A Reading Medley -- mystery, Canadiana, knitting et al

It's a long while since I last posted -- three weeks? I know that part of the reason is that my last post mentioned wanting to follow up on my discussion of Amitav Ghosh's Sea of Poppies by thinking about some metaphors he uses and how my students might respond to them. But try as I might, I can't find the brilliant examples I thought I'd seen in the text. Oh, there are many lovely and effective and startling metaphors -- one character's "length and leanness" of limbs "suggest[] the sinuosity of a shade-seeking plant; a young woman's hair, tied back "in a severe little knot" is likened to "a corset for her skull"; and another character has cheeks that "hung down as if weighted with gloom" and "dark shapeless ears that stuck out from his huge head like outgrowths of fungus on a mossy rock." But none of these seems quite as striking an example as I remembered, and I've spent many, many minutes skimming the book repeatedly trying to recover what I had in mind. Meanwhile, I was reluctant to write about anything else. Time to move on, though, it seems to me, and so I'll point these out and ask my question: How well-trained or prepared are today's students to perform the mental gymnastics required by such metaphors?

Because there are gymnastics required. For young people so much exposed to visual images, these kind of verbal descriptions demand that they create their own image, building on a complex series of comparing possibilities. To assemble a sense of someone's appearance by having to detour through a mental exploration of a plant that sinuously moves toward the shade takes some experience, not only with the verbal-mental process of imagination, but also with the world -- one has to have a repertoire of mental images, in this case, of shade-loving plants, in the other examples of a corset and of fungus, moss, and rocks. As well, the entire process of deciphering these descriptions requires not only patience but also an ability to enjoy the puzzle. Young people have often learned their patience at the video game console where they also certainly learn to couple persistence with puzzle-solving, but the subsequent rewards, perhaps, come more quickly there and are more dramatic.

I thought of this as well when I was reading David Copperfield where every page offered some passage or other that I wanted to grab someone nearby to listen to and appreciate -- the intricate descriptions relied on layer after layer of metaphors, taking the reader through all kinds of twists and turns and wit galore to finally arrive at a composite image. So much work for the reader to do -- well-rewarded work, in my opinion, but a lot of work for too little return to many of my students. Would they, with more experience, and perhaps by practising in smaller doses, begin to acquire both the skill and the taste to enjoy such complexity? And when I say "they," I reluctantly have to admit that it's not just my students, but rather the general population who find it more and more difficult to find the time for complex and challenging pleasures. Oh dear, I'm wandering into the territory of trite generalizations and I should probably stop. But really, where do you stand on this crusade?

As you know, I also love a good mystery and Peter Robinson always provides. I just finished his very satisfying All the Colours of Darkness, and came away with another list of music to seek out. Inspector Alan Banks impresses me very much with his eclectic taste in music -- if it's good, he seems to know and love it, whether it's classic rock, blues, opera, avant-garde classical, or punk. I'm pleased to note that Banks and Cabot's relationship (still a Platonic one throughout the novel) continues to build and to hold the reader's interest.

Now I'm reading Michael Redhill's Consolation and very much enjoying the Toronto he builds images of, across a century and a half. Also interested in seeing some gender issues sketched -- masculinity within families is something that we have to tread so carefully in discussing outside of fiction that I'm grateful to novelists who are willing to explore the territory. Here, at least as far as I've read, there's some masculine solidarity across the generations in the face of some expectations by the women in the family. To a certain extent, these expectations as limned here make my feminist hackles rise a bit, but I can't completely deny them. And, as I say, I think it's very much worth laying them out and discussing them.

I'm also reading Stephanie Pearl-McPhee's (aka The Yarn Harlot) Knitting Rules. Somehow, I've never read her books although I read every single one of her posts. This book has so much helpful information in such an entertaining package that it will have a prominent spot in my knitting book collection, after I've finished chuckling my way through it.

Reading for Planes, Trains, and . . . Ferries

We're back from our vacances and almost adjusted to the time change, so it's time to catch up here. As I mentioned in my last post. oh so long ago, I tend to stick to light reading while travelling, mainly mysteries from series Pater likes as well so that we can share books and keep our packing light. (We did our whole month away with only a carry-on case each!)

