Round-up

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.

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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.

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

Ah, poor, neglected bookblog

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.

Juliet, Naked – Nick Hornby

julietI’ve seen Juliet, Naked hailed as «Nick Hornby back on form». I’m slightly puzzled as to what he’s supposed to be back from. The phrase suggests that he’s been churning out mediocre novels, which is hardly the case. «Nick Hornby back» would be more accurate, as his last novel for adults was A Long Way Down in 2005, but 2005 is hardly that long ago, and it’s not as if he’s been sitting around twiddling his thumbs in the meantime. I suppose it’s possible that whoever thought this was Hornby back on form has really only liked High Fidelity and has been waiting for a new Hornby-novel with music geekdom as a backdrop.

Whatever. Juliet, Naked is a Very, Very Good Book™. For the record, I also think High Fidelity, About a Boy, How to be Good and A Long Way Down are Very, Very Good Books™. For me, then, this is simply Nick Hornby doing brilliantly what he’s always done brilliantly (and what I hope he will keep doing brilliantly for a very long time).

Annie has spent the last 15 years with obsessive music fan Duncan. The object of Duncan’s obsession is the reclusive singer-songwriter Tucker Crowe. As the novel starts, Annie and Duncan are on a tour of the US visiting sites connected (sometimes tenously) with Crowe, and Annie is beginning to wonder if she has wasted the last 15 years and what to do about it. They return to the sleepy little English seaside town where they live and shortly after Duncan receives an early copy of Juliet, Naked, the first Tucker Crowe release in over a decade, which consists of early versions of the songs on his signature (and last) album Juliet. Annie and Duncan’s different reactions to the album are a major part of their breakup. Annie is annoyed by Duncan’s glowing review, posted on the fansite he runs, and writes her own, which Duncan grudgingly agrees to post. She receives a couple of emails as a reaction, one of which is signed Tucker Crowe.

On the other side of the Atlantic, the infamous Tucker Crowe has his own problems. He’s preparing for a visit from a daughter he’s never met, and coming to the realisation that his relationship to his youngest son’s mother is coming to an end.

I’m not quite sure how to describe Juliet, Naked. Words like «charming» and «fetching» come to mind, but they give the wrong impression to a certain extent, a little belittling, perhaps. The novel is serious enough, for all love, and deals quite effectively with themes of love and parenting, and fandom, too. «Intelligent, charming and laugh out loud funny» – how’s that? All I can say is I had a minor crisis the day I accidentally left the book at work with only 50 or so pages left to read.

Doktor Proktors prompepulver og Doktor Proktors tidsbadekar – Jo Nesbø

proktor1Jeg har selvsagt gått og siklet litt på Jo Nesbøs barnebøker siden de kom ut (figurativt, altså, bøker har jo slett ikke godt av fuktighet), men ikke kommet meg så langt som til å kjøpe dem. Jeg har vel tenkt at det er noen år til det er aktuellt å lese dem for ungen. Men så dukket de jo opp på Mammutsalget, og da var det jo ikke noe særlig å lure på.

Doktor Proktors prompepulver starter med at Lise kjeder seg fordi venninnen hennes har flyttet til Sarpsborg og de eneste andre barna i nabolaget Kanonveien er to bøllete gutter ved navn Trym og Truls, som er mer opptatt av å true og mobbe enn å leke. Så flytter det nye mennesker inn i det tomme huset, og yngstemann i familien viser seg å være på Lises alder. Han heter Bulle, har knallrødt hår og er veldig kortvokst. Bulle og Lise får kontakt med Doktor Proktor, som har bodd i Kanonveien lenge og som er en tilsynelatende mislykket oppfinner. Men nå har hann funnet opp et prompepulver, og moroa kan begynne.

Det er mye bra med Doktor Proktor-bøkene. Som hovedpersoner utfyller Lise og Bulle hverandre bra, Lise er typen som tenker før hun snakker, Bulle den mer spontane typen, men som regel lander han på beina. Doktoren selv er passe sprø og passe tilstede i forhold til at det ikke vil være ham lesergruppen først og fremst identifiserer seg med. Den underliggende tematikken handler om vennskap, annerledeshet og oppfinnsomhet. Stilen, særlig de heller absurde handlingselementene, minner mest av alt om Roald Dahl.

Selvsagt går alt bra til slutt, og de slemme får sin rettmessige straff, sterkt regulert av «poetic justice», også det et ekko av Dahls bøker.

proktor2I bok nummer to har Doktor Proktor reist til Paris for å forsøke å finne igjen sin tapte kjærlighet, en dame ved navn Juliette. Lise mottar et kryptisk postkort fra ham, og etterhvert blir det klart at Lise og Bulle er nødt til å reise til Paris for å redde doktoren, som tydeligvis har rotet seg bort ved hjelp av tittelens tidsbadekar.

Spenningsnivået er høyere her enn i den første boka, jeg ble faktisk sittende oppe lenge etter at jeg hadde planlagt å legge meg fordi jeg var «nødt til» å lese ferdig. Historien er forøvrig like innfløkt og oppfinnsom som i «prompeboka». Også her får de slemme sin straff og de snille sin belønning, men vi blir også introdusert for konseptet «slemming som gjør opp for seg», og jeg synes det er bra med litt gråsoner, også i barnebøker. Ikke alle kan leve lykkelig hele tiden.

