[another unfinished fragment]
I fold myself out,
read all the sections, and
hold my hand over the horoscope.
Stain my fingertips with newsprint,
until I am classified by headlines,
inches per story, and unreadable bylines.
Busting out bad joints all over the place
[another unfinished fragment]
I fold myself out,
read all the sections, and
hold my hand over the horoscope.
Stain my fingertips with newsprint,
until I am classified by headlines,
inches per story, and unreadable bylines.
What a full day:
1. I am halfway through Jhumpa Lahiri’s absolutely amazing Unaccustomed Earth. They are short stories that read as rich as a novel.
2. We grocery shopped, went for brunch, bought some second-hand spring clothes, visited the health food store and finally made it home, both exhausted.
3. Ah, Coronation Street. You’re like a salve on a wound. What ARE you thinking Ashley?
4. Gillian Welch, The Revelator, as above. Bless her soul indeed.
5. Editing is a long and painful process. But at least I’ve got pretty toes. The local nail salon has pedicures for $20.00. Seriously, it’s the best money I’ve spent in weeks. Pretty toes do wonders for your self-esteem. I don’t care how girlie that seems.
6. Taking your meds three days late is never a good idea. I can barely stomach sitting up. Silly ragdoll.
[An unfinished fragment; an unfinished thought]
Red roses from a first love years later.
Two separate prom nights: ignored entirely,
dumped days before; golden high school culminates,
in a fumbled pass at virginity.
Abandoned one life for the next and never fit in,
then fell down for all the wrong reasons.
Yasmina Khadra’s The Attack explodes even before it starts. The first few pages describe a woman’s first-hand experience with a bomb in Tel Aviv. Her husband, the story’s narrator, Amin, is a surgeon at the local hospital, and it’s only after a long shift sorting through the casualties after the bomb that he finds out about his wife’s death. For Amin, though, this is just the beginning of the tragedy. It soon comes to light that it was Amin’s wife, Sihem, who wore the bomb that caused the blast. The revelation that his wife became a suicide bomber, a fanatic, someone so unlike the woman he thought he married, turns his life upside down.
Unconvinced that he’s heard even an inch of the full story, Amin turns his back on the entire life he’s built in Tel Aviv, pushed away by angry neighbours, by the pressures of a racially charged situation, he retraces his wife’s last steps. And as many know, when loved ones keep secrets, it’s never easy to learn the truth.
The Attack is a powerful novel, it cuts to the heart of the trouble in the Middle East and portrays a man unable to find himself, he turns his back on his own tribe only to find that it’s just as impossible to fit into the society he’s chosen. Despite the urgent nature of the narrative, the dialogue feels clunky to the point of didacticism. You get the feeling that Khadra’s writing a very important book, but on the whole I felt the novel missed a slight emotional edge. That said, I was utterly engrossed in the story from the very first, most excellent, sentence: “I don’t remember hearing an explosion.”
Amin’s journey is heartbreaking, difficult and, in some ways, unbearably pointless. It’s easy to criticize the awkward storytelling, but absolutely impossible to take the author’s motivation, if I can be so bold as to address it, to task. It’s a raw, honest book that wants to open up a discussion about the very real issues driving the conflict. In that sense, it’s terribly successful. And my criticism about the dialogue aside, there are some wonderful bits of prose in the book, and here’s just one of the many passages I marked:
The bottom’s no good for anybody. In this kind of implosion, if you don’t react very quickly, you lose control of absolutely everything. You become a spectator of your own collapse, and you don’t realize that the abyss is about to close over you forever.
PHOTO IN CONTEXT: Simply the book sitting on my desk, no biggie. I am excited about the fact that in a few weeks I’ll be back to taking pictures of the books in context at the cottage. Goodness, I miss the cottage.
READING CHALLENGES: I had The Swallows of Kabul on my Around the World in 52 Books last year and only managed to get halfway through the first third of the novel. This year, I had it back again, but am replacing it with The Attack. Because Yasmina Khadra (the nom de plume for Mohammed Moulessehoul) was born in Algeria, I’ll cross off that country, despite the fact that the novel takes place in the Middle East. It’s also the first of eight books in the IMPAC Challenge. I didn’t realize that The Swallows of Kabul was also nominated for the IMPAC, so it’s nice to see this book on the shortlist as well.
WHAT’S UP NEXT: Until the packages from Amazon arrive with the rest of the books in the challenge, I’ll probably dive into a classic or finish Emma Donoghue’s latest, The Sealed Letter.
We watched great machines roll
the stones out as they packed in
the dirt. Waited, until the birds
came back and could be identified.
While the trees sprouted,
and grew into one another,
underground vines trundling down into
hand-made earth, and held fast.
Balanced by the moment, we
could no longer find the path.
By crossing our left and right together,
we climbed out the way we came.