Besides the Deaver I referred to in that last post, I also packed Lee Child's latest-in-paperback Nothing to Lose. While this wasn't my favourite Jack Reacher mystery, neither was it disappointing -- I think I just found the plot a bit too tightly focussed with notably fewer characters for Reacher to interact with. But the book achieves a decent sense of landscape, which I always like, there's a strong female character -- a consistent and pleasing feature of Child's mysteries, and some thought-provoking commentary about the state of the American military and its role in federal politics (seems to me a number of best-selling mystery writers have done some of this consciousness-raising over the past several years -- possible topic of an interesting article?).

Reading the same mysteries further intensified the closeness Pater and I experienced while we were away and provided additional fodder for mealtime conversations -- a worthwhile consideration when together 24/7, as the kids say, for 3 weeks solid. Noticing this, and seeing a paperback copy of Ghosh's Sea of Poppies at a WHSmith in London for a dirt cheap Buy One, Get One 1/2 Price (Oh, if I hadn't been worried about packing limits, I could have brought home so many great books from Britain!), I bought it even though I had left my hardcover copy behind in Vancouver. After the two mysteries, I was glad to turn back to a novel that provided a very different rhythm, different language, and, especially, a different landscape. I'm not done with writing about this book -- I want to think a bit about the kinds of metaphors Ghosh creates and how prepared today's young readers are for working through them -- but for now I'll just say that Pater was intrigued enough by my account of the claims Ghosh makes -- about England's role in creating a legacy of opium addiction and its disruption of Indian agriculture to profit from that addiction -- to want to read the book himself. He's paying it more attention than I've seen him give a literary novel for a long time, testifying to its compelling narrative, and we've had some conversations about Ghosh's ear for diction and about the role of Indian speakers in the development of the English language. Sadly, the paperback version is probably not going to be available here for a while, but the hardback has a beautiful cover and I know you'll enjoy reading this.

I might also mention that I've had fun this trip comparing the latest issues of VOGUE -- my favourite so far, as I found last summer, is the British version, but I've only just started the French one, so the verdict's still out.

And finally, right now I'm reading Fred Vargas' Un Lieu Incertain, having picked up a copy at the Bon Marché. I was so frustrated with my French this visit, not having made any time at all over the past year to refresh it, other than watching the occasional French movie (and even then, relying on the English subtitles -- if only I could find versions with French subtitles, that would really help!). So I resolved to get back to my earlier practice of reading a few French novels over the summer, possibly even through the year, although my workload is so heavy during term that that's unlikely. At any rate, Vargas makes this task a very pleasurable one -- I love these romans policiers, which are always unpredictable, always both puzzling and satisfying, and always with very quirky crimes, often pointing toward the supernatural yet not, finally, of it. And, having caught you up on my month's reading (pretty thin, wasn't it!) I'm heading back to my armchair to watch Adamsberg and Danglard tussle with the latest tueur. How about you? Any summer reading to share?

from my montreal hotel room-- a little light reading

Travelling now, which will mostly mean reading mysteries -- we try to pack lightly, so I bring along books we'll both enjoy but won't mind leaving behind. I did think I might have packed my secondhand copy of David Copperfield but it was far too heavy. Might pick up an inexpensive copy in London.

Meanwhile, I'm reading Jeffrey Deaver's latest, The Broken Window, and finding it sufficiently diverting to get me through plane and train rides. Its focus on data mining, though, has me a bit anxious as I cross the country, and soon the Atlantic, dropping bits of digital information here, there, and everywhere. As with his other mysteries, I'm enjoying the results of the background research and I also quite like the characters -- this one gives more glimpses into Lincoln Rhyme's past, and also lets young cop Ron Pulaski develop. As well, there's some engaging goings-on between Amelia Sachs and her young charge/mentee -- one especially satisfying moment which suggests how much teen girls can benefit from a strong female role model.

Before I left home, I finished Carol Windley's Breathing Under Water. I enjoyed its gentle, thoughtful description of life in a small town on Vancouver Island in the 50s from a woman's perspective, but I have to admit that I can't help but feel not only that this territory has been covered, but even that it has limited relevance. I feel guilty even suggesting that, quite frankly, yet I found myelf being the tiniest bit impatient, and I can't imagine teaching the novel and having the students relate. Yes, there's much in it that I can relate to, and/or that illuminates some of what my mother might have experienced/felt, but the recently-deceased Marilyn French covered this terrain so well in The Women's Room that it's difficult to say much new about it, especially as late as 1998, when Windley's novel was published. It does capture that hermetic quality of small towns, though, and something about the mother-daughter relationship -- the estrangements and similarities and desires, all confused.