Hvis jeg skulle ha en innvendig mot Proktor-bøkene er det at likhetene til Roald Dahls barnebøker nesten blir i meste laget for meg. Jeg tror ikke jeg hadde stusset dersom samme manus hadde blitt presentert for meg som noe noen hadde funnet på loftet hos Dahl-familien. Per Dybvigs illustrasjon hjelper ikke, heller, fordi de minner om Quentin Blakes, blandt annet i bruk av overdrevne kroppsfasonger og fysiske aspekter for å understreke et poeng. Helheten føles nesten som pastiche og jeg blir sittende og lure litt på hvor bevisst det egentlig er. Samtidig føles det litt feil å klage over likhetene. Illustrasjonsstilen er allikevel orginal, og illustrasjonene føles helt perfekte for boka. Og hva angår fortellingen er det unektelig sånn at det ikke finnes nok Roald Dahl-bøker i verden og at Dahl selv desverre ikke er i stand til å skrive fler, så hvorfor skulle jeg klage når Nesbø gjør en så utmerket jobb?

Nå ja. I det store og hele hadde jeg det svært så hyggelig med disse bøkene, og jeg ser fram til å kunne lese dem for ungen når hen blir et år eller tre eldre.

Shades of Grey – Jasper Fforde

ffordeIn Shades of Grey, Fforde departs somewhat from his earlier novels. The number of literary references are significantly down (though not totally absent) and the plot is set firmly in the future. The setting is Britain, but not as we know it, I guess one would call it a post-apocalyptic fantasy. Swans have evolved into seriously dangerous animals, giraffes and other exotic animals roam the wilderness, but most importantly people have lost the ability to see the world in multicolour, and how much and which colours you can see determines absolutely your place in society, your career, your marriage prospects and even your life expectancy.

To say I enjoyed the book would be an understatement. There is something about the way Fforde’s brain works that is immensly appealing to me. Mostly it’s hard to put my finger on what exactly makes it so good, but to me this is the bees’ knees and the cat’s pyjamas. It’s interesting, actually, because I have been wondering whether the appeal of Fforde’s prose was mostly due to the literary geekyness, but this book proves otherwise (though I guess I’d have to admit to some pre-existing chromatic geekyness). Simple things like the naming (and the capitalization) of the «apocalypse» – it’s the Something that Happened – gives me the same sort of thrill I normally only get from Really Good Poetry.

In fact, the only downside I can see to Fforde as an author is that it takes way too long between each new book. But I guess you can’t really rush this calibre of quality.

This Thing of Darkness – Harry Thompson

thompson I got this book from Tonbel, who claimed to need someone else to have read it, which is not the worst sort of recommendation.

This Thing of Darkness is a fictionalised account of the life of Robert FitzRoy, who was the captain of the Beagle on two of her surveying expeditions to South America. On the second, he brings Charles Darwin along as the official ship’s naturalist, and we all know what that lead to. The novel is expertly executed, I was hooked after only a few pages, and gives an interesting slant on the emergence of Darwin’s theories. Initially, FitzRoy and Darwin get along like a house on fire, both being reasonably devout Christians and both being interested in «natural history». They set out to investigate physical proof of the biblical flood, amongst other things. However, as Darwin’s theories evolve (no pun intended) and increasingly undermines his faith in God, a gulf opens between the two.

Adding extra depth to the story is FitzRoy’s psyche, he suffers from what might reasonably be diagnosed as manic depression (a diagnose not yet formulated in the mid 19th century).

One of the most interesting aspects of the conflict between FitzRoy and Darwin is how they both appear mule-headed and stupid over some things and both are enlightened and «ahead of their time» in others. If you take the best qualities from both you’d have some sort of superman, as it is we get two fallible, but mostly fairly lovable humans. For example, Darwin sees the natives of South America as savages, not quite human and certainly not in the same class as himself, whereas FitzRoy firmly believes all humans to have been created equal, in God’s own image, and treats them accordingly (though the results are frequently not what one could wish). On the other hand FitzRoy refuses to countenance the idea that life could have been created as anything but «complete» and denies all evidence that perhaps some sort of evolution may have occurred. Darwin, of course, becomes convinced that evolution is the key. Thompson, interestingly, seems to argue that it is precisely Darwin’s desire to believe himself better than the «savages» that keeps his mind open to the idea of evolution, and especially to the idea of humans descending from apes.

On the whole, a novel well worth your time.

Norske helter – Vetle Lid Larsen

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Jeg begynte, som nevnt, å høre Norske helter som lydbok på vei til jobb og oppdaget når jeg kom fram at spilleren hadde stått på random play (bare CD1, heldigvis). Det var en hyggelig oppdagelse, da jeg hadde ment historien var en del mer usammenhengende enn man kunne ønske (men ikke nok til at jeg hadde blitt skikkelig mistenksom, altså, mange forfattere velger jo usammenhengende fortellerstil med vilje).

