Muddled And Awake

So very many things can happen in a week. And then life interferes with posting. But as I tried to sleep for an hour but couldn’t, I decided to get up and troll the internet. I’ve landed here after much procrastinating, having always promised myself that I wouldn’t blog tired. What are promises if not to be broken?

So, what exactly happened in a week? Well, we went to go see There Will Be Blood, which is very good, and I think Daniel Day-Lewis will win the Oscar.

I saw the Super Fancy Disease Doctor today and he proclaimed (for the most part) the disease in remission. Cause for celebration, absolutely. But not 100% out of the woods. I was explaining to the Super Not-So Fancy Just Yet Intern that I am so tired these days I can barely make it up a flight of stairs. At first I thought maybe I was anemic but my bloodwork is bloody brilliant. Pun absolutely intended. So they’re stumped. Could be the disease, could be adjusting to lower meds, could be just the ills of every day life. All that means is more tests: chest x-ray, more bloodwork, 24-hour pee test (gack), and maybe chest CT if they see anything. Awesome.

Or not.

But maybe I’m just tired of the disease in general and it’s bumming me out. Years and years of meds have absolutely worn me down to the quick.

I’m in the middle of The Outlander for my Canada challenge. More on that later.

We leave for Mexico in two days. I’m already packed. This says nothing about my organizational skills but everything about how much I love to pack. Seriously. I love to pack. LOVE. TO. PACK.

Two burly fellows came today and installed brand new windows. Four of them, including one that will eventually live above my sink in the kitchen. Every woman needs a window above a sink. I can’t remember where that comes from. If someone remembers, please remind me.

Writing class was utterly painful yesterday. So much so that I have taken a severe beating. If black and blue weren’t such a tired metaphor, I’d use it.

#2 – July’s People

Nadine Gordimer’s July’s People is a bloody good book. A book I wasn’t necessarily expecting to be as riveting as I certainly found it, and by far one of the best titles I’ve read from the 1001 Books list. In fact, I was so obsessed with finishing that I stood on Lansdowne Ave and read the last two pages before walking home. Some guy walked by, chuckled, and said, “Must be a really good book.”

Uh, duh.

The story takes place in South Africa in 1980 during an uprising, which is fictional, where the country is invaded by Mozambique. With mayhem all around, Maureen, her husband Bam, and their three children are forced to flee the city. Their servant, whom they call July, offers to take them to his village, where they settle in his mother-in-law’s hut for the time being.

Stripped of their city life, their status, and with nothing but the colour of their skin and a few prized possessions (a “bakkie” [truck] and a rifle) to remind them of what life was once like and despite their fiercely liberal beliefs, Bam and Maureen struggle to get along in this foreign world. Fighting fleas, sickness in their children, language difficulties, and a whole host of other problems, it’s a challenge just to get through a day.

After weeks pass, the family starts to adjust, and the little motions that happen in families start again. The children make friends, and even Maureen finds herself more comfortable around the other women, gathering greens for dinner with them, speaking in broken Afrikaans to them, and managing the hut with a strong hand. But as a whole the family cannot flourish in the environment, and as a result, the relationship between July and the Smales breaks down.

Once affable, even amiable, small things pick away at the core differences between them: how July refuses to give back the car keys after taking a trip to town; how Maureen lords the information of his city mistress over him; and how he adjusts to life back in the village full time, how his own presence effects his family unused to seeing him home. Themes of racial inequality are impossible to ignore, as they’re turned on their heads, then ripped apart, and forced into situations that exploit how the idea of the liberalism so cherished by Maureen and her husband in a philosophical way is almost farcical.

In one of my undergraduate classes in post-colonial literature, I read Gordimer’s Burger’s Daughter, which I remember to be just as poignant and readable as July’s People. It was the same year that I read my first novel by J.M. Coetzee, Waiting for the Barbarians, but for some reason, I carried on reading him and abandoned Gordimer altogether. Maybe now is the time for me to read more Gordimer? Especially considering how much I enjoyed this novel.

PHOTO IN CONTEXT: Because I didn’t have my camera with me on Lansdowne as I read the last two pages, I’ve piled the book up on a stack of ARCs that I have to take back to work. Oh, and there are some stocking feet poking their way in as well as the library book I need to return. Ah, the life of a literary gal.

READING CHALLENGES: July’s People is on two of my lists: the 1001 Books I’d like to read this year, and the South African entry in my current Around the World in 52 Books. I’d highly recommend it for either. Oh, and I think Nadine Gordimer won the Nobel Prize for Literature (which I just confirmed on Wikipedia; she won in 1991), so we can add that to the major award winners that I’ve read in my lifetime too. Whew. Kind of like a bird life list for bookish peeps.

