Three other books I forgot to mention last week:

Pretty Little Dirty: Granted I read this while lounging on a beach, but it was interesting … i appreciated that the friendship between Lisa and Celeste was complicated and spiked with jealousy as well as devotion … there’s nothing more annoying that reading a book with female leads that’s all coffee dates and shoe-sharing. 

Picked up Thank you for smoking at the airport and read the book from cover-to-cover in no time. Funny … Haven’t seen the movie, but hope to catch it on the Movie Network at some point …

Also started (but did not finish) Veronica … not sure why. Don’t think I gave this one enough time. My attention span lately has been less than 100 pages and if a book doesn’t grab me, I’m gone … think part of the problem is that I’m approaching reading like it’s some sort of assignment instead of a leisure activity … tsk, tsk – i know …

Other than being silly busy, i have no excuse. For the two people who ask me regularly why I’m not posting – thank you for the kick in the butt – I’m going to do my best to get back into the routine.

Here’s what I’ve read since we last met:

• The Other Boleyn Girl

Yes, I read it because the movie’s coming out with Scarlett Johansson and Natalie Portman … but, I have confessed my weakness for historical fiction and I do enjoy Philippa Gregory’s books from time-to-time. It is what it is and I liked it.

• The Hungry Years: Confessions of a food addict

Great for the first 100 pages, but I started to lose interest quickly.

• Running with Scissors

Odd (odd) story, but worth reading … looking forward to the movie, but I can’t imagine it will capture how bizarre the relationship is between mother, son and the adopted family.

… am drawing a blank … there’s been others, but two are waterlogged as I read them while in Mexico and I can’t picture the titles for the life of me … will look under the bed and report back. One was a slightly higher-brow version of chick-lit and described an interesting relationship between two female friends.

At the moment, I’m attempting The Red Tent (for a second time), and am reading A Sunday at the Pool in Kigali. Struggling.

Anyone read Red? I read Snow, which is also by Orhan Pamuk and enjoyed his style of writing … have picked it up and read the first page while standing at Cole’s … but haven’t quite made it to the cash.

Sunday night we were over at mum’s for dinner and because I was trying to avoid watching golf and doing the dishes, I started nosing through the bookcase in the basement. Found several novels that belong to me, which I reclaimed, and the most bizarre assortment of books.

Seems that my mum has kept many of the books that I loved as a little girl; including the classic Barbie Goes to a Party, where finding the right outfit takes 50 pages, A Child’s Garden of Verses, and several Shel Silverstein books of poetry.

As an aside, at a friend’s wedding about a month ago the sister of the groom read a Shel Silverstein poem that was wonderful … most adults leave authors like Silverstein and Dennis Lee for lost after the age of 15 and that’s a shame … they really have wonderful stories to share …

Anyway, mum also has The American Girl Book of First Date Stories from about 1962 that made me pause. For a second, I thought she picked it up at a garage sale as she’s starting to channel my grandmother and collect odds and ends that end up in random piles, but the inscription on the inside cover reads: “Grade seven – highest in history, Judy Champ.” That’s my mum.

According to the editor’s note, “a first date is something special – something a girl will never forget. Some of the fist dates described in these pages were perfect as a dream, while others were perfect disasters. But all were something to remember. These stories … will be enjoyed by every girl who has ever had a first date, or is looking forward to one.”  

Oh my. Can you imagine comparing first date stories from today’s Cosmo Girl to “The Nonconformist and the Quarterback,” the first story in the book? Somehow I think the editors of American Girl Magazine would be shocked at what constitutes a first date in 2006.I’m pretty sure my first official date included Bette Midler’s Beaches and that I cried my way through the entire movie. Partly because I tripped my best friend Sarah and made her fall in front of her date (by ACCIDENT) and partly because I was pretty sure someone was going to die from the opening credits. But then again, I cry while watching Hook.

Back to the book … was completely suckered into buying The Memory Keeper’s Daughter. Suckered may be strong. I tend to pick up “debut novels” as I’m intrigued by the idea that an author may have some completely new idea, or a new approach to an old idea, or a beautiful or unconventional style of writing … starting to think that may not be the case with this one … though, I’m going to keep reading as I’m hoping for a moment that really drags me into the story. We’ll see.

This has been long and rambling. My apologies. I’m typing away as Jason and two good friends make their way through some Tiger Wood’s x-box game … think I’ll pop in the ear plugs and try to get through the next couple of chapters of my book …

Dangerous Dan’s Diner is a scary-looking joint at the corner of Broadview and Queen that serves ridiculously huge portions of grease. I met friends there for dinner and over the course of two hours we shared the place with a bedazzled family celebrating a birthday, four scrawny teenagers who ordered Coronary Burger Specials, some dude who kept taking his shoes off (ick) and a 50 year old guy with thinning hair cemented into perfect formation who wore far too much gold. 

