Kategori: Aardwolf – one hit wonders

Rambling on the Road to Rome – Peter Francis Browne

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Rambling on the Road to Rome is another book I picked up in Hay last year. As travelogues go it’s ok, but that’s about it. It never really caught my interest, and had anything else beckoned, I might easily have put it down and never returned.

For one thing the narration it is far more disjointed than such a linear journey gives any excuse for. In fact, I almost gave up right at the start when on the very first night Browne is waiting outside a hotel that, according to a sign on the door is supposed to open at seven but doesn’t. He is on the point of giving up and finding somewhere to pitch his tent, when a couple arrives who also want to stay in the hotel and the woman – the husband is parking the car or something – says «You wait here, I’ll find a phone and call their number.» What happens next is not clear, as the narrative gets lost in a musing on dreams and dogs, and suddenly it is next morning (that is, I assume it’s next morning, it’s Monday morning, at least, Browne does not actually make it clear whether it is next morning or two months later, but that the hotel debacle took place Sunday evening would tally well with Browne’s statement that Toul «was closed when I arrived»). Not that I expect a painstaking account of every minute of every day of the whole journey, but I do feel that the reader should not be left to assume large parts of the action.

Most importantly, perhaps, is that the book – if not necessarily the journey – seems rather pointless. I have a hard time defining for myself exactly what the point of a travel book should be, but whatever it is, it’s missing from this one. Still, it’s not badly written, and it’s interesting enough in parts. I’m unlikely to ever want to read it again, though, so it’ll be bookcrossed soonish.

Yikes!

Mirthful

It’s been so long (12 November?!) that I’m not even sure I can remember everything, never mind which order…

Eats, Shoots & Leaves: The Zero Tolerance Approach to Punctuation by Lynne Truss – while I agree with the zero tolerance approach, this book didn’t quite do it for me. Not quite funny enough, and not quite extreme enough. Or something.

Faster, They’re Gaining by Peter Biddlecombe – entertaining enough, but that’s about it (will be bookcrossed).

A Good Man in Africa by William Boyd – received as a RABCK. I loved the film when I saw it years back, I struggled somewhat with the book, though. I think it’s probably just my old problem of needing to empathise with the main protagonist and, frankly, Morgan Leafy is not the most appealing of characters… However, as Morgan «grows» as a character, I get more caught up in the story, so that by the end I’m beginning to forget about the struggle with the first half (or so). Still, not, I think, Boyd’s best (and I’ve only read two).

The Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne – Uhm. Yeah. Classic, you say? Why? Not my cup of tea. For one thing I find it hard to believe that ANYONE (let alone a seven-year-old child) ever spoke like that.

Ikoner i et vindu av John Erik Riley – Tja. Ikke dårlig, bare ikke særlig bra. Hovedproblemet, kanskje, er at de forskjellige fortellerstemmene lignet alt for mye på hverandre til å være særlig overbevisende som forskjellige fortellere. (Blir bookcrosset.)

The Arm of the Starfish by Madeleine L’Engle – another RABCK. Pretty enjoyable, this, but I agree with rednumbertwo who sent it to me that the religious/spiritual overtones were a little hard to swallow. Not giving up on L’Engle, though.

No Logo by Naomi Klein – a reread prompted by the Husband reading it for the first time. Somehow it’s stayed with me for longer and been more fundamentally upsetting this time round, probably because of the pregnancy. It seems worse, somehow, to contemplate the baby wearing clothes sewn by children or even adults in sweatshops than wearing such clothes myself (though I hardly like the latter thought). I suppose it’s a good thing to become more «hung up» on such issues, but it’s certainly made shopping a lot more difficult…

Anansi Boys by Neil Gaiman – clever and entertaining, and a quick read as it was quite difficult to put down for any amount of time.

Pappa for første gang av Finn Bjelke – kjøpt til mannen i julepresang (kjempeoppfinnsomt, sant?). Lettlest (vi hadde begge lest den innen utgangen av 2. juledag) og underholdende, men med noen gode poenger (tror jeg da – vi får se hvordan realiteten blir…).

ABC for spedbarnsforeldre av Nina Misvær – sikkert nyttig…

The Baboons Who Went This Way and That by Alexander McCall Smith – another collection of folk tales from Africa.

