergency.

4. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. While we waited almost three hours to make it to the “Rapid Assessment Zone.” The ER doc called my Super-Fancy Disease Doctor who also works out of the Western. He told them to do a CT scan. That’s when they discovered that my appendix had ruptured. Numerous doctors came by then: my SFDD, a few interns, a different ER doc and a surgical intern who told me they don’t usually operate once the appendix has already ruptured; they treat you with antibiotics and see how you do. That’s when I asked for more morphine.

5. The actual surgeon came to see me and said with the Wegener’s being active and with the suppression of my immune system, they can’t leave the organ in my body. So, surgery is back on. 

6. Surgery is scheduled for “as soon as possible.” They prep. I pee. And have more morphine. My RRHB calls our loved ones and let’s everyone know what’s going on. 

7. I go under the knife at about 9 PM on Monday night. The day after my birthday. I never like waking up from anesthetic. Oxygen up the nose and three incisions are my presents. 

8. The next morning the surgical team comes by to see me. He’s excited: “Your appendix was BLACK! BLACK!” There was some pus on my liver and leakage all over my bladder. This was what was causing the pain. When the head surgeon came to see me later on that evening, she said that my organ was “terrible.” That it had actually turned gangrenous, built a wall around itself, but was leaking, and the pain not being in the typical place confused everyone. What saved my life? My SFDD telling them to get a CT scan. That’s why he’s SFDD. 

9. I spend a miserable night in hospital next to a snoring and painfully uncomfortable old guy and get no sleep.

10. They send me home (it’s now Wednesday) and it’s marvelous to be not in the hospital. I’m bloated, in pain, and myriad other things but at least I can watch TV and walk around when I feel like it.

Happy birthday to me.

Obsession

As if I needed another reason to be obsessed by all things French (and the idea of living in Paris one day). But, sigh, this film looks so very, very good:

And we’re publishing a huge Coco Chanel biography in the fall that I’m also chomping at the bit to read. Until then, I guess I’ll just have to listen to more Edith Piaf.

#37 – The Winter Vault

I’m a bit late finishing up my Canadian Book Challenge this year (technically I finished on July 4th, but that’s entirely the wrong birthday). Anne Michaels’s The Winter Vault represents the last title in my “For the Ladies” theme that I was working within. Like so many of the books that I read over the course of the year, I found the writing strong and engaging in The Winter Vault. But I also have to admit that I have mixed feelings about this novel. In a sense, I can’t decide whether or not I love it or find it extremely frustrating. Maybe I’ll come to a conclusion at the end of this review.

I purposefully started reading the novel on June 30th. Knowing that we had Canada Day off, and knowing that I am a fairly quick reader, I figured that I’d have no trouble finishing it by sundown on July 1st. But the novel didn’t grab my attention as I thought it would, the plot didn’t seem to shake itself out early enough to pull me in, and the dialogue felt more like philosophical treatise than how people actually talk. Yet, every few pages there would be a sentence that would stop me in my tracks in terms of its beauty, its innovation (word use) and its utter writerly-ness. The story feels simple at first glance: a young couple who meet accidentally find themselves in Egypt during the building of the Aswan Dam. Avery works as an engineer and Jean has accompanied him. While there, a tragedy threatens to overwhelm them both as a couple and as individuals. Back in Canada, they attempt to put their lives back together, each in different ways, and suriviving becomes more about recognizing their bond as much as what separated them in the first place.

There are so many important parts to this novel. That Michaels imagines and integrates the loss of community, of culture, of landscape in terms of the pulsating forward motion of society into the novel is commendable. That she makes the setting of the beginning of the novel so foreign (Egypt) and the people so familiar (Canadian/British “colonial” interlopers with a heart) instills a political discussion of what progress actually means. It’s heartbreaking for Jean to experience the loss of the displaced Egyptians, the Nubians whose culture had remained by the river for thousands of years, as the river swells up to create the power that will charge an entire country. It’s thought-provolking for Avery to participate in the moving of the giant pyramid, recognizing the irony of destroy and saving culture at the same time. These discussions that the book seems to have through its characters, through their long rambling conversations, are so typical of the genius of Canadian literature. Of our writers’ ability to insure that issues are crafted as parts of a story and are separated and exposed from more than one point of view, this is something I respect very much in terms of Michaels’ The Winter Vault.

However, unlike a truly brilliant book like Camilla Gibb’s Sweetness in the Belly, some of the overarching socio-political discussion gets lost because it isn’t integrated well enough into the characters and/or the pacing of the novel. Great, vast swaths of text are narratively separate and sit outside the experience of Avery, Jean, and then later Lucjan (a man who befriends Jean while she and Avery are separated). There’s no consistency of story within the text, and while the central relationship between Avery and Jean, their marriage, their love, is what binds everyone together, it might have been even more interesting to have them actually experience the more political parts of the novel. They seem apart from the action in a way, and even though they are there in Egypt, their personal experience in a sense seems beyond the more political observations the narrator makes on their behalf.

