Incipituri…

A avut Anda o idee tare misto, a preluat’o si raul - si sper in curand sa aiba timp si terorista, si capricornul, si ligia , si ionuca si Alin…si altii de ea. Nu de alta, dar io’mi aleg de multe ori cartile dupa o fraza - chiar prima poate - asa ca mi’ar place sa vad ce ziceti voi :-B

Am scris asta prin comentarii pe la toata lumea. Scriu si la mine pe blog Cel mai misto incipit ever (din ce am citit eu, evident ) este “A doua zi nu a murit nimeni” (Jose Saramago - Intermitentele mortii, ed. Polirom). Si, de fapt, inca nu am citit cartea, dar fraza aia mi se pare ca ascunde si ca promite atatea, incat aproape ca ma fascineaza. Si tot aman sa ma apuc de roman pentru ca am senzatia ca o sa’mi placa prea mult. It’s kinda stupid, I know.

Acum imi mai vin in minte inca trei (erau initial doua, dar am mai facut sapaturi ):

Lord of the Rings (JRR Tolkien, Ed. Rao) “Three rings for the elven kings under the sky, seven for the dwarf lords in their halls of stone, nine for mortal men doomed to die, one for the dark lord on his dark throne, in the land of Mordor, where the shadows lie. One ring to rule them all, one ring to find them one ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them, in the land of Mordor, where that shadows lie“ OK, sunt doua fraze aici, dar e prea frumos, e pacat sa le ciopartesc eu

Copii miezului noptii (Salman Rushdie, Ed. Polirom): M-am nascut in orasul Bombay….candva, demult. E atat de simplu, si putin neobisnuit pentru Rushdie. Si atat de efect. E ca o crapatura intr’un zid - care se largeste cu fiecare pagina.

Sageata timpului (Martin Amis, Ed Polirom) Iesind din cel mai negru somn m’am trezit inconjurat de doctori…Doctori americani:

Am cautat cu tot dinadinsul - prin biblioteca si prin memorie - ceva non-anglosaxon. Nu prea am gasit - in afara de Saramago, evident Deocamdata tot ei imi sunt cel mai aproape…

Birthday

Yeah yeah, I’m reading way too slow these days So no book-post this time either. But there’s a birthday today I want to share with you guys - Depeche Mode’s very own Dave Gahan. The man without whom DM songs & shows wouldn’t have the same impact and power. The man with the voice  - and what a voice that is - and the moves And who also wrote a couple of decent songs himself - like this one right here

So…happy 46th Dave - and get cracking on that album

 

France’s literary slanging-match of the decade

Or so Guardian says: Michel Houllebecq’s mother has written a memoir in which, among other things, she calls her son “evil, stupid little bastard” adding that “this individual, who alas came from my womb, is a liar, an imposter, a parasite and above all - above all - a petit arriviste ready to do absolutely anything for money and fame.”. Plus, I had no idea that the character Ceccaldi in Particules élémentaires is modeled after his own mother. Not a very flattering light.

It’s all a bit too much (cheap?) drama for me, and I don’t care about mr Houllebeqs’s work a whole lot. But if anyone wants to read about it…

Snooker update

Last one for the year Not the year actually, the season

Ronnie won (I would say “of course”, but that’s only because I’m a fan ) the World Championship for the 3rd time, with a 18-8 score in the final match against Ali Carter. Wasn’t at his best, but still totally worth watching. Then again, snooker is worth watching most of the times, Ronnie spices it up a bit more :))

Plus, a bit of funny coincidences here

Black dogs

The book is comprised of 5 individual-yet-connected parts. The first is built as a preface, and it explains the origins Jeremy’s (the narrator) obsession with other people’s parents. In the second we meet June Tremain in a resting home - old and tired - and her conversations with Jeremy as he tries to write a memoir of her life. The third part is dedicated to Jeremy’s trip with Bernard Tremain to Berlin the day after the wall fell, the fourth is dedicated to Jeremy’s and July’s first encounter (July being, of course, the Tremains’ daughters) and finally, the fifth part is set in 1946 and is centered on the event which generated the family myth of the black dogs.

The black dogs - mentioned by June, Bernard and July are explained only in the end. But they are, seemingly, the reason why June and Bernard, though very much in love, don’t stay together and don’t separated definitively. Bernard, a man of crude facts, a communist (as much as a middle class westerner can be a communist) for 10 years (he resigns after USSR invades Hungary in 1956) and later on a moderately successful politician is the embodiment of realism and logic. June, though a communist herself (only for a few months, until the ill-fated apparition of the dogs) grows to become a very spiritual being to the point of the occasional exaltation. Her fascination with the supernatural is only matched by Bernard’s with all that is earthy and scientifically explainable and, as time passes, their chosen ways are clearly split. Though not speaking all too often (Jeremy is sometimes used to carry messages between them) and though professing some sort of hatred towards each other, they will, until their deaths, still love each other. Which is, in a way, very touching.

