Mother Night

Uh-uh, studying’s going great, thank you! So great in fact, that I’ve almost totally and completely given it up in favour of reading this brilliant book and watching Home for the holidays - which is basically your average dysfunctional family movie, but which I had to watch because - guess what? - it stars Robert Downey jr. Yup, I’m nursing my new found obsession and it’s growing…

So anyways, I kinda figure no one really cares about that movie, so I’ll get on with the book. Which, did I already say - is brilliant? Of course, it’s Kurt Vonnegut, he can only be brilliant I think, but still The book’s about Howard W. Campbell jr. - a Nazi agitator who is, in fact, an American spy. Now, 20 years after WWII ended, he is awaiting his trial in a Israeli prison, for war crimes, since only 3 people knew he was a spy, and they can’t offer him protection any longer.

The book is written as a memoir by the imprisoned Campbell, in which he recalls the hows and whys of his transformation from a playwright specialised in romantic, non-politic plays to a star of the German propagandist machine. Throughout this journey he will in be contact with some of the more famous faces of WWII Germany (i.e. Adolf Eichmann), with an American White Supremacists organisation run by a dentist, with a Russian spy….you know, colourful characters to make an interesting story. What I loved the most was the permanent reminder that every story has to have a morale - starting with the “Editor’s Note”, where Vonnegut gives about 3 or 4 suggestions as to what this morale might be. And the one I see most fitting goes something like this “We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful what we pretend”. So, which one is the real Howard? The American spy who sacrificed himself for the sake of his wife, or the Nazi who offered the most quotable justifications of hatred towards Jews and other races live on the radio? He claims to have known all along that all he said were atrocities - and yet, his cover never faltered. How far does public pretense go, and when is it just plain cheating yourself? At one point he mentions his schizophrenia - but is this not just another cover, just another lie? It’s a bit like walking in quicksand with Howard Campbell jr - you don’t exactly know what’s safe and where you’ll sink into some sort of morality abyss. And Vonnegut’s half ironic, half dead serious language doesn’t help clarify things either…but you gotta love him for that

Nu am chef azi…

Pentru ca e sesiune si am o gramada de invatat, m’am apucat sa ma uit la filme. Multe. Si nu dau semne ca m’as opri.

In orice caz, am vazut, intr’o ordine aleatorie si fara sens (ca si postul asta):

Fur - A imaginary portrait of Diane Arbus (2004) - Robert Downey Jr, Nicole Kidman. Diane Arbus a fost o fotografa cunoscuta in anii ‘50 pentru portretele foarte insightful facute unor personaje…insolite. Iar Downey este unul din personajele astea - cu un machiaj à là Chewbacca.

Charlie Bartlett (2007) - Robert Downey Jr, Anton Yelchin. Teen movie. Adolescentul Charlie Bartlett o face pe psihologul scolii (pills included), iese cu fiica directorului si devine cam prea popular pentru binele lui. Sau pentru cel al directorului - concediat si ajuns sa bea whisky pe marginea piscinei. Dar, all’s well that ends well, iar asta chiar asa se termina. In a charming way, too

Dupa cum vedeti, alea doua de mai sus il au in comun pe RDJ. Pentru care - post Iron Man si un Ally McBeal vazut cu intarziere - I developped a bit of a crush. De asta, caut Richard III (si pentru Ian McKellen, I admit) si Chaplin. Caut si nu gasesc - daca se ofera cineva sa ma salveze, raman eternally grateful . Tot la capitolul RDJ m’am uitat la emisiunile lui Leno, Conan O’Brian si Jimmy Kimmel la care a fost invitat - and I have to say, the man is hilarious.

War (2008 ) - John Cusack, Joan Cusack, Marissa Tomei, Hillary Duff (???) Bush-Irak-parody. Prea in your face pentru gustul meu, cred ca imi plac parodiile putin mai subtile Dar e John Cusack, si lui i se iarta cam orice in my book Si in filmu’ asta, i se iarta ca e un asasin platit de o corporatie americana, trimis sa’l elimine pe Omar Sharif (mda) - un lider incomod din Turaquistan. Altora le’a placut mai mult, si or sa explice despre influentele Dr. Strangelove sau despre cum Cusack nu poate fi decat un nice guy undercover Mie mi’e cam…well..lene