The Outlaws of Sherwood and Spindle’s End by Robin McKinley – McKinley was a pleasant discovery. The Robin Hood version caught my eye, as I collect Robin Hood versions, and since they were both on sale and Spindle’s End looked intriguing, I bought both. In The Outlaws of Sherwood we meet a Robin Hood like no other Robin Hood I’ve ever come across. It’s a more realistic novel than any other Robin Hood novel I’ve ever read, and the characters are all more human and fallible. Much as I love the legend of the (almost) invincible outlaw, I hugely enjoyed this fresh take. Spindle’s End is Sleeping Beauty retold, with surprising twists to the tale, and rather a lot of «embroidery», seeing as filling a novel with just the basic tale would be rather difficult. It’s pretty and competent embroidery, however, and is to be recommended. I’ll be looking for more McKinleys – and not just on sale, either.

Vita Brevis av Jostein Gaarder – jeg nærmest skummet gjennom denne. Kanskje fortjener den mer oppmerksomhet, men jeg er ikke så sikker (nok en bookcrossing-bok).

Tales of a Female Nomad – Rita Golden Gelman

Mirthful

Tales of a Female Nomad – Living at Large in the World came to me through bookcrossing. First someone on the book talk forums mentioned the book and I put it on my wishlist. A while later, I got a PM asking if I wanted to be in a bookring for it, to which I obviously replied in the affirmative. And on Monday it arrived.

The short story: Rita (it feels unnatural to use anything but her first name once you’ve read the book) leads a so-called priveleged life in Los Angeles, dining with celebrities and attending all sorts of glamorous events. When her marriage falters at a point where the kids have moved away from home, she realises that there is finally nothing stopping her doing what she’s really wanted to do all along; travel, meet people in foreign places and share their lives for shorter or longer periods.

The book is a well-written account of her development into a female nomad and of the places and people she meets along the way. For anyone with a case of wanderlust, this is a book to lose oneself in, imagining getting away from it all and doing exactly what Rita is doing. As for copying her in real life, not everyone could. She has a steady income of 10-15 thousand dollars a year from her children’s books, not enough to live on in the states, but more than enough to provide a sound base when travelling in developing countries. I imagine the book may therefore be frustrating if you really want to do what Rita is doing. However, I know myself well enough to realise it’s not just money stopping me. Yes, I do love to travel, but I also love being «at home». I need a base, and I like my packrat possessions, I would feel frustrated living out of a suitcase for more than a few weeks, never mind years and years.

And how wonderful, then, that such books as these let me experience some of the thrill of discovery while I sit at home in my favourite chair.

I can’t help but think that Rita would appreciate her book becoming as well-travelled as she is through bookcrossing. It certainly seems appropriate to me. Rita has her own webpage here (with deleted scenes!), and this copy’s bookcrossing journal is here.

Misfortune – Wesley Stace

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Misfortune by Wesley Stace is just a really weird book. It’s certainly not a bad book, but I failed to be overwhelmed.

The basis for the plot is interesting enough: A baby is abandoned to die on a rubbish heap in early 19th century London, but is rescued by Lord Loveall who is in need of an heir. He brings the baby home and contrives a marriage and birth to make the outside world believe the child, named Rose after his dead sister Dolores, is really his. The problem is that Rose is undisputably male, not female, however, he is brought up believing himself to be a girl and much hoo-ha ensues once the truth is discovered.

Just after his discovery, Lord Loveall dies, and Lord Rose inherits, but in true victorian style, Rose’s right to inherit is contested by «the other side» of the family, but this conflict drowns somewhat in Rose’s breakdown following his discovery of his maleness. This is one of the novel’s weaknesses, Rose himself ceases to care what happens to his estate and fortune and as he is the narrator at this point (and through most of the novel) I, as the reader, also failed to care much, while the tension in the plot – the «what happens next?» – hinges at least partly on just what happens to the family inheritance.

Another weakness centers on the characters themselves, to a large extent they remain two-dimensional and to me, certainly, none of them really come alive. This makes it difficult to care overly much one way or another about anything that happens in the book. And though Rose’s journey to find him-/herself is actually the most original and in some ways the most convincing part of the plot, it loses most of its power when the reader doesn’t really care.

I also found the resolution of the inheritance plot somewhat contrived (though predictable). This is perhaps excusable, as it is the genre norm that such things be contrived. Less excusable is the downright dreariness and sillyness of the final confrontation between the two conflicting sides of the family, this failed to engage me on any level whatsoever other than «oh, get on with it!».

The strength of the novel, such as it is, lies in the use of historic materials and settings. A lot of research has obviously gone into making the plot and backdrop believeable, and this is largely successful. Apparently, some of the ballads used are available on CD, The Love Hall Tryst: Songs of Misfortune, recorded by the author under his other name of John Wesley Harding (what’s the story there, I wonder) and some fellow musicians.

So: Was it worthwhile? I’m not entirely sure what the answer is just now, I’ll have to get back to you on that.