Aside from the Tremain family story - or rather entwined with it, Mr. McEwan revisits some of the most influential or violent moments of the 20th century - WWII, concentration camps, communism and its initial appeal and fascination, and the fall of the Berlin wall. This last one is actually at the center of the third part and is my favourite bit of the book because the description and the imagery is so vivid that you almost feel like an actual spectator.

As far as the dogs go, I stand more on Bernard’s side. June did experience something that day (2 black dogs attacked her on a deserted road - but for her, it’s not so much the attack as the seemingly unnatural size of the animals), but, in retrospect she chose (maybe unconsciously) to project on just that particular event a change, an alteration in her feelings and attitudes that, in fact, happened over time. I suppose it’s easier this way - to have a revelation or some sort of God given sight or mission (very Paul on the road to Damascus like) - than to deal with the fact that you have simply distanced yourself from the one you loved, that you no longer want the same things, or, even worse, that you never truly did. In the end, the black dogs also stand for something darker and deeper - maybe for violence itself, as June and Bernard lived through all those terrible and devastating times modern Europe has known in the past half-century.

So far (and “far” means after reading 2-out-of-the-I-don’t-know-how-many books he’s written) I have Ian McEwan pegged as a bit of a ‘philosopher’ for the masses, a crowd pleaser. Which isn’t to say I didn’t enjoy his books (I am part of that pleased crowd ), but that his characters are very easy to relate to. What happens to them, what changes their lives - it’s easy to empathise with, while at the same time it doesn’t give the impression of facile. You feel like he’s left you with something to ponder over - just enough to fit into a otherwise busy life.

And, in totally unrelated events: Ronnie O’Sullivan will be facing either Joe Perry or Ali Carter (close call that one) in the World Championship final. And my lack of TV induced frustration grows, as Ronnie produced this kind of performance, and I could only read the Eurosport comments (still, it’s good to have at least those ).

LATER EDIT: Lack of TV induced frustration is now 0 < . I finally found this and saw the Carter - Perry (17-15) semifinal on live streaming. It was a good session and Ali Carter will face off Ronnie in the final. But if Ronnie plays like he did til now, I don’t think Carter holds a chance. We’ll see tomorrow

Something old, something new…

I was home for Easter. That’s where the pictures are from - bits and pieces of “home”

But, between all the eating and the family gatherings I’ve seen this - one of the few reasons I actually miss not having a TV of my own. Every once in a while a great match like that comes along, and usually all I can do is follow the scores and read the articles. But I miss the excitement and the anticipation of a really good hit or even of a unexpected mistake. It’s one of the few (maybe the only one) sports I enjoy watching.

And this morning, 3 things happened that really got me in a rotten mood: I caught a cold (it’s almost summer and I’m sick ), a concert I had tickets for was postponed and I started a book which will go right back on the shelf a.s.a.p. The concert thing - Stereophonics was pushed back to July 6th. And while it’s really great that I still have Kaiser Chiefs and Manics on the 5th, I wanted to see the Stereophonics too. There’s no one else I want to see on the 6th - just like there’s no one else I want to see on the 4th (and I’m gonna miss Alanis Morisette). Plus, even if i got a ticket for the 6th, I still wouldn’t have who to go with. Mad, mad, mad, maaaaaaaad & annoyed. It was just too good to be true, wasn’t it?

The book thing - it rarely happends and I don’t like starting a book and not finishing it. Even if I’m not too keen on it, I’ll stick it out. But this time, I’m not in the mood. I read 20 pages and it’ll be a long time until I try again. If ever.

That’s a bit of ranting for you today. Tomorrow - something about a book I actually finished

American Gods

I haven’t been this excited about discovering an author in a long long time. Easy read? Yes, maybe - at a first glance, anyway. Middlebrow - since the word goes around a lot. But that’s the brilliance of his book - it’s not hard to read or to follow, yet you don’t feel like you’re wasting time. It’s gripping, it’s a page turner filled with the most interesting characters - a gathering of gods and a clash of mythologies. I’ve read Good Omens, which he wrote with Terry Pratchett and I was left in doubt, but now I know - I love Neil Gaiman. I sound like a 12 year old - and only because the book took me back to that kind of enthusiasm I had for reading when I was 12 - pure joy

And when I said “easy” - I meant smooth. Because otherwise, it’s something of a spider web, in every corner there’s a new character, and a new god. It’s pretty hard to discover them all - a lot harder if you haven’t a clue about the Nordic, Egyptian, Indian or African mythologies (sadly, I’m stuck only with the Greeks and Romans). But this way it turned out to be not only fun, but also quite instructive.