Grace is gone (2007) - John Cusack. Despre asta n’am inca impresii, ca acum dau play. Am vrut doar sa’l adaug la lista

LATER EDIT: Gata si asta. Chiar daca are numai 6-si-ceva pe imdb.com, chiar daca e putin cam…corny, cam melodramatic, mie mi-a placut. Destul de mult chiar. Sotia lui Cusack e plecata in Irak, moare, si el is duce fetele intr’un road trip, pentru ca nu e pregatit si nu stie cum sa le zica adevarul. John face un rol foarte bun, zic eu, iar filmul e induiosator

Numb (2007) - Matthew Perry, Kevin Pollack. Matt Perry e un tip cu (mari) probleme psihice. Dar cand are alaturi o tipa misto si intelegatoare, incearca sa revina pe drumul cel bun.

The awful truth (1937) - Cary Grant, Irene Dunn. Ce face neincrederea dintr’o casatorie? Slapstick comedy

Dial M for murder (1954) - Grace Kelly, Ray Milland. Ma tot gandeam de ce imi e atat de familiara intriga, pana cand mi’am dat seama ca am vazut (more than once, too) remake-ul A Perfect Murder. Si - stiu ca nu prea se inscrie in parerea generala, dar imi asum riscul - mie mi’a placut mai mult remake-ul.

Probabil o sa remarcati ca majoritatea sunt cam filme de duzina. Filme pe care le vezi si le uiti. Thing is, au fost atat de entertaining si de relaxante, incat, desi ma asteptam sa fie destul de proaste, m’am pomenit ca imi plac. Mai ales Numb, Charlie Bartlett si Grace is Gone.

Oricum, sesiunea abia a inceput, asa ca pe nou achizitionatul Salman Rushdie il incep peste doua saptamani. Pana una alta, filmele cursurile ma asteapta Si, pentru ca tocmai am vorbit de Jhumpa Lahiri, un fragment din The Unaccustomed Earth, de la The Guardian. Pana o sa am si cartea.

Interpreter of maladies

By now Jhumpa Lahiri is a household name, by most counts she’s a very good writer with a great public appeal - I remember reading a really appreciative review of her second short story collection “The Unaccustomed Earth” - and yet I stumbled upon her debut volume in a friend’s house last weekend so I gave it a try. Normally, I’m not a short story fan - but this wasn’t just another short story. Maybe it’s my thing for writers of Indian (Bangladesh, in this case) descent, or maybe (and most likely) it’s the sheer brilliance of her writing, but I simply fell in love. With the book, with her…with everything.

There are 9 short stories, each about a Indian immigrant in the US (as Ms. Lahiri herself is) - except for “The interpreter of maladies”, which takes place in India.  All of them feature rather ordinary moments in ordinary people’s lives - it’s almost voyeuristic, in a way - you feel like you’ve stepped into the intimacy of a household and you’re watching them from behind a curtain. You’re a witness to little dramas, little disappointments or little joys - just a handful of the bricks life is made of.

Most of the stories are…I would say sad, except that I think bittersweet is a much better description. And the way I see it, it’s something all Indian descendant authors I’ve read (true, not that many, but I’m working on it) share - a certain longing for a long lost “home” that turns their characters towards nostalgia and a passive acceptance of certain things in their new life. Bittersweet - there’s nothing that works better.

And, the ever-so-funny Raych wrote about it - she loved it, yay! :-P  I mean, there’s no way you won’t love this book - and even if you’re not all that crazy about it, at least it’s tiny Me, I wanted it to go on forever

The Falls

The following 2 paragraphs were written more than a week ago, when I had reached page 100 (of the 480 this book has). And I meant to rephrase, to put it all in a larger context when I did finish the book, but now I’d rather leave things like this. After all, that was my first, raw, impression of the book:

The first 50 pages were promising. Or maybe less than 50 pages. Until Gilbert dies (no spoiler, that’s in the first chapter, the effin’ book has 500 pages ). Their first night reminded me of Ian McEwan’s Chesil Beach. And even if she’s a woman, his description and journey into a woman’s mind felt a lot more convincing - to me at least. Then….then there’s too much family drama. Dirk’s ardent feelings - really now *that* type of man, to fall for *that* type of woman - it’s the stuff Sunday night movies are made of. Sappy and unconvincing. Too much soap-opera. Too much seemingly fake drama. The highs and lows of married life. Too much common place. The way I figure it, a book has to have more than “real life” - it had to have some sort of extraordinary event(s) or situation(s) or idea(s) to get your attention and to keep you captured. And I really, really ain’t captured…