And this brings me to my last pickle: the dialogue. I had a conversation with a co-worker last week who fought vehmently for the side that people do exist in the world who are as intense and thought-provolking as Jean, Avery and Lucjan. That they do speak in two-three page long solioquays that underscore the meaning of life and the essence of human interaction — all the time. But I’m not sure I agree. I will forever harken back to something a teacher once told me: “dialogue must seem ordinary but not be ordinary.” Anne Michaels writes conversations that feel extraordinary — long, rambling passages that feel like philosophical dialogues more than pure discussion. They seem to lecture rather than actually converse and each character remains alarmingly introspective. Their stories come out slowly, revealing the characters over time, instead of having the dialogue move the plot forward. This is not a fast-paced novel. It’s a slow read, a book that forces you to pay attention to its details, to its every word.

All in all, I think I’ll continue to sit on the fence about this book for a few more weeks. The Winter Vault is a novel worth studying, worth maybe even reading it alongside In the Skin of the Lion to see how the two compare (I really felt as though Michaels was writing back to Ondaatje with this book), and worth every moment of the time it’ll take to read it.

READING CHALLENGES: The final book in this year’s Canadian Book Challenge! Now I just have to think about what I’m going to read this year. Bestsellers? YA? Classics? I don’t know! What books are your list? Any suggestions?

WHAT’S UP NEXT: Currently reading Guillermo del Toro’s utterly spooky The Strain.

TRH Movie – Public Enemies

There’s always one big movie, like that one big book, that I get almost too excited about. We could make the obvious, cliched observation that I’m like a kid at Christmas — big stars, great supporting cast, interesting story, something really worth going to see on opening day. This should be my first clue — nothing ever lives up to the hype, and I always find myself a little defeated after closing the covers or exiting the theatre (see The Little Stranger). Today I half-made my RRHB go see Johnny Depp in Public Enemies. I mean, on the surface, it had everything that a great summer blockbuster should have, and still, after leaving the Queensway two and a half hours after we sat down, I’d have to say the best thing about the whole film was seeing the super-cute trailer for Julie and Julia.

Wait, I’m exaggerating.

But only a little.

Michael Mann seems to have fallen in love with the whole “modern” (or would we say “post-modern”?) style of film making so influenced by the Bourne series. Quick cuts, extreme close ups, hand-held camera shots, all meant to employ a frenetic sense of action on screen. Yet, I think he’s so intent upon capturing the moment in fragments that he actually sort of lost the movie. There’s little plot and what there is remains terribly contrived (bank robber gets caught; escapes; robs; gets caught, etc) throughout.

The film lacks the nuance of Bonnie and Clyde, the intelligence of The Usual Suspects, and especially the engaging, epic nature of a great film like The Untouchables. There’s flash, there’s gunfire, there’s a pretty girl and a handsome man, but the most interesting aspects of the story, the evolution of the FBI, the cat and mouse chase between the agents and the criminals, all sort of get lost in the muddled cut and paste of yet another shot of someone’s fingernails.

The actors don’t do much because you can barely see them. And when you do, the dialogue is so stilted and awkward, and let’s face it, bad, that the story doesn’t seem to advance in any kind of rational way. The film’s all about hard punches when it should be about the dance — and I have to say I lost interest well before we even hit the second act. There were things that I liked, like I said, the film could not have attracted a better cast (the performances are solid); and there’s just something about a gangster picture that gets your blood pumping. The excitement of knowing that eventually something’s going to go terribly wrong and films are always more interesting when things go awry than when they move slowly toward a conclusion.

But capturing your attention and holding it are two different things, and Mann simply can’t move beyond the style to create something substantial. Strike one for my excitement today. Now I’m just waiting for Where the Wild Things Are to let me down. It won’t right? There’s still hope for Max.

EDITED TO ADD: WOW, I can’t believe I left this post sit for two days and didn’t spell check. Ack.

My Recession Garden

My Recession Garden looks nothing like the one from the White House (thanks to @kattancock for the link). First of all, it’s a lot less organized and doesn’t come with a beautiful plan with lots of walking space. Instead it’s a lot of messy overgrown plants beside some plants that just haven’t grown well (yet). My cucumbers have started to flower, as have my cocozelle zucchinis (I had to look them up; I planted a mix of summer squash and didn’t know what’s what), and I have some baby beans sprouting which left me with endless joy this morning.

I spent a few minutes searching through Epicurious for recipes using summer squash because I think we might be inundated in another few weeks. So if anyone has tried and tested veggie recipes for zucchini, cocozelles or other summer growers, holler back. But so far we’ve eaten our own lettuce for weeks, starting off with arugula (which was delicious and has prompted RRHB on more than one occasion to say how much he loves it), then moving on to my own mix of red leaf lettuce, drunken lettuce (isn’t that an awesome name) and two more that I can’t remember off the top of my head. I bought more lettuce seeds yesterday to keep replanting (I already ripped out my arugula and spinach and have started second crops). And we tried our rapini but I let it grow for too long; it was inedible.