So…where to start? The basic plot line is simple: Shadow, a convict serving a 6-year sentence is released from prison 3 days earlier because his wife (who he loved very much and was anxious to see) died in a car crash. On his way back, he meets Wednesday and agrees, after drinking his mead and fighting with Mad Sweeney (a fight he later finds out was staged by Wednesday to test him) to work for him as driver and all-round help. They embark on a trip during which Shadow will learn that we walk amongst the forgotten gods of the old world - all in human shape now. And they’re all dieing and being replaced by the modern-day gods: TV, internet, media, Town, Stone, Wood, cars, trains, planes etc. This is why I got into reading this book - this idea right here, I just love it. The modern gods are given very little space in the book - they’re only apparitions every once in a while, dull and single-minded individuals (Media, for example, who makes the characters in TV shows speak to Shadow, resorts to the usual tricks: sex and violence), while the gods of old are fascinating, wise creatures (well, they’re bound to be wiser, they’re been around for thousands of years ) still surrounded by magic. I also found the idea of the little “interludes” to be very interesting, as they show how some gods came to America (Odin, Anansi), how some were forgotten even in the old days (the story of Nunyunnini) or even how some departed (the Ifrit).

This whole “road-trip” idea is very American in its essence too, and the road trip, though taken with the purpose of being part of the final confrontation between old and new, between material and spiritual, ends up being the road to self discovery of a grown man who arises from his initial confusion towards going “behind the curtain” and revealing what the gods themselves didn’t have eyes to see. His visions as he hangs from the tree (reenacting Odin’s hanging from Yggdrasil) and his descent in the underworld (which I expected to happen ever since Laura’s return; but - wrongly - as an Orpheus) are two of the best moments in the book. Plus, there’s that one memorable line delivered by the raven (ravens in literature seem to have rather memorable roles ): “Hey, Hugin or Munin, or whoever you are. Say ‘Nevermore.’” The raven responds, “Fuck you.”. And Bast - the woman-cat of the Egyptians, who lives in the little town of Cairo with Jacquel (Anubis) and Mr. Ibis (Thoth), the three Zoryas, the three Norns (I love how this mythological weaving of each one’s fate is spread throughout the entire Europe) or the African spider god Mr. Nancy (Anansi) all decaying, yet all powerfully magnetic are the salt and pepper spread all over this narration.

Two more things and I’m done: Hinzelmann is not a randomly chosen name (is there anything randomly chosen in this book? I think not…) but a kobold and the legend of Paul Bunyan (a common pop-cult reference which I never understood) and his rivalry with Johnny Appleseed (a symbol of the rivalry between real and made up folk heroes).

I’m still under Mr. Gaiman’s spell, and maybe that’s why I didn’t write something more coherent. In the end, only the gods are real

PS: 1. American Gods + Ligia’s pictures => now I really really want to go to America

2. A full list of deities, a map of Shadow’s travels and a page dedicated to speculations about the forgotten god: http://www.frowl.org/gods/index.html. A lot of fun.

3. With “Anansi Boys” and “Fragile Things” my list of books to buy and read is growing at a worring speed :-O

4. (almost forgot about this one) Happy Easter

Foe

What can I say about JM Coetzee’s novel? And I’m not asking a rhetorical question here, I’m really wondering what is it I can say about a man who won the Booker prize twice (being the first to do so) and also the little award that is the Noble prize (in 2003). Hmmm…definitely nothing that hasn’t been said before

Foe is not one of the novels to have brought him any of these prizes, and as far as I can see, it’s lesser known though considered by many critics as the archetypal post-modern novel. Basically, the story is the reinvention of the classic Robinson Crusoe, with a woman as the central character. Susan Barton is cast away on the same island as Cruso (as the character is known in this book) and Friday, and she is forced to live with them for a year. A very dull year, she discovers, since Cruso is a man of little words, Friday had his tongue cut off and the island is completely safe from both beast and man. There is food in abundance and all one can do is wait to be rescued. On the way back to Britain, Cruso dies and Susan takes Friday under her wing. The rest of the book is an account of her difficulties back home and her attempts to sell her story to Foe, an author to whom she addresses many letters in order to help him ghostwrite her book - this being the only way she can picture having an ensured income.

Perhaps not the best choice of book for me, I remember having read Robinson Crusoe as a child (and having hated it, too) - and there are many references to the novel and to Daniel Defoe’s other works which I’m not sure I get - so I can’t really make up my mind about the book or the author. I wasn’t exactly touched by it, though I’m not sure that this is what it’s intended to do. There are a lot of issues to be discussed in reference to the novel - colonialism, a woman’s position in society, slavery and the art of writing in itself - but what I did find overwhelming was Friday, not his character in particular, but the story of his mutilation. Susan is repulsed by the fact that he has no tongue from the first moment. And while she’s forced to live with him, his silence begins to take over her thoughts - she keeps searching for ways to communicate with him, while he is more and more entrenched in himself. A dumb witness to the entire story, his silence creeps throughout all the cracks until it “passes through the cabin, through the wreck; washing the cliffs and shores of the island, it runs northward and southward to the ends of the earth.” Friday’s silence is the last thing standing and his opposition to enslavement and to having another tell his story.