(I still feel an O’Brian reread coming on, and such half-maddening reading experiences as this one are only likely to hasten that as they leave me with a need to read something I know to be worthwhile.)

Collecting

Mirthful

Goodnight Mr. Tom – Michelle Magorian (should come with a free box of Kleenex…)
Running With Scissors – Augusten Burroughs (weird and wonderful – if you think your family is dysfunctional, read this and the probability is you’ll change your mind)
Dødens drabanter – Gunnar Staalesen (simply great, as usual)

Venezia – Kjell Ola Dahl

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Høst og Tapirsalg. Slikt kan man like. Denne gangen fant jeg blandt annet Kjell Ola Dahls bidrag til Spartacus’ «Forfatterens guide» serie – han skriver om Venezia, en morsom tilfeldighet etter ukens lesing av Donna Leon.

Dahls portrett av Venezia er sånn passe engasjerende. Dette er slett ikke det beste bidraget jeg har lest i serien, men siden jeg selv har et forhold til byen i det bidraget jeg likte best er det vanskelig å vite om jeg er helt rettferdig (Bringsværd om London vinner hands down så langt – men for å rettferdiggjøre min kritikk likte jeg Rileys bok om San Fransisco bedre, og det er også en by jeg ikke har noe forhold til selv). Men det er allikevel et interessant portrett vi blir budt. Venezia er uten tvil en fascinerende by, og Dahl har mye på hjertet.

Hovedproblemet mitt med boka er noe som ikke kan karakteriseres som annet enn slett redaksjonsarbeid. For det første er boka «full» av stavefeil. Med dagens redigeringsverktøy er noe særlig mer enn ett eller to tilfeller skjemmende, og her er det fler enn jeg kan telle på fingrene (blandt annet på omslaget: «Dahl fotaper seg…» kan vi lese der). Dessuten skulle noen ha gått gjennom Dahls manuskript og fikset på setningsoppbygningen hans – feilene her varierer mellom de forvirrende og de bare rent merkelige. For eksempel: «Florian åpnet så langt tilbake som i 1720. Navnet skriver seg fra grunnleggeren Floriano Francesconi. Egentlig var det to konkurrenter – og den andre lå på motsatt side av Markusplassen: Cafe Quadri.» (s. 80) Eller er det bare meg som blir sittende og lure på hvem den andre konkurrenten til Florian var? «Ved bardisken, der drikker du brennevin.» (rett etter, på s. 81) Jeg vil gjerne stryke «, der». Men det er kanskje mer personlig smak enn objektiv grammatikk? «Det meste er selvsagt på italiensk, men her kan de som ikke visste det fra før, få øynene opp for bredden i tegneseriekunst.» (s. 154) De som ikke visste hva fra før? Det siste en god korrekturleser burde gjort, etter min mening, er å spørre Dahl om det er nødvendig å bruke så mange fremmedord når vi har slike adekvate uttrykk på norsk. «Partyet»? Hvorfor ikke «Festen»? «Grabber»? Hvorfor ikke «griper» eller «grafser til seg»? Det er kanskje en smakssak, og jeg må innrømme at jeg selv bruker «grabbe» i dagligtale, men altså i dagligtale, ikke på trykk i bokform.

Hadde det ikke vært for stavefeilene hadde jeg kanskje ikke hengt meg opp i setningsoppbyggingen. Og hadde jeg ikke hengt meg opp i setningsoppbygningen hadde jeg neppe gjort annet enn å trekke lett på skuldrene av anglifiseringen av språket. Som det er gjør jeg altså begge deler, og blir til tider såpass irritert at jeg får lyst til å legge fra meg boka og skrive krasse brev til Spartacus om nytten av automatisk stavekontroll. I stedet skiver jeg småsure blogginnlegg, som garantert vil vise seg å inneholde stavefeil. Ja, ja. «Livet er en kamp, Hjørdis» som min mor pleier å si.

Nå skal jeg forsøke å finne noe morsomt å lese.

I Know You Got Soul – Jeremy Clarkson

Mirthful

I Know You Got Soul by Jeremy Clarkson is a book about machines. As such, you might not think it would be the sort of book I’d read. You’d be right, too, normally I don’t read books about machines (the exception being manuals for machines I actually own, since I’m one of those rare people who actually find manuals enlightening). But this is Jeremy Clarkson, you know. So I did read it. And I rather enjoyed it, too, though I think I enjoy Top Gear more, on the whole.