Up next are trying to save the tomato plants given to us by our neighbour — even though they’re in separate pots and are not being watered with the same frequency as the rest of the garden — they’re still developing blight. Oddly, the plants that I bought from the nursery are absolutely disease free so I’m not sure what’s causing the problem.

Here’s my complete growing list: cucumbers (two different kind of slicers), yellow cucumbers, nasturtiums, sage, cauliflower, brussels sprouts, bush beans (three different kinds), summer squash (three or four different kinds), lettuce, rosemary, french taragon, oregano, thyme, basil, garlic, onions, carrots (just planted), radishes and some hot, spicy peppers. So far, the only “crop” that failed has been the rapini — but in its place I planted some melons and I’m afraid they haven’t even sprouted yet.

I keep saying it to many people: I am really not a fan of gardening, but I sure do love to eat my own vegetables. I also love to share. And swap. What about you other recession gardeners out there?

Also, I posted some Recession Garden photos up on Flickr.

Random Thoughts for a Monday Morning

The weather reports on the CBC keep telling me it’s going to thunderstorm this afternoon but it’s brilliant and sunny out right now. I believe in the sunshine even if the CBC doesn’t. Of course, I’m only saying that because I don’t want to get completely soaking heading home tonight. Here’s a little rambling list for today:

1. Started and abandoned Dorothy Allison’s Trash. Her writing is powerful, personal and honest but the content of the short stories really didn’t interest me at all. As I said on Twitter this week, I really like where she writes from but not what she writes about. I did, however, find both introductions incredibly inspiring, and how her writing gave her a power she never expected to have in her life. Also, Cavedweller and Bastard Out of Carolina are two of my favourite books.

2. Am now feverishly reading The Winter Vault to be finished by the time Canada Day kicks up so I can finish my Canadian Reading Challenge. Then I’ll need to decide what to read for the 09-10 challenge. All Poetry Edition? New Releases? Backlist Frenzy? Anyone else have suggestions?

3. Our garden has exploded. Soon we’ll have about a half-dozen cocozelle zucchinis, beans, basil, and cucumbers (well, they’re flowering so that’s something). We’ve been eating our recession garden lettuce for about a month now and I’m about to start brown bagging my lunch every day if only because I’m working my butt off to get more of our house renovations paid down.

4. Speaking of which, I hope most of you are around late summer-early September because we’ll finally have a housewarming party almost five years after moving in. Trust me, it’ll be worth it. My house is gorgeous these days.

5. Feeling diseasy is intensified when I’m covered in hives from a strange allergic reaction to the sun. It only happens on my arms (well, sometimes my legs) and I’ve been sitting at my desk itching for the past five hours. Argh.

6. Newsweek has 50 books “for our time.” I’ve read 5. Obviously, I’m not very timely.

7. You know what still makes me laugh? Thinking about The Hangover three weeks after seeing the film. That and my 3-year-old nephew rapping.

Short and sweet today friends. Short and sweet.

#36 – The Little Stranger

After finally (with a month-long struggle) finishing Sarah Waters’s The Little Stranger, I have to admit that I’m hit or miss with her books. I adored both Fingersmith and The Night Watch. But really didn’t like Tipping the Velvet. And I’m afraid I’ll have to add The Little Stranger to the cons side simply because the book just failed to grab me. No, wait, let me restate that, after the first 100 pages or so, I lost interest in the book entirely.

By fate and circumstance, a bachelor rural doctor becomes inextricably involved with the fading Ayers family (Mrs. Ayers, Caroline and Roderick), owners of Hundreds Hall, a decaying house that was once the centre of society for their corner of Warwickshire. The war has just ended, leaving the country and its young men wounded, and Roderick, the eldest son, suffers. Dr. Faraday, called out to the house in place of the Ayers’s regular doctor, soon finds himself an indispensible friend to the family.

With his frequent visits to Hundreds Hall, Dr. Faraday soon becomes embroiled in the myriad problems the family begins to have. First, it’s a terrible accident involving a family pet, a particular favourite of Caroline’s. Then, as Roderick suffers through emotional and physical difficulties, another terrible accident happens. Soon, the family, and even the servants, a young Betty and the older Mrs. Bazeley, feel as if all of the bad luck converging remains squarely the fault of the house itself.

This theme, of suspicious activity coupled with the belief that the house is haunted felt a little like The X-Files, the Ayers’s Mulder to Dr. Faraday’s Scully. In a fairly typical way, each occurance is dismissed by various members of the scientific community and yet life for the Ayers’s doesn’t seem to get any better. It’s almost as if Waters was watching far too many episodes of Most Haunted during the writing of this novel. But, mainly, for me, I couldn’t hang on to the main character — I found him staid, kind of boring and a little two predictable. I’m a huge fan of Waters, as I’ve said above, but this novel put me right to sleep, and despite one or two truly terrifying scenes, left me without the necessary chill required from a book that’s supposed to scare the pants off of you.

READING CHALLENGES: Nothing to see here.

WHAT’S UP NEXT: Summer is short: reading Dorothy Allison’s Trash. And I’ve got to finish a Canadian book this weekend to sum up my Canadian Book Challenge.