I know this was quite the lame posting, but I hope I’ll make a better one for “Waiting for the barbarians“. When it arrives and I get a chance to read it

Sometimes…

…this city is just not that bad When it’s spring and less than 25 C

        

       ( Even if I had to edit out public toilets, trucks, dirt and ugly buildings out of a couple of pics )

Shame

Great book, but that goes almost without saying when it comes to Mr. Rushdie (at least for me )

But first, a little bit of wisdom I want to impart: a 400-page book really shouldn’t be read in a week - not when it’s this interesting. I mean, seriously, how busy could I have been? :-O  It came as a shock to me when I realised it had been a week since I had started it. [This is a sentence that reminds me of all the interminable rows of exercices with tenses that I was supposed to do in highschool. But reading it, it's probably obvious I avoided all that work ]

But….back to the book. It’s Mr. Rushdie’s third, and the second to enjoy critical acclaim (his debut novel, “Grimus” was published in 1975, with very little success), a Booker nomination (J.M. Coetzee won that year with “The life and times of Michael K”) and Prix du Meilleur Livre Étranger. The universe in which the characters lead their life is Pakistan, not the Pakistan we all know, but a “Peccavistan” and an imaginary city - Q. Somehow, “Shame” follows where “Midnight’s children” left off; after India’s separation from the British Empire, we now see the destiny of Pakistan, who also separated that same year and, though only mentioned briefly, the birth of another nation (and also by division) Bangladesh. Typical for Mr. Rushdie, elements of the historical truth are mixed with fiction and legend to create a whole new, alternate universe (and this is one of the reasons why I love him so much ). The destinies of two main characters (Iskander Harappa and gen. Raza Hyder) and loosely modeled after the real-life Zulfikar Ali Bhutto (father of Benazir Bhutto) and gen. Muhammad Zia-ul-Haq. If I knew more about the history of Pakistan - there would be a lot more things to be said, unfortunately, I’m trying to catch up as I go along, the same as I did when reading Midnight’s children.

Shame, or „sharam” in Arabic (a word that contains and embraces the various sides of shame: embarrassment, dishonor, condemnation, frustration, guilt, etc) is physically embodied by Sufiya Zinobia, Raza Hyder’s mentally challenged daughter - and it is the shame of all those around her, the shame unlived by them, that turns her into a beast, thus explaining the development of violence from shame and the ravaging strength it gets when feeding on such a fertile soil. When you look upon it, Sufyia, “the miracle that failed” is Pakistan, an artificial nation who fails its own creators and who has no other choice but to resort to violence. She is the shameful, while her husband Omar Khayyam - the shameless. The story of how he becomes such a character, of the myth and strangeness surrounding his birth and culminating with his departure from his parents’ house with only one word of advice (something along the lines of „Don’t ever be ashamed”) occupies the first chapters, only to turn him into a secondary, yet recurrent character throughout the entire novel, leaving the centerstage to the intrigues, risings and inevitable downfalls in both politics and marriage of Iskander and Raza.

Rushdie gets almost personal, dedicating entire fragments to his own experience as a two-time immigrant, displaced once by the will of his family from India to Pakistan and the second time by his own will from Pakistan to Great Britain. This is the kind of intrusion that, along with judgments made at the expense of his characters and with quotes from other novels, only adds to the book’s charm and particularity. And (almost forgot about this one) something a bit ironic: Mr. Rushdie says, at one point - ”It’s fiction, how can someone judge or condemn you for writing fiction” (damn, there really are times when I wish I did write down quotes) - and that is only 6 years before the all-too-famous fatwa

In the end, this is a somewhat ignored book, coming right inbetween “Midnight’s children” (which is considered Mr. Rushdie’s best work) and “The Satanic Verses” (definitely his most widely known and controversial work) - and unjustly so, because, even if less intricate and complex than the other two, it’s not less interesting or less enjoyable. Come to think of it, I’d recommend it to a first-time Rushdie reader: it’s not so big as to make it scary, yet it’s a peek into his unique style and typical universe.

Plus, Saturday I went into Anthony Frost to buy a present, and I saw IT - big, yellow with hard covers and a pretty high price, right in the middle of the store - and I am way too broke this month. Way way too broke…. but on April 30, I will have “The Enchantress of Florence”. On my bookshelf