Kategori: Aardwolf – one hit wonders

Bluestockings – Jane Robinson

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bluestockingsBluestockings – The Remarkable Story of the First Women to Fight for an Education by Jane Robinson came home with me from one of my browsing trips in a proper bookshop (so, somewhere in Britain) and surfaced in the recent bout of putting books on shelves. And I’m sure glad it did.

As a female and a graduate I am profoundly grateful to the women who first breached the barricades of higher education a century and a half ago. And to those who, undaunted by jeers, ridicule, hostility and pig-headedness perservered so that I and my contemporaries could take it for granted that if we wanted to go to university our sex, at least, would not stop us.

Jane Robinson has assembled an impressive amount of personal anecdotes from interviews, letters and diaries and woven them in with officially recorded dates and facts to provide a consise and highly readable history of women’s entry into higher education.

«There is a wonderful exhilaration about getting a degree. It is something more than the degree itself. It feels like coming into an inheritance of tradition,» quotes Robinson from a female graduate of Manchester in 1926. And it does. At least it did for me, and reading this book made me relive my own years at university and, particularly, my own graduation from Manchester (did you hear me cry: «Oh, sister!»?) and to reflect.

Read this book, especially if you also happen to be female and a graduate. It would also be the perfect gift for any young woman of your acquaintance going away to university for the first time, as it is not only designed to give her a sense of history but also to instill love of learning for learning’s sake, and to remind her to enjoy herself.  No mean thing.

Smakebit på søndag: Bluestockings

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bluestockings

This week, a taster from the book I started before the whole Aubrey/Maturin reread and which I’ve therefore had a looooong break in the middle of. Jane Robinson’s Bluestockings – The Remarkable Story of the First Women to Fight for an Education, page 156:

One tutor habitually damns with faint praise: ‘capable at times of work of good 2nd Class quality’; ‘exceedingly clever, but immature in mind’; ‘has worked steadily, but is much hampered by not knowing any grammar, French or English’ (and those were the subjects she was reading for her degree).

I’m rather enjoying the book, I’ll be back with a proper review once I’ve finished it.

More tasters – flere smakebiter – at Flukten fra virkeligheten.

Another roundup

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Not to be avoided, obviously.

The Great Western Beach by Emma Smith – charming.

The Rune Blade Trilogy by Ann Marston, consisting of The Kingmaker’s Sword, The Western King and Broken Blade. Engaging, well worth the time. My one gripe, if you can call it that, was that I’d have preferred to stay with the same protagonist throughout the trilogy. But I suppose that’s more of a «the books were too short» kind of complaint, which isn’t neccessarily a bad thing. Picked up the whole set as bookcrossing copies and have been meaning to release them, but haven’t gotten around to it yet. Must see about picking up further books from Marston.

One of our Thursdays is Missing by Jasper Fforde. A delight as usual, even more twisted than its predecessors, though I’d hardly have though that possible.

At Home by Bill Bryson. If anyone can tip me off about other authors who are as good at collecting, organising and relating anecdotes as Bill Bryson, please, please do.

That Old Cape Magic and The Bridge of Sighs by Richard Russo. Both quite magical in a very everyday, humdrum sort of way, if that makes any sense. Confirms Russo, again, as one of my all-time favourite authors.

And that’s mostly what I read during the holidays. Now, what did I read between March and July I wonder? Think, think, think.

———-

Update number 1: Well, of course, I reread the whole series that will not be named. That took a couple of days.

Update number 2: The School at the Chalet by Elinor Brent-Dyer. I’ve never read any of the Chalet School books before, and found this copy by chance so thought I’d try it. It’s niceish. I’ll probably buy more from the series if I come across them second-hand, but I doubt I can be bothered to search very hard.

Update numer 3: Karin Lindell, better known as Ketchupmamman, of course. I even registered it on Bookcrossing before passing it on. Her blog is hilarious at times and thought-provoking at times, which is a good mix. The book follows along the same lines, and is highly reccommended as a present for any new parents.

The Worst Date Ever – Jane Bussmann

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bussmann

We meet Jane Bussmann in Hollywood where, having failed at making it as a comedy writer, she is making a living interviewing – or making up interviews with – celebrities. Not feeling like this was, perhaps, just where her career ought to have taken her, she sets out to do something more meaningful in the best way she can, by finding a celebrity that’s doing something worthwhile. That he is also drop-dead gorgeus does not strike her as a drawback, hence the title. Through a series of events Bussmann finds herself in Uganda, without her interviewee, and starts doing her own research while waiting for him to show up. What she finds is that the drawn out conflict between the government of Uganda, headed by Museveni – regarded by «the west» as one of the Good Guys – and the rebel Kony, leading an army consisting mostly of kidnapped children, was not being carried out in such a straightforward manner as one might think, and that who was actually on which side seemed less clear the more people you talked to.