På hjemveien fikk jeg satt den i gang i rett rekkefølge og nå ble alt så meget bedre. Faktisk så meget bedre at jeg noen dager senere, når jeg begynte å nærme meg slutten, var nødt til å høre en halvtime ekstra etter ankomst jobb fordi historien var på et punkt hvor jeg simpelthen ikke klarte å legge den fra meg.

En mann våkner på et rehabiliteringssykehus et sted i Norge etter en alvorlig bilulykke. En osp tok av for støtet når bilen hans skjente av veien, ellers hadde han vært død. Nå er han i stedet sengeliggende og med en hjerneskade, hvis omfang er uklart. Han blir fortalt at han er Frank Jørgensen, 37 år, selvstendig næringsdrivende i eksport/import. Litt etter litt kommer både førlighet og hukommelse tilbake.

Vetle Lid Larsen hadde selv vært innlagt for hodeskade før han skrev denne romanen, vi får håpe at mye allikevel er fri fantasi. Det avdekkes hemmeligheter og systemsvakheter innen både behandling, finansiering og forskning i boka, og enkelte ting er såpass skremmende og absurde at alt man kan gjøre er å le (men en liten stemme i bakhodet mitt lurer i hvert fall på om ikke slikt «lett» kunne skje i virkeligheten). Jeg skal ikke røpe for mye, siden noe av drivet i boka kommer av de gradvise avsløringene, men å si at jeg fikk assosiasjoner til Gjøkeredet må med.

Norske helter anbefales. Lydboka er glimrende lest av Mads Ousdal, og eksemplaret jeg hørte på er et bookcrossingeksemplar på leting etter nytt hjem, så om du er kjapp kan du overta det.

Tambar er et troll og Tambar og harepusene

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Herlig ny serie fra Tor Åge Bringsværd.

Kort fortalt: Trollene har måtte late som de er mennesker for å overleve, men de har fortsatt hale og er mye sterkere enn menneskene. I den første boka, Tambar er et troll, blir vi introdusert for familien Dovre og fortalt litt bakgrunn. Tambar har fått streng beskjed fra mammaen sin om ikke å sloss med noen i barnehagen, for ikke å vise hvor sterk han er, men det er jo ikke så lett å la være når noen er slemme mot ham og venninnen. I bok nummer to, Tambar og harepusene, er familien på skogstur og Tambar treffer en harefamilie og hjelper dem å skremme bort en rev som har forsynt seg med et familiemedlem om dagen.

Noe av det jeg liker med bøkene er at selv om historiene er sjarmerende, nøler ikke Bringsværd med å introdusere brutale elementer, som at menneskene forsøkte å drepe alle troll de fant eller at harene blir spist av reven – og illustrasjonene følger opp med å være passe skumle.

Ungen på tre er også begeistret, og jeg har allerede overhørt hen gjenta replikker fra den første boka (selv om vi bare har rukket å lese den et par ganger).

Illustrajonene til Lisa Aisato er fantastiske, på et slikt nivå at dette er en bok jeg ville kjøpt selv hvis jeg ikke hadde barn.

I tillegg til å ha en fengende historie har serien en mer dyptgående tematikk som jeg ser for meg kan føre til mange nyttige samtaler etterhvert (foreløbig går nok mye av det ungen hus forbi), om fremmedfrykt, fellesskap og å få være seg selv.

Jeg lurer på når de neste bøkene i serien kommer, vi gleder oss allerede.

A different sort of catch-up post

I’m going to a bookcrossing meetup this afternoon, and have gathered a pile of books to bring, most of them bookcrossing copies that have been lying around for over a year without being read, and I feel it’s time to let them go. But then the odd one shows up that I have read, but that I have neither journaled nor blogged. Remiss of me. So here:

Terra Incognita by Sara Wheeler was sent to me as an rabck. I had it on my wishlist following a discussion in the forums about travelogues written by women. I actually read it when I said I would, that is following the reread of Aubrey/Maturin last winter, but I didn’t want to wild release it, and so it ended up on a pile of «need some effort on these» books and has been neglected ever since. The book is pretty good, and I did enjoy it, but it didn’t quite hit its mark with me. I think one reason is I simply don’t understand the obsessive fascination with Antarctica (or the poles) which Sara Wheeler certainly seems to share with a lot of people, and she doesn’t really help me understand it either. I’m not suggesting she should have explained better, as I’m pretty sure it’s not something one can explain, like a phobia, obsession is hardly rational, but I do wish she’d made me feel it. Without that the book is a bit too long, too dry, dare I say too cold? Still, worth reading. I’ll try to find someone who wants it this afternoon.

Alice by Lela Dowlings is a graphic rendition of Alice in Wonderland and is simply wonderful. I’m putting it on my «be on the lookout for» list, as I want this in my permanent collection, but this copy is travelling on.

Thirteen Orphans by Jane Lindskold is a competent fantasy, with clever use of Chinese cultural symbols and with the nicely executed «people with affinity with animals» theme that I’ve come to expect from Lindskold. First in a series, and I’ll be looking for the rest, but I don’t think I’ll reread, so I will register and bring it today.