Both friends love to read and we spent a lot of time talking about books. We also talked about the strippers lounging outside Jilly’s and the upcoming film festival, but most of the conversation was of a more academic nature. 

One of the things that came up was that blogging has prompted me to pay closer attention to what I read. As I tend to read before bed, if a book hasn’t completely captured me I’m likely to absently skim several pages before admitting that I’m half asleep. The process of sitting down and trying to write something coherent in hopes of someone sharing their opinion has meant that I’m much more alert and sometimes make notes. Now, a lot of those notes haven’t made it to Spineless but that’s because when I sit down at the computer I’m less impressed with the thought than I was the night before.  

Think it’s part of working out the kinks. Would love to know how long it takes to really hit some sort of stride.

I finished The Closed Circle shortly after getting back from holidays but the thought of sitting at a computer after 6 p.m. to write about it set off waves of uncontrollable twitching and sneezing.

We had dinner with good friends on Saturday night and one was kind enough to ask when I planned to post again … I took that as a gentle nudge that I shouldn’t pester people to read Spineless and then ignore it for over a week. My soon to be sister-in-law helped alleviate my guilt by shouting from the kitchen something along the lines of: “What blog? You have a blog? What do you write about …?”

Sorry, you couldn’t see it but I was having a moment …

For me, the strength of The Rotters’ Club was the wonderfully written shift from the indistinguishable gang of teenagers we meet in 1973 to strong individual characters shaped by personal and political events. The Closed Circle picks up Benjamin, Claire, Philip, Doug and Sean’s story 20 years later.

I liked The Close Circle because of the way it moves back and froth through time while offering new information and filling in holes from The Rotters’ Club. Much like Saturday, The Closed Circle uses the conflict in the Middle East as a way of exploring personalities and political views. It worked for me here because the characters reflect the varied and strong opinions people have about the war. Saturday just felt passive-aggressive.

There’s much more to the novel, but last night’s celebrations have left me a bit foggy and now that the Emmy’s are over, I really want to crawl into bed.

Will try and stay awake long enough to start one of the stories in my new Virginia Woolf collection. I really shouldn’t try and read her stuff when drowsy … that’s probably why I never finished Mrs Dalloway. It’s just that it’s too big to cart around and I’ll end up picking up something slimmer for the work commute. Speaking of, I had a yellow sticky stuck to the inside of my wallet with all the books I want to read but that’s gone and I’ve been so preoccupied that I’m having a hard time recreating it … think I’ll have to spend some time this week reading book blogs and trying to get back into the loop …

Amy

As soon as I walked into Book City yesterday I zeroed in on a collection of Virginia Woolf stories that I had to buy … partly because it was on sale for under $10, and partly because my aunt Sue, who’s starting her Masters in September, plans to study Virginia Woolf and how physics fits into her work. She explained her thesis to me last time she was in town (slowly and more than once, if I remember correctly), but I’m still at a bit of a loss when trying to articulate exactly what she’s studying. 

I figured with the new book, I’ll have at least attempted Mrs. Dalloway when I see her next and will be able to throw out random statements like: “I found that Woolf’s stream of consciousness style really helped explain the law of relatively.” Having never taken physics (BA history, thank you very much), I’m not really sure where to go with that …  

Anyway, also picked up the new Jonathan Coe novel, The Closed Circle, because I enjoyed The Rotter’s Club and thought I’d give it a go. Almost put the book back on the shelf because it drives me crazy when there’s no story outline on the back cover or inside flap. With most novels priced in the $20 range, publishers are asking readers to take huge leaps of faith when they plaster the book with endorsements but no summary. Personally, I couldn’t give two hoots if The Guardian loved the book, I’d like to know what it’s about before leaving the store.  

Flipped through to the author’s note and saw that it’s a continuation of The Rotter’s Club. Okay, thank you. Now, I’ll buy it.

Have been completely negligent about posting. Trying to get everything done before I go on holidays next week and just haven’t had a chance to sit down and read.

Hoping to get caught up while we’re in Ottawa for a couple of days … and I have three days on a dock planned for next weekend. If I’m not completely consumed by the pile of trash magazines sure to make an appearance, I’m hoping to really get into The Unbearable Lightness of Being.