Quinn left a comment on a book post a little while ago when I was asking for summer reading suggestions. He had a fabulous one, one that I’ve already started. Said he:
“dude! we can be on the pretend jury for the Impac prize and try to get through the 8 novels on this year’s shortlist in the next 2 months”.
Of course, I think this is a fab idea, considering that a) my all-time favourite book of last year, Out Stealing Horses, was an IMPAC winner, and b) it’s quite an international list, which means 52 Countries books as well. Also, I like that librarians all around the world nominate the books, even if a jury does do the final deliberations, and let’s not forget to mention it’s the richest literary prize in the whole damn world.
Here are the 8 shortlisted books for the International IMPAC Dublin Literary Award:
1. The Speed of Light by Javier Cercas
*This will also count as Spain
2. The Sweet and Simple Kind by Yasmine Gooneratne
*This will count as Sri Lanka
3. DeNiro’s Game by Rawi Hage
*This will count as Lebanon, as Hage was born in Beirut.
4. Dreams of Speaking by Gail Jones
*This would have been Australia if I hadn’t already read the amazing Tim Winton.
5. Let it be Morning by Sayed Kashua
*This will count as Israel
6. The Attack by Yasmina Khadra
*This will be Algeria
Finished on Saturday, April 19th, 2008
7. Winterwood by Patrick McCabe
8. The Woman Who Waited by Andrei Makine
So there you have it, all eight titles, many of which I’m having a heck of a time getting in Canada. Right now I’ve started with The Attack (Quinn’s already one book ahead of me) and once my package arrives from Amazon.ca with The Speed of Light, The Woman Who Waited, and DeNiro’s Game, I’ll at least have half the titles I need. The rest I’m going to try to track down this weekend.
UPDATED TO ADD: Winterwood, Let It Be Morning, and Dreams of Speaking are coming from Amazon.co.uk. That just leaves one title, The Sweet and Simple Kind, that I can’t seem to buy anywhere.
Thursday begins as
one of those days
where my heart feels
as mottled as my skin
Freckled, sun damaged
scarred from old injuries
(a finger in a vacuum cleaner)
pock marked and
aged beyond its years.
I reviewed this over at The Savvy Reader for work. Good grief, Helen Humphreys is a great writer.
Sam and M are doing poems this month, and I’ve been lax in mine even though I said to both of them I thought a poem a day was a good idea. At least I’ve managed one:
Wider Sidewalks
Today already feels outmoded,
antennas on roofs,
a last sip in the bottle,
a frowned-upon plastic bag,
even if the sun remains.
When I was creating the list of books for The Canadian Book Challenge, I thought it would be prudent to include a title from L.M. Montgomery because of the whole 100th anniversary of Anne celebration. The book I originally picked was Anne of the Island, which I had chosen because I thought it was the one about the First World War. Obviously, my memory’s a bit murky, considering I read all these books when I was about 10 years old, because the book I really wanted to read was Rilla of Ingleside (as I discovered in the bookstore).
Of course, I remembered next to nothing about the book, so the whole reading experience was quite a surprise. It’s easy to see how all of the Anne books are so beloved, Montgomery has a way with characters and plot that flow like good conversation. You don’t care if the point of view flops all over the place, aren’t bothered by the funny little quirks in her writing, don’t mind that people float in and out of Ingelside with alarming frequency. There’s a heart to the books that’s so warm, inviting and, frankly, comforting that they act like the best of one’s childhood memories. You know those parts of you that were shaped by the person you were when you read Anne in the first place.
Rilla of Ingleside follows Anne’s youngest child, a free-spirited, surprisingly (in her words) unmotivated young woman from just before the war starts, through her miraculous changes otherwise known as growing up, to the months following the Armistice. Rilla’s adventures, her war baby (adopted), her Junior Red Cross moments, the lively cast of characters that inhabit her family home, they all combine to create a whimsical world I was happy to be lost in this week. The landscape reveals as much about the book as the spirit of the people in it, and I think it’s a huge part of the success of these novels.
I was listening to the CBC on Saturday afternoon when Ian Brown and guests were talking about Allison Pick’s poetry collection, The Dream World. While I haven’t read it, I was intrigued by their discussion around a line in one of the poems that describes the narrator knowing how she all about condoms and but not trees (I am doing a terrible disservice to Pick’s work right now and I do realize that; I’m sorry), and that idea stuck with me. It’s exactly the opposite in Montgomery’s work. She knows the plants, the trees, the hills, the water, the birds, the flowers, the bushes, the rocky paths, and that’s what brings the landscape to life, what makes it seem alive. In truth, it’s the heart of the books.
PHOTO IN CONTEXT: Just the cover, I’m afraid, and how very 1983. Awesome.
READING CHALLENGES: As I mentioned, it’s PEI, and the 8th book I’ve read for The Canadian Book Challenge. That means 5 to go!