Now, finding that a conflict in an African country is not straight forward, finding that a conflict anywhere at all is not straight forward, is hardly surprising. However, Bussmann manages to narrate her investigation in such a way that you do feel personally involved, which is a good thing.

And along the way she does manage to convey the insanity of conflicts such as these and some of the plain idiocy you can be met with from those who are supposed to know better. Of the latter, here is an example:

Rebecca had had her retirement plans shelved by AIDS. I could be wrong, but I’d read that the man George Bush put in charge of foreign aid had the chance to make AIDS drugs affordable in Africa. However, the unfortunately named Andrew Natsios said it would have been irresponsible, because these drugs need to be taken at the same time every day. He really did mean Africans couldn’t tell the time.

All in all, though, it left me feeling a little… deflated? Not that I expected Bussmann to somehow, singlehandedly, solve all the political problems in Africa. That, I guess, would be an unfair expectation. However I guess I did expect… something. Something more than the book provides, anyway. Because whereas, to all intents and purposes, The Other Hand – a book still fresh in my memory – ends in disaster, it still manages to be life-affirming, and The Worst Date Ever ends on a bit of a «Meh».

Round-up

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Woooooody’s round-up. Eh, no, sorry, wrong movie.

The Help by Kathryn Stockett
Ok, so I’ve only read half. That half was really rather good, but I find myself unwilling to keep reading because I’ve got an uneasy sense of impending disaster. I might have to do something I would never normally do and find someone who’s finished it and make them tell me what happens. Then I might just finish. We’ll se.

The Other Hand by Chris Cleave
On the back this books gives a very sketchy idea of what it’s about and it asks you, when you’ve read it and want to recommend it to others, not to tell them much beyond «read this», which makes sense, since part of the charm of this book is how the story unfolds. I say «charm», because the book is charming. It is also very life-affirming. However, it is not for the faint-hearted. It deals with refugees and their stories, and the stories are never nice. They all start, as the narrator says, with the phrase «The men came and they…» and there is never a happy ending.  We only get one complete story, but the others are hanging about in the reader’s consciousness and are even more awful for being incomplete. Read it, though.

coupland

Generation A by Douglas Coupland
Served mostly to remind me of why I find it hard to like most new novels. It’s because they aren’t as good as this. This is what a novel should be like.

india

India by Torbjørn Færøvik
Excellent. Part travelogue, part condensed history of India. Note to self: Read more of Færøvik’s books.

Nåde – Linn Ullman

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ullmannJeg plukket opp Linn Ullmans Nåde på forrige bookcrossingtreff i Trondheim, siden jeg jo til stadighet tenker at jeg burde lest mer norsk samtidslitteratur. Når vi skulle en tur til Oslo i helgen ble den med, delvis fordi den så ut til å være noe jeg kunne bli ferdig med i løpet av turen og dermed sette igjen på OBCZ’en på Oslo S. Og slik ble det. Bokens bookcrossingside finner du her.

Fra forlagets omtale:

Da Johan Sletten blir alvorlig syk, inngår han en avtale med sin kone Mai. Den dagen livet oppleves som uverdig eller uutholdelig, den dagen han blir en byrde for henne og sine omgivelse skal hun bistå ham med en siste handling. Da øyeblikket nærmer seg, er han likevel usikker på om det er dette han vil. Uforvarende krysser ekteparet grensen til et landskap de ikke kjenner, der språket forvitrer og kjærligheten er utrygg.

Det er jo en grei oppsummering av handlingen. Selv synes jeg at boka langt på vei var vakker, men at den kom litt til kort i å skape den nødvendige, vel, nerven for at historien virkelig skulle treffe meg.

Bukkene Bruse på badeland – Bjørn F. Rørvik og Gry Moursund

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Jeg tenkte jeg skulle forsøke å få lagt ut litt fler omtaler av barnebøker som slår an hos treåringen (snart fire, hvordan gikk det til, egentlig?). Dagens bok er en superhit av de helt store her i huset.

RorvikBukkene Bruse på badeland bruker eventyret om bukkene som skal til seters for å gjøre seg fete som utgangspunkt på en riktig så intelligent måte. Det hele starter med at bukkene er på vei til setra som vanlig på begynnelsen av sommeren, og på veien ser de et nytt skilt der det står «Badeland». De bestemmer seg for å sjekke hva dette er for noe. Men trollet har slett ikke tenkt å gå glipp av sin årlige krangel med bukkene, så det følger etter og lager kvalm for både gjester og ansatte på badeland.

