Typisk norsk

Det er jo hyggelig å få ting man ønsker seg til jul. Jeg kom aldri så langt som til å se på Typisk norsk på TV, men boka er jo litt mer brukervennlig i og med at man ikke er avhengig av å først finne ut og så huske et spesiellt tidspunkt på akkurat det tidspunktet og være i nærheten av en tv. Sånt er jo bare pes. Boka derimot kan man for eksempel plukke opp når man spiser frokost eller bare tilfeldigvis har noen ledige minutter.

Og det har jeg altså gjort.

Man kan vel si at jeg nå vet langt mer om norsk språkhistorie enn jeg gjorde før jul. Ikke at det egentlig skulle så mye til, selvsagt, og mye av det jeg nå vet har jeg sannsynligvis glemt igjen snart (med en hjerne som lekker som en sil blir det gjerne sånn). Men da kan jeg jo lese boka om igjen. For den var riktig så underholdende. Det var vel kanskje særlig alt «ekstramaterialet» som var underholdende, med det kan man jo også lese igjen. Boka inneholder nemlig, foruten språkhistorie fra unionsoppløsningen til i dag delt inn i tiår, bokstavenes historie, ords opprinnelse, forsøk på gjenoppliving av gamle ord og «Folkets ordbok» som kanskje var noe av det mest fornøyelige, der var det nemlig svært mye nyttig. «Automagisk» har jeg vel hatt i mitt aktive ordforråd en stund, men arrogasme («den nærmest sanselige gleden man kan ha av å plassere en velformulert (men ganske arrogant) replikk på riktig sted til rett tid) for eksempel var en praktisk nyhet.

Boka kan altså i høyeste grad anbefales, og jeg har store planer om å prøve å få med meg i hvert fall ett eller to av programmene i den nye serien. Og så var det å melde seg inn i kjell-bevegelsen, da.

A Wrinkle in Time

Another bookcrossing rabck, A Wrinkle in Time made it smile when it arrived in my mailbox and it made me smile again as I read it (except just at the end when it made me tear up – I’m a stickler for sentimental endings). I’ve been hearing Madeleine L’Engle’s name mentioned in discussions also involving such books as The Chronicles of Narnia for years, and so I was rather curious to find out what mettle she was made of. And I can tell you it’s very good mettle indeed. The plot and characters are engaging, the language and the concepts used or invented complex enough to make it interesting reading for adults while not so difficult that a 10-year-old wouldn’t be able to handle it.

(my copy’s bookcrossing journal)

Tortilla Flat

We somehow started talking about Steinbeck on Saturday, and I promptly picked a few of his novels down from the shelf in order to remember to read them. I started this week with Tortilla Flat – the others may have to wait since I have a few bookring books to get through.

Tortilla Flat is about the Paisanos of California. More specifically it is about Danny, who, on coming home from the war suddenly finds himself the owner of two houses. Having been a slacker all his life he feels the burden of property keenly, but giving shelter to his band of friends, Pilon, Jesus Marie, Big Joe Portagee, Pablo and the Pirate, helps to (mostly) dispel the gloom. The friends only work when there is a specific need for it, most of the time they survive by stealing or begging for scraps. When they can get hold of wine they get gloriously drunk and most of their days are spent lazing around on the porch in the sun. They are a likable bunch, despite their tendency to regard other people’s property as fair game, and I have a feeling they’ll stay with me.

Good Omens

Good Omens arrived in my office as part of a bookcrossing bookring. I’ve never managed to read a Terry Pratchett novel before, and I’ve only really glanced at Neil Gaiman’s graphic novels, so it was really a case of two new writers in one go. I enjoyed it more than I expected to, really. It’s not laugh-out-loud funny, but chuckleworthy in places and bits of the – for lack of a better word – moral of the story will probably stick with me. On the whole pretty good.

(the book’s journal)

Reading Lolita in Tehran

I’d been half-heartedly searching for Azar Nafisi’s Reading Lolita in Tehran ever since I saw it at Malmö train station in May (didn’t buy it there because it was ridiculously priced and we already had too much luggage). Found it in Ottakars in Elgin (after we – on our tenth visit or so to the town – found that Elgin had an Ottakars completely by chance, but that’s another story), and of course had to begin it pretty promptly.

The main point of departure for the book is a reading group Nafisi started after she had to stop teaching at the university in Tehran following various changes introduced as a result of the revolution. She and her girls read novels that are forbidden, or at least frowned upon, by the regime and their discussions of and reaction to the novels and authors, provides an interesting contrast to the snippets of memoirs of the actual political situation and how it affects their lives. As regards the politics, Nafisi’s account is both critical and sympatetic at the same time, which makes it more interesting than the majority of the commentaries I’ve read before.

It’s pretty much as interesting as expected, with a few unlookedfor side-effects. Half-way through I had to find my post-it index tabs and start marking the places I’ll want to refer to later. I’ve been wanting to start seriously looking at my studies – most specifically this doctoral thesis I was planning to write at some point – again anyway, being in an academic atmosphere is catching obviously, but this book certainly provided fuel for that particular flame.

A book to be recommended if you are at all interested in the study of literature, and probably also if you’re just interested in an intellectual (dare I say: intelligent) view of the Iranian regime from «the inside».

Ravensdale

Books in the mail! This one from ChristephRavensdale by Kate Fielding (funny – amazon seems to have gotten the covers for this one and A Winter in Ravensdale mixed up…)

Let’s see, what to say… This is a feel-good, heart-warming tale, with some attempts at «darker» themes – it reminded me of some of the better British «soaps», Heartbeat or Ballykissangel or some such. This is hardly great literature, but pleasant reading none the less, and when you’re hopelessly in love with the British countryside, reading about the Yorkshire Dales can never be a Bad Thing. I’ll probably want to read the rest of the series, in other words.

(Bookcrossing journal)

English Passengers

I got Matthew Kneale’s English Passengers in the mail from nanny60read and since it’s been on my tlf (to look for) list for a while, I thought I’d start it right away.

It actually lived up to my expectations, providing an enjoyable, but also thought-provoking tale. Most of the people inhabiting Kneale’s universe are pretty hard to like, actually, and still I feel it was woth getting to know them. And you do get to know them. The novel consists of fairly short chapters written «by» (from the point of view of) the characters themselves, I count 22 narrators in all. Captain Illiam Quilliam Kewley, besides having the most wonderful name, is also one of the more worthwhile aquaintances the book offers, his style is straightforward and matter-of-fact, but with some highly personal observances to spice it up. Peevay, the Tasmanian aborigine, recounts his people’s rather miserable story after the arrival of «the white man» in a wonderfully poetic (for lack of a better word) language, and therefore provides some of the most fascinating sequences in the book. Dr. Thomas Potter is a wonderful counterbalance to Peevay, espousing his horribly familiar theories of racial types in a rather enjoyable diary jargong.

An excerpt from Peevay:

So I began to understand rum. I did suppose it would make me feel happy, but no, this was never so. It made me feel NOTHING, and this was great good fortune, too, as NOTHING was just what I was seeking. By and by I got another and then another, as I was hungry to get all the NOTHING in the world. But then I learned this rum was more difficult than I knew, as suddenly I was dizzy and feeling crook, so I had to go away, legs leaning like I was on some ship, and white scuts laughing, and when I got outside I was sick and all my beautiful NOTHING was gone.

(The books bookcrossing page)