Rush, rush, rush, but there's always time for more books!

Very quickly as I'm packing and trying to finish my conference papers.

Quick treat mystery: Harlan Coben's Hold Tight. Pater had started it but couldn't get into it for whatever reasons. I picked it up, then, with reservations, but found it quite satisfactory for ferry-reading diversion.

Finished Kathleen Flinn's The Sharper Your Knife, The Less You Cry, and both Pater and I enjoyed it. In fact, we're going to try to work through the recipes when we get back from our holiday. They appear challenging enough to be interesting but also quite practical and manageable -- and they look delicious! This was a great book for me to read aloud to Pater while he's driving or cooking -- two situations we've found well-suited to this practice. Do any of you read aloud to your partners? Or are you read aloud to? Under what conditions? A friend of mine reads to her husband while he paints (pictures, not walls) . . .

And I'd left my novel behind this weekend so had to pick up something else (of course, can't be without a good book!). Grabbed the hardcover of Amitav Ghosh's The Sea of Poppies. When I have a minute, I'll photograph it for you -- the above, taken from Ghosh's own website, doesn't really do it justice. I'm about 120 pages in and wondering whether I'll be able to finish it before leaving at the end of the week. I won't take it with me as it's too heavy and I wouldn't be willing to abandon it anywhere along the way. Wonderfully written with attention paid to words, the formation of English from all its colonial borrowings/thefts. The writing style -- descriptions especially and their dependence on metaphor and a certain commitment and nimbleness of mind on the part of the reader -- is really making me think about what I expect of my students and what training they do and do not bring to the task.

Sorry, got to go. Out of time. Papers must be polished!
Do comment, though. I'd love to hear from you.

Congratulations, Randall!

Congratulations to Randall Maggs who was presented Wednesday with the E.J. Pratt award for his book Night Work: The Sawchuk Poems which I've written about here and here. The book won the Winterset award earlier this year. I was fortunate enough to meet Randall this spring and hear him read his poems to an enthusiastic audience, and have a recent e-mail from him awaiting response. We've talked about getting together in the future and I hope that happens-- he has a wealth of hockey stories I know Pater would love to hear. Meanwhile, I look forward to introducing his hockey poems to students and other readers in the future -- let me know if you come across them, would you?

Kellerman's Bones, Flynn's Knife, and Wiseman's Crackpot

I wonder if I'm doomed to keep apologizing for cursory posts here -- I do hope that, once I've got these two conferences behind me, I'll be able to be a bit more expansive here, or at least a more frequent poster, but that won't be 'til the end of June.

Meanwhile, I have done a bit of reading, including the latest paperback by Jonathan Kellerman, Bones. Ho-hum, yawn, snore . . . oh, sorry, were you saying something? These are always fairly credibly written, but the characters aren't developing appreciably. Even the little French bulldog, Blanche, is a snooze here, and I'd rather enjoyed the sketch of her in the last book. The set-up has become too predictable in this series, sadly, with there inevitably being an episode in which "the good guys" are in physical danger in the second or third-to last chapter, but, of course, always emerge victorious by the end. The "bad guys" haven't been interesting or even particularly convincing for several years. When Kellerman gets it all working, his novels really entertain, but there have been a number of ho-hums in the last few years and I'll think twice about bothering next time.

I'm still dipping in and out of The Sharper your Knife, the Less You Cry and enjoying it very much, especially since it's set in Paris and I'm getting ready to head there in a few weeks.

And I just finished Adele Wiseman's The Crackpot after picking up a New Canadian Library secondhand edition for $3.00. Such a bargain for this novel which I should have read years ago. How do these classics slip away from us? After all, I'm supposedly a Canadianist and have done all that required reading through coursework, comps, etc. Written in the 1970's, set during the 1930's and 1940's primarily among Winnipeg's Jewish community, the novel creates a character who cannot easily be described. Born to a blind father and crippled mother who were married to save their Old World village from a pogrom, Hoda grows up fat -- cherished at home but ridiculed everywhere else. The solution she finds to keeping her and her father from poverty after her mother dies -- gradually becoming her community's prostitute after an accidental beginning -- invites the reader to view her as pathetic, at first, but her acceptance of what life hands her, her perseverance and defiance and, especially, her determination to enjoy what's possible to enjoy make this, incredibly, a stunningly redemptive and inspiring book. Without spoiling a central element of the plot, I will just say that Hoda's story has Biblical proportions and with Danile's blindness and what happens at a central point, Greek tragedy is also suggested. For some, then, the ending might seem too convenient, even banal, yet I found it congruent with Hoda's overall approach, her ability to "block[ ] life's kicks and [try] to catch a glimpse of life's butterflies."

