Forfatter: Mirthful

Raw Spirit

Mirthful

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A book about whisky which is also a travel-book on Scotland? Ok, count me in!

Iain Banks’ Raw Spirit is a delight of a book, actually. LOL-funny in places and thought-provoking in others (and what more can you ask). I may not agree with all Banks’ opinions in «the search for the perfect dram» (you’d be unlikely to find me waxing lyrical about a whisky which is bottled at a measly 40% abv. – I resent having to settle for a strength that’s dictated more by economics than taste, and I’d rather pay the extra dosh to be given the choice, but some destilleries won’t let me have that chance*), but that’s to be expected, the whole point of single malt whisky is it’s diverseness and the unlikelihood that you may never find another person who shares your preferences down to the last single barrel.

Mr. Midshipman Bolitho – Alexander Kent

Mirthful

In search of another Patrick O’Brian (ha!) I bought two «Bolitho-novels» in Hay to test Alexander Kent: Mr. Midshipman Bolitho and Midshipman Bolitho and the «Avenger». They are both now in a bookshelf at The Cricketers in Clavering. Not THAT good, in other words. Entertaining, sure, and I might read a few more, but only if – against all expectations – the local library has them, or if I can pick them up at around a pound second hand.

Paying Guests

Mirthful

Another Copenhagen find, Paying Guests by E.F.Benson does exactly what it says on the cover, which is always a Good Thing, I think. To quote what it says on the cover, so that you will have an idea what it does:

Bolton Spa is infamous for two things: the nauseating quality of its brine and the parsimony of its boarding houses. Exceptional is the Wentworth. Every summer this luxurious establishment is full of paying guests come to sample their waters, the constant hot meals, the happy family atmosphere. (…) Their triumphs, unforgettably and hilariously recorded here, will be relished throughout the land for years to come.

It also says «ranking with the very best of P.G. Wodehouse», which is just a tad exaggerated, at least I never found this Benson novel Laugh-Out-Loud funny, which Wodehouse is – frequently – but its still fundamentally humorous, and hence fundamentally human. For as Mr. Bennet, the wise man, said: «What do we live for, but to make sport for our neighbours and laugh at them in our turn?»

The Secret Life of Bees – Sue Monk Kidd

Mirthful

I was in the mood for a good story, hence I picked up The Secret Life of Bees by Sue Monk Kidd, and I was not disappointed. Lily Owens is a white, motherless child in the american south during the period of the civil rights movement. She runs away from an embittered and violent father and brings her black housekeeper – on the run from the law – with her when she goes in search of her mother’s story. They find sanctuary with three black sisters who keep bees, and Lily slowly comes to terms with life, death and her less than ideal relationship with her mother. It’s the sort of book that should have a «kleenex needed» warning sticker on the front, but it is also a very uplifting tale.

For Her Own Good – Two Centuries of the Experts’ Advice to Women

Mirthful

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I’ve been reading For Her Own Good on and off for a couple of months. Ehrenreich and English demonstrate how the (mostly) male «intellectuals» appropriated the right to make statements about female health – biological and psychological – which up until the 19th century had been the sole property of female healers, midwives and the network of mothers, grandmothers and aunts that any woman used to be surrounded by. It’s a pretty interesting piece of social history and an enlightening read, especially if you’re a woman, but I bet men would learn a bit about the «authority» of the self-styled/so-called experts, too.

Three Men on the Bummel

Mirthful

As the copy I picked up of Three Men in a Boat was a «two in one» with Three Men on the Bummel thrown in (though an old Everyman’s hardback, not the currently available paperback), I thought I might as well read that too. The three friends (though sans dog) set out again, this time for a ramble round Germany, mostly on bicycles. Much in the same style, and certainly with the same merrity-inducing capacity. There is – to mention but one – a lovely description of the «bicycle overhauler», he who takes the thing apart with skills that do not in the slightest match his very knowledgeable comments – we’ve all met them.

Krig!

Mirthful

Underholdende, vagt tankevekkende. Fikk lyst til å lese Åsne Seierstad for å sjekke om parodien er treffende (det er akkurat sånn jeg tror hun skriver, av en eller annen grunn, men siden jeg ikke har lest noe av henne er det jo litt vanskelig å vite… men jeg lo da i alle fall).

Where Did it all Go Right?

Mirthful

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One of the Copenhagen finds, Where Did it all Go Right? is subtitled «Growing up normal in the 70s» – intriguing enough to get me to pick it down from the shelf. This is a tale to counterpoint the chronicles of suffering produced by people who had miserable childhoods – not, as Collins points out, in order to belittle their plight, but in order to show that some things are right with the world even if much of it is wrong… And for someone who’s grown up normal in the 80s (Collins was born in 65, and is thus 9 years older than me – I can’t remember much from the 70s…), a lot of this stuff is head-noddingly familiar. «They tucked him up, his mum and dad» – well, so did mine. Collins bemoans the fact that he was never seriously ill – neither was I, I had chicken pox when I was four and at about the same time had to have two or three stitches on my chin due to slipping on the ice below a slide and hitting said chin on the edge, and that’s the most I can boast (Collins beats me in the number of childhood diseases, but only has a measly ingrown toenail to my stiches). There are other similarities and there are, reassuringly, quite a few differences, but despite these it’s mostly comfortingly familiar. This might not be great art or a candidate for «Memoirs of the Year», but it’s interesting enough and sufficiently well-written for me to want to get hold of the «sequel»: Heaven Knows I’m Miserable Now: My Difficult Student 80s. We’ll see.

Home Truths – David Lodge

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Picked from the shelf because of its lightness and it’s potential for being left behind when leaving Copenhagen, Home Truths is pleasant enough read, raising a couple of interesting (though, it must be admitted, by now somewhat over-hashed) points about media and fame and privacy and so on. The novella is basically the playtext of Lodge’s play by the same name with a couple of extra bits stuck in and «disguised» to read like a novel rather than a play (i.e. it says «Adrian said, (…), (…) Eleanor replied.» rather than «Adrian: (…) (line break) Eleanor: (…)»), which is fair enough, I suppose, except it still reads rather a lot like a play (being mostly dialogue) and since I’m the sort of person who enjoys reading play texts I would have preferred to read it as such. Never mind. Stuck a bookcrossing note in it and left it in The Bloomsday Bar.