Feeling Linkish

In consistently trying to keep SavvyReader interesting (you can tell me if it’s not; I won’t be offended), I’ve been trolling the web for links today. Not all of them related directly to work, but I still found them interesting:

The Guardian posted a list of the 10 Best Lit Blogs a while back that led me over here where I discovered yet another cool reading challenge. Oh, and I didn’t know that 2008 was considered the International Year of Planet Earth. I might just sign up to read Krakatoa too.

People are apparently proclaiming classical music, somewhat like the novel, dead. As a girl who listens to CBC radio 2 on an almost daily basis, I’m not 100% convinced this is true. And I’m glad this guy doesn’t think so either. But goodness, I remember taking a philosophy of music course in university, and wow, what a mistake. Our prof was crazy (at one point he fell OFF the podium and broke his arm) and I was absolutely not cut out for that kind of “theory.” Give me Descartes any day.

This best of list is completely unlike any other I’ve read for books in 2007.

And poor Tom Wolfe. Yawn.

Okay, I’m officially linked out for today.

Around the World in 52 Books – 2008

I’ve been mulling over whether or not I want to restrict my reading by doing the Around the World in 52 Books challenge again this year. But I think my overall reading was absolutely enriched by forcing myself out of my comfort zone (read: Canadian fiction) that it would be a shame not to try again, even if I did only manage 33 overall countries. So, here’s the list. I’ve copied the remaining countries I didn’t get to in 2007, and added a few books that have been lingering on my shelves, and will be adding more authors as we go along, having promised myself not to simply read another book by the same writer I read last year as a way of easily knocking countries down off the list. So, here’s where we are so far:

1. The Successor, Ismail Kadare, Albania
2. The Attack, Yasmina Khadra, Algeria
3. The Turning, Tim Winton, Australia
4. The Outlander, Gil Adamson, Canada
5. The House of the Spirits, Isabel Allende, Chile
6. Soul Mountain, Gao Xingjian, China
7. The Trial, Franz Kafka, Czech Republic
8. The Brief Wonderous Life of Oscar Wao, Junot Diaz, Dominican Republic
9. The Outcast, Sadie Jones, England
10. Voice Over, Celine Curiol, France
11. Austerlitz, W.G. Sebald, Germany
12. Our Sister Killjoy, Ama Ata Aidoo, Ghana
13. Disappearance, David Dabydeen, Guyana
14. The Melancholy of Resistance, Laszlo Krasznahorkai, Hungary
15. Halldór Laxness, Independent People, Iceland
16. The Inheritance of Loss, Kiran Desai, India
17. The Sea, John Banville, Ireland
18. Let it be Morning, Sayed Kashua, Israel
19. From Harvey River, Lorna Goodison, Jamaica
20. The Unconsoled, Kazuo Ishiguro, Japan
21. Petals of Blood, Ngugi Wa Thiong’o, Kenya
22. DeNiro’s Game, Rawi Hage, Lebanon
23. The Reluctant Fundamentalist, Mohsin Hamid, Pakistan
24. Blindness, Jose Saramago, Portugal
25. The Woman Who Waited, Makine, Russia
26. Nurudin Farah, Links, Somalia
27. The Speed of Light, Javier Cercas, Spain
28. The Sweet and Simple Kind, Yasmine Gooneratne, Sri Lanka
29. July’s People, Nadine Gordimer, South Africa
30. Javier Cercas, Soldiers of Salamis, Spain
31. Dave Eggers / Valentino Achak Deng, What is the What, Sudan
32. Astrid and Veronika, Linda Olsson, Sweden
33. All Soul’s Day, Cees Nooteboom, The Netherlands
34. In a Free State, V.S. Naipul, Trinidad
35. My Name is Red, Orhan Pamuk, Turkey
36. Unaccustomed Earth, Jhumpa Lahiri, United States

Added after this master list:

37. Hunger, Knut Hamsun, Norway

#1 – I Married The Klondike

As of about 8 AM this morning, I was reading the following books: July’s People, War and Peace, What Was Lost, Under the Volcano, The Outlander and I Married the Klondike. The first title in this list of the ridiculously scattered reading I finished was Laura Beatrice Berton’s I Married the Klondike, a memoir written by Pierre Berton’s mother about her time in the North. Not unlike Out of Africa in tone, but with a softer, sweeter core, Berton’s story rolls along with a merry voice that shows the author not only clearly enjoyed her life, but also the setting in which she lived vigorously for many years.

As a schoolteacher living at home in Toronto, Miss Thompson (the author’s maiden name) left at twenty-nine to teach kindergarten in the Yukon. During her years in Dawson City, she fell in love, raised a family, and stayed until her husband ultimately lost his job during the Depression. Leaving behind “the Outside” world for a hard, but happy, life full of old prospectors, prostitutes, upper class society mavens, politics and adventure, it’s a completely charming story of a different kind of life lived.