De kjente elementene fra eventyret er vevd inn i den nye historien – trippinga over brua er for eksempel blitt til tripping i trappa opp til sklia – så gjenkjennelsesfaktoren er absolutt tilstede, noe som er et stort pluss for målgruppen. Det er også en bok det er gøy å lese høyt, fordi den åpner for mye lek med stemmeleie – som å la den minste bukken snakke mye lysere enn den største bukken – og innlevelse, som når den største bukken roper «Ædda bædda buse, trollet ha’kke truse!» eller trollet småfornærmet lurer på om det virkelig ikke er lov å bare sitte litt under trappa.

Alt i alt: Noe å sette på ønskelisten til jul, kanskje? Både jeg og treåringen gir i hvert fall tommelen opp!

Ah, poor, neglected bookblog

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I guess a catch-up post is in order, and then I need to get back into proper posting. But, really, APRIL? How am I supposed to remember all I’ve read since April?

What with moving house and all, there’s been less time for reading than I could have wished, so there’s less to remember, but still.

Ah, well, let’s see:

Somewhere South of Here by William Kowalski, engaging, now bookcrossed.

Seventy-Seven Clocks by Christopher Fowler. Less funny than I had hoped, but still entertaining. Bookrcossing copy.

Theatre of Fish by Gimlette, found in my father’s colloection, an interesting account of Newfoundland, a place of which I knew very little, now I know a little more.

It’s a Long Way from Penny Apples, autobiography by Bill Cullen. An absorbing read. My two gripes were that though it’s supposed to be a memoir the author is referred to in third person throughout, which to me makes it more impersonal, and that in passages the sentences are waaaaay too short (unlike mine, as you can tell, I rather like run-on sentences). Now bookcrossed.

The Importance of Being Seven and The Double Comfort Safari Club by Alexander McCall Smith. Brilliant, as usual.

The Bronte Project by Jennifer Vandever. Picked up at a bookcrossing meetup in Mainz (of all places). Nice enough, but left me feeling a little, uhm, I don’t know, deflated perhaps?

Tonje Glimmerdal og Vaffelhjarte av Maria Parr. Disse fortjener egentlig egne innlegg, særlig Tonje Glimmerdal som muligens er den beste boka jeg har lest dette årtusenet, uavhengig av genre.

Peat Smoke and Spirit by Andrew Jefford, a reread in preparation for this summer’s  trip to Islay.

Call the Midwife: A True Story of the East End in the 1950ies by Jennifer Worth. A very worthwhile read. I see it’s available from Amazon in a set with its two sequels, and I think I have to ordr it, because I do want to read the sequels.

Vidunderbarn av Roy Jacobsen. Vidunderlig, sår, ekte og gripende.

Huset ved moskeen – Kader Abdolah

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abdolahDet passet i grunnen utmerket å lese Kader Abdolahs Huset ved moskeen i mars, selv om den ikke var på Lyrans liste foregår den tross alt i rett område for jorden rundt-utfordringen.

Huset ved moskeen er en slags familiesaga, og handlingen foregår i Sandjãn i Iran. I åtte hundre år har familien bodd i huset ved moskeen, og en mann fra familien har vært moskeens imam. Ãqa Djãn er familiens overhode, og styrer huset i tillegg til å drive en blomstrende teppehandlerbedrift og være en av de sentrale mennene i basaren og i byen forøvrig. Historien i romanen følger husets beboere, både de «gode» og de «onde» gjennom årene rundt kulturrevolusjonen i Iran og Shaens fall.

Jeg lot meg rive med av historien. Dette er dessuten en bok å lære av, både om Irans historie, noe som er nyttig nok, men også om mellommenneskelige forhold, av det mer universelle slaget.

Anbefales!

Persepolis – Marjane Satrapi

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persepolisVi har kommet til Midtøsten i Lyrans jorden rundtutfordring og jeg valgte meg Persepolis, siden den tross alt har stått på «skal lese snart»-lista en stund.

Jeg tror jeg hadde litt for høye forventninger til denne, eller kanskje litt feil forventninger? Jeg er glad i grafiske romaner, så det burde ikke være formatet som hemmer meg, men jeg ble litt mindre engasjert i Satrapis historie enn jeg kunne ønsket. For all del, boka var opplysende, tegningene er til dels svært talende (om de sier mer enn tusen ord skal jeg ikke gi meg ut på en diskusjon om) og jeg fikk et nytt innblikk i det å vokse opp i Iran. Men… Nei, jeg vet ikke. Jeg ble liksom ikke helt fenget.