In which we are entertained.
I pick up some odd books. David C. Taylor’s Zoovet: The Life of a Wildlife Vet may not be the oddest of them, but it at least seems to be out of print. Which is really a pity because it was highly enjoyable. Taylor describes, in anecdotal fashion, the trials and tribulations of a vet specializing in exotic animals. The style is reminiscent of Gerald Durrell (and you know I enjoy his books)
Well. What can I say. With The Murder Room P.D. James has done it again, and if you still haven’t read any of her books, shame on you!
In which Robin is annoyed yet again.
After an unintentionally expensive trip to one of the kiosks selling paperbacks at the central station, Nick Webb’s Wish You Were Here: The Official Biography of Douglas Adams came home with me. It pleased me somewhat more than the last biography of Adams that I read – however, Webb annoyed me by spending a lot of time referring to either Simpson or Gaiman, leaving the reader with a feeling that Webb’s own book was something of a waste of time and that he/she would have been better off with just the other two.
I’d still rather read Gaiman if I were you.
While ill, I was looking for something to read that wouldn’t be to taxing and found Bill Bryson’s Notes from a Big Country to fit the bill exactly. I’ve read it before, of course, so I knew it would. The nice thing, you see, about Bill Bryson, is that his writing is lightweight while at the same time he seldom makes the glaring mistakes (either gramatically or factually) that makes me fume at the edges when reading other authors’ works. Notes from a Big Country is highly entertaining and was a nice counterpoint (though sometimes making exactly the same arguments) as some of the other books on the USA I’ve been reading lately. It also has a nice echo of my own (increasingly problematic) homesickness for Britain, which can only help the comforting feeling of relating well to the author’s point of view – crucial for this sort of book, methinks.
I snuck a reread of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix in between here, so don’t go thinking I’ve come over all serious and such and have vowed to never read fiction again. Actually, come to think of it, the whole of HP, and especially OotP, is scaringly appropriate in relation to current world politics.
Dude, Where’s My Country? confirmed my opinion on several issues, the least significant of which is that I really don’t think Michael Moore is particularly funny. The only things in Dude that made me laugh were quotes from right-wing nuts and then mostly in a «can you hear yourself at all?» sort of way. Other opinions I had confirmed were more along the lines of «Please, dear God, do not let Bush get ‘elected’ this time around».
Moore talks a lot of sense. Even his idea to get Oprah elected president is not as far fetched as I originally thought. I mean, I’m somewhat sick of Oprah myself, but at least she seems to be interested in making money by helping people and getting them to read books and stuff rather than by blowing them up or polluting their drinking water and so on. And that has to be an improvement. But I suppose it’s getting a little close to the election now?
Anyway. Not the best read ever, but certainly not the worst. And quite definitely not the most worthless of reads. Go buy (then read, obviously). Then go vote – whereever you are (Canada, for example, we could really do without Canada following the example of the US and voting in a Bush-clone) – and follow Moore’s suggestion and persuade other sensible (if lazy) people to come with you to vote. Thank you.
I bought Lies (and the lying liars who tell them) – A fair and balanced look at the right mainly on the basis of its title. So I suppose Frankes does one thing right. Actually, it’s a very readable book. As opposed to Michael Moore, whom I failed to laugh much at, Frankes does make me laugh at his «victims» – though mostly in a incredulous, «how-can-anyone-get-away-with-this» (victims’ actions, not Franken’s) kind of way.
Now, this might not be the most useful book ever. It didn’t make me change my world view in any way (except, perhaps, to think «Please do not let Bush fix the election again!» a little more fervently than I did before). Most of the general ideas Franken presents aren’t news to me, however, getting more details is not a bad thing. For example: It’s pretty obvious to the rest of the world that US media does not have the «liberal bias» that the right claims, but it’s nice to get some numbers. The number of negative stories about Bush vs. the number of negative stories about Gore during the 2000 campaign, for example – with a «liberal bias» you’d think there were more of the former, wouldn’t you? Well, happy searching. And if you can have useful details and such presented in such a way that it makes you laugh, then so much the better.
Oops, I did it again. That is, I started reading a series before the last one is published… I picked Through Wolf’s Eyes up at Outlands (very dangerous store to walk into by the Oslo Central Station), because it looked somewhat intriguing. And it was. So I got Wolf’s Head, Wolf’s Heart and The Dragon of Despair as well, which I’ve now finished. The next book seems to be due out in hardcover in November. Why do I never learn. Oh well, luckily these aren’t so good that it will be a major heartache to have to wait (all major heartaches being currently reserved for Harry Potter and not much energy left over).
Don’t get me wrong, they’re not bad (if they were I wouldn’t have read three in quick succession, would I?). The main character, Firekeeper, has been raised by wolves and as such thinks of herself as one. I’m sure this is not a particularly original springboard for a fantasy novel, but Lindskold makes it work and I’m not complaining. In fact, one of the things that fascinated me in the first book was the conflict between the behaviour Firekeeper expects (the wolf-like) and the one people tend to display. This, naturally, gets less focus as the series continues and Firekeeper becomes more used to humans, and to a certain extent I suppose that’s why my interest vaned a bit towards the end of the third book. Which does not mean I’m not looking forward to book four. I just think I might actually be able to wait for the paperback…
During the trip to Scotland I found Tears of the Giraffe, Morality for Beautiful Girls and The Kalahari Typing School for Men on sale. Considering how much I enjoyed The No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency, I did not hesitate in aquiring them, and they were all finished by the time we came home. Just like No. 1 the three following books simply fly by, despite having a distinctly relaxed and unhurried feel. I don’t know how Alexander McCall Smith does it, if you figure it out, please tell me.
It’s not been that long since I last read Notes from a Small Island, but I suddenly got the urge to reread and decided that it would be a good idea to do so when I could look forward to setting foot in Britain within a few weeks. Reading this sort of book at other times will just make me profoundly «homesick».
There’s not much to say that I haven’t said already. I love this book. I want Bill Bryson to go back and spend more time in Scotland. After that he could tackle larger parts of Wales. This would make me very happy indeed. As it is, I will have to be content with quoting:
Suddenly, in the space of a moment, I realised what it was that I loved about Britain – which is to say, all of it. Every last bit of it, good and bad – Marmite, village fêtes, country lanes, people saying ‘mustn’t grumble’ and ‘I’m terribly sorry but’, people apologizing to me when I conk them with a careless elbow, milk in bottles, beans on toast, haymaking in June, stinging nettles, seaside piers, Ordnance Survey maps, crumpets, hot-water bottles as a necessity, drizzly Sundays – every bit of it.
So, One Small Footprint down, Spinning like a Peerie to go, and then I’ll be done with Molly Weir. I’m still finding it strangely compelling – that is, I’m still finding it compelling and still finding it strange that I find it compelling.
If anyone should happen to come across Molly Weir’s cookery book, I’d be very happy to take it off your hands.