If I have one small criticism, it’s that the book reads perhaps a bit too much like a small town newspaper account of the author’s time in the Klondike. There are few interpersonal details, which I guess isn’t really the point she’s trying to make, but rather record a history that was definitely only known to the few hearty pioneers who settled Dawson City. And I would imagine that the distance I felt in the narrative might too be evidence of Berton’s own upbringing — written long before the A Million Little Pieces style of memoirs, it’s no doubt she didn’t simply refuse to talk about the more personal aspects of her story, but having them within the narrative may not have ever even crossed her mind.

I know, however, that books aren’t read in a vacuum, and I’d have to say that the same kind of quasi-racism that troubled me in Dinsen’s book, kept nagging at me here too, when Berton wrote things about the “half-breeds” and “going wild like the Indians”, the book made me kind of uncomfortable. It’s interesting then to note that, in all honesty, I was pleasantly surprised to enjoy the book as much as I did.

The history of the Klondike is a subject I find fascinating. Ever since I wrote a series of articles about it for History Television, it’s been something I float back to on occasion, and it was interesting to read the history from a woman’s point of view — to get the perspective of one not intending to strike it rich, but of an adventurous woman who sets out to take a challenging post for one year and ends up spending her entire life. As Berton notes, “I imagine that in everyone’s life there eventually comes a moment when a simple question, or a chance meeting, or a knock on the door, changes the entire course of one’s future.”

Lastly, wouldn’t it be fun to take part in the Berton House Writer’s Retreat?

PHOTO IN CONTEXT: I read a copy of the book that had a library binding and so decided not to take a picture. Instead, I found the original jacket image from M&S (which wasn’t hard, ahem, Amazon!), but if you’re looking to read the book now, Harbour Publishing has the book back in print.

READING CHALLENGE: I’m going to try and balance out my Canadian reading and participate in The Canadian Book Challenge this year (In case you’re wondering, I’ve picked #1 The White Stripes Way). I’m counting this book as my Yukon entry, even before I decide what I’m going to read for the remaining rest of the provinces and territories!

TRH Movie – I Am Legend

Goodness. Note to self: should only see scary movies with RRHB to grab on to because poor Zesty and I were quite beside ourselves by the end of the 101 minutes. Overall, I really enjoyed I Am Legend. It reminded me a lot of 28 Days Later, just like Charidy from work said, and Children of Men (my favourite film of 2006). In some ways, I think the marketing for the film might be doing it a disservice, positioning the film as some sort of Will Smith post-apocalyptic situation, man vs. environment kind of thing, but the movie runs deeper than the trailer or posters might have you think.

Smith plays Dr. Robert Neville, a Lt. Col. who remains in New York to battle the human disaster inflicted by a cure for cancer that goes awry — devolving people into zombie/vampire-like creatures that cluster in hives and feed. Once the virus goes “airborne” the entire population of the Earth is almost wiped out, save the 1% who are curiously immune to the virus, and those who have managed to stay alive despite now becoming food for the “nightstalkers”. His motivation for staying behind is noble — modern science created the situation, and he’s looking for a cure, which he believes can only exist at Ground Zero. But there are emotional reasons for his actions as well, many of which come to light during flashbacks to the moment when the government closed off “the island” of NYC from the rest of the country.

Like Children of Men, what scares me most about films like this is how rooted they are not necessarily in fact, but in the very near distant future. It’s the ease with which humanity as we know it can be destroyed that stays with me and makes me think about how tenuous the grasp of civilization is on society in general. It’s all very philosophical, I know.

But in a sense, I heartily disagree with Owen Gleiberman, who said, “Let’s be honest: The peril of infectious disease, while quite real, is hardly the anxiety of the moment.” In that I don’t think the point of the film is to comment necessarily on the peril of infectious diseases, but the pace in which the modern world wants to tinker with nature and take it to an edge, thinking that we’ll inevitably win. That our actions have no consequences, and in dealing with those actions, there’s a responsibility to find the parts worth saving and hang on to them. If we look at it that way, there’s no doubt that the themes of the movie are incredibly relevant to the global conversations of today about cloning, pandemics, environmentalism and a whole host of other socio-political debates.

Annywaay, back to the movie. Smith’s performance is solid, even heartbreaking in parts, and the movie was paced well enough that boredom in the form of the Tom Hanks-type in Cast Away never sets in. The special effects, beyond the fairly typical looking CGI creatures, are truly magnificent in terms of the look and feel of an the accidental wilderness of the reclaimed New York City. Some of it’s a bit over the top, but I appreciated it none the less (and I’m thinking of just one scene in particular that I won’t spoil here). Completely worthy of gift certificates on a Saturday afternoon.