Potpourri -- mystery, chicklit, memoirs, theory

Okay, this is going to be one of those quick catch-up posts -- if I have a minute, one of these days I'll take a photo or two of the stacks and stacks of unreads 'round here -- so I think I should concentrate on reading them rather than writing about, just for the next wee while anyway.
First up, some reading from a genre I don't usually spend much time with -- Chick Lit -- and I guess even more specifically, Chick Lit for the "Mature Chick" (if that's not an oxymoron, then I'm not an English prof!). At Chapters quite a few months ago I picked up a remaindered hardcover whose reference to The Friday Night Knitting Club caught my eye. While I haven't bothered yet to buy or read the latter, I'm a keen knitter and thought another in the same vein might be fun at that remaindered price. And it was an enjoyable quick read when I was sick a few weeks ago and couldn't have managed anything much more demanding --Kate Jacobs' Comfort Food -- but it wasn't about knitting and without that hook, I'm afraid there wasn't much else for me to recommend about it. Competent writing, yes, although I'm not a fan of "upon," preferring the simpler "on" -- you know what I mean: "Upon arriving at the door . . . " "Upon seeing her friend, she . . ." etc., etc., (and no, these aren't examples from the book, but they'll suffice to make the point, won't they?)

No, if I'm reading formula or genre fiction, it's pretty much going to be the mystery novel (although I used to very much enjoy good SF as well). When classes finished earlier this month, I celebrated by cracking out the latest Peter Robinson paperback, Friend of the Devil. I do like our Inspector Alan Banks with his strengths and inevitable frailties and his impressive knowledge of music. I have a weak spot for the bad boys, the Rebuses and the Bosches, but Banks is someone you could imagine having over for dinner and enjoying his company -- and you wouldn't be too worried he'd end up swearing and walking out. DC Annie Cabot is walking closer to that bad boy line, but again, she's bright, interesting, and has a background in art -- between the two characters, I always pick up an interesting fact or two, sometimes even a new favourite musician or artist. Plot was satisfying enough here and Robinson's supporting cast of characters are as complex as always, even the bit players -- caricatures make me impatient except in really spot-on satire (which is seldom what I'm looking for in a good mystery).

I've also just finished reading Mark Doty's The Dog Years and very much admired what he's able to pull together in this memoir about the lives and deaths of two beloved dogs. He manages to create a structure which alternates between anecdotes -- funny, charming, poignant, sad -- and meditations on life and death. It's a fine line, it seems to me, between keeping the overall tone light enough to suit the reader who is primarily attracted by the "dog story" and treating the existential-metaphysical aspects with the weight they deserve. He does that so well that I keep wondering if I could dare teach this to my 1st-year students. There's much more indulgence in language (lyrical descriptions, more adjectives and adverbs than many of them like, many words they'd have to look up) and philosophizing than I'd usually try with them, and he even quotes other poets! (primarily Emily Dickinson) but I do think that the subject matter would keep most of them reading (well, that and the comprehension quiz I could give them!). Certainly, the students in my 1st-year Poetry class this year appreciated Doty's sonnet, "Golden Retrievals" -- do click on the link and take a minute to read this poem and you'll see why.

Right now, I'm reading Kathleen Flinn's The Sharper the Knife, the Less You Cry, another memoir, but this one about a woman who takes the loss of her job as an opportunity to fulfil a lifelong dream to study at Le Cordon Bleu in Paris. So far, I'm enjoying it very much -- more later!

As well, I've picked out my Dickens for this summer. As I wrote last year when reporting on Bleak House, I decided in summer 2007 to refresh my familiarity with Dickens' novels after decades away from them. For the cost of $3.00, I picked up a secondhand Riverside edition of David Copperfield yesterday -- cost per word will be infinitesimal.

But right now, it's back to Kristeva -- I've been reading her chapters on Louis-Ferdinand Céline in anticipation of our theory group's last session of the year -- it's this afternoon and we have a visiting speaker, so I'd better go prepare.