It’s not that I don’t like it - it’s just that I don’t really care either way. I think I’m being a bit harsh right now, there’s some good to it, too. It’s easy to read, easy to follow, I do like how, in some chapters, every other paragraph starts with the same sentence (like the continuous “They were married”)…and I’m sure there’s more, but I can’t really remember what right now. But I won’t give up on her, I’m kinda thinking I chose the wrong book I still want to read “them“. Or maybe something else, as long as it’s better.

Now that I’ve finally finished it, I can’t say much has changed. I still think there’s too much petty drama. Plus, I think that Ms. Oates’s prose is a bit scattered, a bit “all over the place” - just like I this review is shaping up to be (for a proper review, there’s always NYT ). The narration follows (spoilers ahead ) Ariah - her first disastrous one day marriage, her second, seemingly happy one, but with the prospect of disaster looming upon her, and her life with her 3 children after Dirk Burnaby’s (her second husband) tragic death. Ever since the beginning, Ariah believes she is “doomed” and she feels sure that her husband will leave her eventually. Though a loving wife, she seems cold and aloof to others and she takes virtually no interest in her husband’s professional life (one example of a kind of attitude I just don’t get - no matter how hard I try.) Dirk, a wealthy Niagara Falls lawyer, is, on the other hand, very liberal (for the time, consider it all happens in the 50s-60s, in a rather conservative community) and has no problem with his wife giving piano lessons to neighbourhood children, or including her to any extent she would like in all aspects of his life - a chance which Ariah never takes. Dirk gets involved with a sort of a proto-environmentalist case, the Love Canal case, which starts consuming him more and more, as he realizes that he despises most of his old friends, that their actions are guided by mere financial interest, that they are corrupt and treacherous (he’s a bit of a male Erin Brockovitch, really ). In a way, he puts all his eggs in one basket - he gathers witnesses, reports, pictures, scientific data, a lot funded from his own pocket - and looses upon the first hearing, when the case gets dismissed. Looses all - as Ariah, a few days before the hearing, frightened by the bad mouthing Dirk gets, disappointed by the (in retrospect, false) rumors that he was having an affair with one of the plaintiffs and altogether hurt that he “went outside the family” throws him out of the house and out of the family’s life just a few days before trial (OK, maybe it’s just me, but at this point, I kinda wanted her dead. Gone. Vanished. Out of the picture  ).

A couple of days after the verdict Dirk mysteriously dies - his car skids off the road and falls in the river. It is declared to be an accident - a masked way of saying suicide - when in fact, as will Ariah’s children learn, it was murder. Yes, the Burnaby children will grow with a sense of loss and emptiness, they will not be allowed to even mention the existence of a father (Chandler, the eldest, is the only one who remembers Dirk), until, as they grow up, they will all stumble, in different ways and to different degrees, upon the truth of their father’s demise. The Love Canal case is reopened in the 70s, this time with a stronger team of lawyers and in a more favorable climate - and by 1978 is registers some progress and successes. Dirk Burnaby is, now, a symbol, a foreseer, a revered figure of the environmental move and the novel ends with a memorial held in his honour in 1978, which the 3 Burnaby children and Ariah (who seems to have finally made her peace with him) attend.

Why I said scattered above? Because her writing flows, a bit like a river, but sometimes it bursts in unexpected (and, in my opinion, unnecessary) places. Even in the way the book is structured, it feels like she just spread bits and pieces and than tied them up in chapters. There’s logic in it all, no doubt about that, but…

One thing which I enjoyed - and the best thing about the book is Niagara itself - The River, The Falls, that play such important and defining roles in everyone’s lives. The magic - I would say dark magic - the voices that seem to call you from the deep (such as Juliette Burnaby heard them beckoning her to come to her father in the river) revealing your darkest wish, or your biggest secret. The Falls, that are filled with ghosts of all that found their end there, out of sheer accident - but mostly out of despair, the Falls that give birth to visions and local legends - they are a very powerful presence and the best character this book has

Almost forgot: Ionuca - heeeelp!! C’mon, I know you love Ms. Oates, tell me where I’m wrong and what to read to change my mind about her

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