Sunday Morning Distractions

Procrastination in the form of avoiding reading internet celebrity gossip has since discovered these things:

1. Ray Charles sings “(Night Time Is) The Right Time”. A song I heard in the diner yesterday during brunch with Sam and Sadie and couldn’t remember where I had heard it recently. If by “recently” my brain means two years ago when we watched the movie Ray. I have since downloaded the song from iTunes, another glorious diversion, along with Ruth Brown’s wicked “Mama He Treats Your Daughter Mean.”

2. Impressive coverage with impressively impressive magazines about fifth and final season of The Wire. A Hot Document from Slate. A Hot Read on theAtlantic.com entitled “The Angriest Man in Television.” The most annoying writer in the history of television criticism weighs in and says nothing.

3. The VON sent nurses to the Yukon to help the miners. Faith Fenton accompanied them and wrote articles for the Globe. Further clicking reveals a book published by my own company.

4. Next week’s episode of Friday Night Lights looks so good.

5. Dave Grohl cracks me up. And when Britney Spears shows on up CBC.ca, that means it’s news, right, and not gossip? But, seriously, shut up Dr. Phil, I can barely believe you’re remotely interested in her mental health, and I can foresee a “ripped from the headlines” episode of Law and Order in the works the minute people wake up and start paying the writers. Sigh.

It sucks me back in every time.

TRH Ramblings Version ’08

I might have mentioned that I’m a band widow this week as my RRHB is up north recording. It’s been a productive time. Managing to keep to my page-a-day challenge, and being in the middle of approximately 5 books, many of which I intend to finish before he gets back, it’s nice to have some alone time, even if I do get a bit lonely. And I also haven’t been sleeping all that well, and only managed about four hours last night — even so, I’m surprisingly not cranky. Instead, I woke up ready to write a list about all of the things I am thankful for on this gray, rainy Saturday morning:

1. Last night’s episode of Friday Night Lights. I watched it in real time after I put my nephew to bed (I was babysitting), which only reminded me how much I hate commercials. There were so many reasons to like what was happening: the way Lyla reacted to her mother’s engagement, Tim’s experience with being the boy who cried wolf too many times, how he flourished in a sense in a family environment, and how it was Coach that made the mistake. But what I liked most of all is the fact that the show doesn’t turn to stunts to drive up the ratings and melodrama, like, ahem, others. While there was a tornado in town, it didn’t become the centrepiece of a ridiculous rescue mission. Instead, it was a source of conflict when Laribee was forced to bunk in with Dillon for football practice. But more so, it was the everyday tragedies that followed that really drove the story forward. I was up for the good portion of last night thinking about the idea of everyday tragedy. Damn you FNL (but in a good way).

2. Hearing a song that you weren’t expecting and having that make you dance around your writing room singing “You’re my wonderwall.” And then putting it on repeat. And maybe repeating it again, oh and listening to Neko Case in the car on the way home from brunch.

3. The power of imagination and text messaging to keep you company when you’re so tired you can barely think.

4. Going to the movies in the afternoon. With gift certificates.

5. Brunch. This blog. And Q-tip. In that order.

Things I Am Embarrassed To Admit

My RRHB tells me consistently that I have no sense of humour, which may or may not be true, so I’m embarrassed to admit that this made me laugh a little. I went through a Tom Green phase many years ago, and even went so far as to read his book, Hollywood Causes Cancer. I have to admit that maybe this bit went on for perhaps too long, but I do admire his tenacity, even when it starts to maybe not be so funny any more.

TRH Movie – The Hottest State

Goodness. I don’t know why I watched this movie. I mean, I know why I watched the movie, as many of you can guess, but it was just so annoying on so many levels. First off, I think it tried too hard to sell the story of a young actor who gets his heart broken for the first time on the path to adulthood. And secondly, the whole film would have gone down better if the characters weren’t caricatures — and if there wasn’t all the quasi-deep crap surrounding everything they said. Honestly, it was a little like watching an episode of Dawson’s Creek where you barely believe a word that comes out of everyone’s mouths they’re so bloody serious all the time.

But that’s not to say that the movie doesn’t have its moments. Any time Laura Linney’s on screen for one thing, and the relationship she has with her son, the main character, William, is quite lovely. Oh, and I adored the soundtrack, with its lovely Emmylou Harris song, and I think it was shot beautifully, all golden and glowing, like the idea of youth itself. I just think that the words might have needed a bit of a second draft. And the female character, Sarah, was really underdeveloped, her actions mimicking the idea of an independent spirit rather than imbuing them with the strength Hawke obviously meant to infer within her character. I think I would have much preferred the movie between William and Michelle Williams’ character, Samantha, she has such a lovely depth to her that made me want to see more of how damaged the two of them would have been to one another.

So some good, some bad, but nothing to deserve the absolute ire from Scott Brown over at EW. Harsh.