I had dinner with a friend this evening who mentioned that’s reading Perfume: The Story of a Murderer, which I’m going to ask to borrow when she’s done.

Lamb finished with more of a whimper than I’d originally hoped for … not enough there for a formal novel and think the author could have pushed the humour by introducing each new character through a series of short stories or “gospels” … I’m all over short stories at the moment … there could still be overlap, but the story needed to be sharper to maintain the momentum generated in the first 100 pages.

Amy

Am thoroughly enjoying Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ’s Childhood Pal.   

Since starting the book, I’ve found myself eavesdropping on strangers talking about god in public spaces. The first time it happened I really tried to avoid listening because guys in suits with name tags freak me out, but the conversation had a bizarre guerilla theatre feel to it and I’m still not sure whether it was staged. There’s just something odd about two guys, both in suits … one a Jehovah’s Witness and the other a scientologist, literally rapping back-and-forth about their faith and its strength on a streetcar. What I took away from it was that the scientologist dude doesn’t think L. Ron Hubbard’s “knew god” but apparently he was a really “awesome researcher.” Whatever that means… 

Last night I met friends at a pub for dinner and we couldn’t figure out what was going on at the table next to us. At first, we thought it was some sort of awkward singles event, but attendee ages ranged from 20 to 65 years and no one looked like they’d dressed for a date. About half way through our meal, a gentleman in a rugby shirt stood up and started talking about John the Baptist … and then everyone stood up, said a little prayer, hugged each other, and left.  

The John the Baptist portrayed in Lamb is wholly different from the one buddy talked about in the bar … he seemed less concerned about ridding Jerusalem of “sluts” and more focused on spreading a traditional gospel.  

I am glad that Biff and Joshua (aka Jesus) are finally starting the ministry. Both spend years searching for the three wise men who attended Josh’s birth. It’s interesting as
Moore points out how similar the teachings are to eastern philosophy, but really … it slows the momentum of the book and the humour starts to drag. 

Not sure what’s next on the agenda … been busy and haven’t been reading as much … may spend some time over the long weekend checking out my local bookstore. 

Have a lovely weekend …

Meant to post this last Friday … Lazy afternoon reading … 25 Cinematic Cliches.

Given my poor showing with Ulysses, R.M Vaughan’s column in yesterday’s Globe made me smile. Tried to link to it, but it’s behind the pay wall. I’ve pinched and posted parts of the article to support the much maligned “summer read.”  

I blame Jian Ghomeshi. The floppy-haired CBC Radio One host has been bragging all summer that he is reading James Joyce’s Ulysses, another impossible book. He’s way past page 17, I’m sure — but then, he has production assistants. 

…

Faced with one of my failings, I make like the Conservative Party and take comfort in fake populism. I’m just an ordinary fellow, I tell myself, a common sort. Why should I be held to such impossibly high literary standards? Only eggheads, Brits, sexual deviants (same thing) and desperate-for-ideas movie producers read 19th-century literature. What are the reg’lar folks reading?

Regular folks, according to paperback bestseller lists across this continent (okay, the English-speaking parts) are inhaling Michael Connelly’s latest legal thriller The Lincoln Lawyer — the title of which, you’ll be relieved to know, refers not to Abraham Lincoln or any other remotely educational topic, but to a large automobile. See, you’re already over the biggest hurdle.

Once you crack this book open, you’re safely on autopilot for a good 500 pages. What bliss, to glide like a bit of dandelion fluff from one neatly mowed, monochromatic lawn of text to the next. You could literally read this book drunk on a noisy bus and still not miss a plot point. Connelly is a no-frills writer from the Ellery Queen school of mystery fiction: Unveil the dastardly crime no later than page 5, set up the main characters before page 25, proceed with the nifty procedurals.

… 

The publishing industry, a world as rarefied (and, increasingly, about as relevant) as Dead Sea Scroll scholarship, likes to refer to books like The Lincoln Lawyer — fast paced, well-crafted books that engage millions — as summer books, or, more dismissively, beach books, as if people are any smarter in the winter or indoors. … 

I wish Ghomeshi the luck of the Irish in his attempt to skip across the bogs of Ulysses.

But by the time he’s finished, I’ll have read The Lincoln Lawyer, two science-fiction novels, and a grocery checkout book (another misunderstood literary subset) about plastic-surgery disasters — all without consulting a dictionary, flipping back to some enigmatic foreshadowing in the beginning chapters, or reverently placing said books gently on my lap whilst savouring the author’s dulcet flow.

R.M. Vaughan is a Toronto artist, novelist, poet and playwright.

Amy