More catch-up

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Perhaps I had better stop promising to write more? I don’t seem to have the wherewithall lately…

Dragonflight & Dragonquest – Anne McCaffrey (and then Dragonsinger and Dragonsong again, though I only just read them)

Sorcery and Cecelia: Or the Enchanted Chocolate Pot & The Grand Tour: Or the Purloined Coronation Regalia – Patricia C. Wrede and Caroline Stevermer (a charming discovery, though I found the difference in the voices of the two correspondents to not differ sufficiently – I frequently had to stop and think in order to figure out which one of them was talking – which is a flaw when the narrative is letter (or journal) based).

Encounters with Animals & The Overloaded Ark – Gerald Durrell (the first because I found it at a second-hand sale, the second because one morsel of Durrell at a time is never quite enough).

And I’m trying to think… Were there more? I rather think not. So that will have to do for now.

Edit: I remembered one more:
Dope – Sarah Gran, which is a fairly cleverly spun 50ies style noir novel, but it somehow lacked the big wow-factor.

Holiday reading

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Superquick catch-up post. I will try to say something more about some of these eventually, but for now, this is what I’ve been reading this summer…:

Fever Pitch – Nick Hornby
JPod – Douglas Coupland
Sudden Wealth – Robert Llewellyn
Peat Smoke and Fire – Andrew Jefford
A Short History of Tractors in Ukranian – Marina Lewycka
A Piano in the Pyrenees – Tony Hawks
One Hit Wonderland – Tony Hawks
Assassin trilogy + Liveship Trader trilogy – Robin Hobb
Her Mother’s Daughter – Marilyn French (Bookcrossing book)
Inkspell – Cornelia Funke (Bookcrossing book)
Love Over Scotland – Alexander McCall Smith

Time flies

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Since early May I’ve read a lot of books and been dumb as an oyster about most of them. To give myself a chance to catch up I will therefore throw them all in this catch-up post and start afresh with the current read once I’ve finished that.

Having felt for a long time that I really ought to read some of the Moomin books, I read Pappan och havet, which is perhaps one of the darkest and least «children’s literature» of Tove Jansson’s great series. I then read three books in the Dot-series by Inge Møller that I picked up in a jumble sale – hardly great literature and not even the best of their genre, but not an unpleasant way to spend an afternoon.

I then got through Follestad and Ffforde, before embarking on P. D. James’ latest, The Lighthouse, which, fortunately, was every bit as good as one could have hoped. The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time was next, a fascinating book, though overhyped, and also not at all what I expected (though I don’t know what I expected, to be honest, I just had no idea what the book was about owing to the fact that all I’ve ever done before is look at the front of the cover).

Next I picked Roald Dahl’s My Uncle Oswald off the shelf – I’d bought it a while back mainly because, well, it’s a Dahl and it also happened to be a first edition in good shape. This was quite entertaining, though I suspect the subject matter would enrage some people, but I wasn’t quite satisfied with the conclusion.

I bought The Wicked Winter by Kate Sedley at my doctor’s office (there’s a Lions’ Club book sale shelf there) and was entertained. It was pretty good as these things go – the main character, who is also the narrator, is sympathetic and the mystery had a nice twist at the end which I certainly didn’t foresee. However, not a likely candidate for a reread, it’s too… well, I suppose «simple» will have to do for a descriptive word – It’s too simple for that. Well enough written, though. So I stuck a bookcrossing label in it and left it in Britain somewhere. I hope somebody else will pick it up and enjoy it as much as I did.

I borrowed Lake Wobegon Days by Garrison Keillor from my father, who’s a fan, and enjoyed it to a certain extent, but it was not the sort of book I really wanted to read just now – I’ve been on the search for strong main characters and a make-you-turn-the-page-quickly central plot, and whatever Lake Wobegon‘s merits, those are not among them. So I turned to another rearead instead, The Fourth Estate by Jeffrey Archer. Not the best choice, unfortunately, as neither of the two arch rivals really manage to engange my sympathy in sufficient degree to make me care much about «who wins». Still, Archer is always good entertainment.

Next was Hver sin verden by Marianne Fredriksson, which was almost good. Fredriksson ruined the book for me by making basic mistakes regarding Scandinavian/nordic history (assuming an Icelander with the surname Anarson must be a decedant of earlier Anarsons was the most glaring one) and by formatting the text very strangely. Instead of sticking to the standard paragraph indicator (indented first line) there was also a blank line between paragraph-lengths blocks of text. Mostly this was just a waste of paper and though it seemed unecessary, it could be taken to indicate a «break» in the narrative – replacing the line «Some time later» for example. However, it sometimes happened in the middle of dialogues or otherwise coherent episodes, and felt just as wrong as putting a full stop in the middle of a sentence. I came very close to throwing the book across the room a couple of times, but managed to restrain myself.