Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in Panama's LiveJournal:

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Monday, July 6th, 2009
1:50 pm	Book 17 ( 1-10 ) Dodge, Jim — Fup (121 pages) Bauby, Jean-Dominique — The Diving-Bell and the Butterfly (114 pages) Fleming, Ian — Casino Royale (219 pages) Blake, Quentin — Clown (30 pages) Weigel, George — The Courage To Be Catholic (249 pages) Ishiguro, Kazuo — The Remains of the Day (255 pages) Orwell, George — Animal Farm (125 pages) Page count: 4242. I was sitting in Hyde Park last night with my friend Gary. He's an aspiring screenwriter but reads surprisingly little fiction. He was sharing his sense of accomplishment at having read four novels so far this year and noticed my quizzical look. Hence, I explained that I too am well behind my usual pace. How many books would that be, he queried, seventeen? I thought about it for a second, looked down at Animal Farm lying in the grass, and confirmed that, "Yes, I believe this will be number seventeen." Nice guess. Of course, if I were at all diligent about reading as in years past, this would be nineteen at least. However, it seems when I am reading a longer book, a slower paced novel, or nonfiction, I often need to take a break to read something else. This is the case with Animal Farm: I've been reading two other books since early June but desired a quick break. I read Animal Farm once before, when I was in school. It's amazing how my perspective on the novel has changed since then. I vaguely recall reading a charming book where animals take control of a farm and things gradually evolve so that they end up being the same as when they started. I knew that there was supposed to be more to Animal Farm than met the eye, and I was led astray a bit by use of the name Napoleon. I have to say, I think I missed the point entirely. I don't know if I'm more politically savvy or cynical, if I know more about Soviet history than back then, if I'm a more perceptive reader, or a combination of these and other factors, but the difference is night and day. Really, you cannot be any more transparent than Orwell was in his condemnation of totalitarian regimes and specifically Lenin/Stalin's Soviet Union. And it's a brilliant and scathing attack. I'm embarrassed that I didn't understand it better the first time around, and it makes me ponder how students are often assigned certain works, simply because they are short and accessible, they are not yet fully equipped to comprehend. I wonder how many books I've read fit that description. (Comment on this)
1:14 pm	Book 16 ( 1-10 ) Dodge, Jim — Fup (121 pages) Bauby, Jean-Dominique — The Diving-Bell and the Butterfly (114 pages) Fleming, Ian — Casino Royale (219 pages) Blake, Quentin — Clown (30 pages) Weigel, George — The Courage To Be Catholic (249 pages) Ishiguro, Kazuo — The Remains of the Day (255 pages) Page count: 4117. I need to be better about logging these books on a timely basis. It has been nearly a month since I finished The Remains of the Day. I had been curious about Ishiguro for years and have had a couple of his novels sitting in my bookcase for some time. While the back-cover blurb on the other one sounds more intriguing, The Remains of the Day is shorter and his most famous novel, so I thought it best to start there. Ishiguro's style drew me in immediately. The Remains of the Day is a butler's recollections of the golden days of Darlington Hall, between the two World Wars, recounted while he takes a road trip, his first, to visit a former employee. The few highlights of his trip — a memorable view of the scenic English countryside, a chance encounter with a farmer who was a former footman, running out of petrol in a small village where everyone takes him for a real gentleman — continuously send his thoughts racing back to Darlington Hall. Sure, it doesn't sound exciting, for in this story what plot there is is only a device to frame the main character's psychological journey. The real excitement is in the portrait Ishiguro allows the butler to draw of himself. We learn early on that we cannot fully trust the butler's story. He isn't dishonest; he's just very reserved, always holding back at first, gradually revealing more and more, and one wonders how well he understands himself. By filtering through his recollections, especially those of his interactions with the former employee, who functions almost as a sort of Greek chorus giving, if indirectly, a more honest account of the various events in the butler's life, we gradually accumulate an understanding about what this road trip is really all about. I could not put this book down. The Remains of the Day, surprisingly, given how insignificant a role plot plays, is a page-turner. And if his other novels are even close to as good as The Remains of the Day, I would have to rate Ishiguro amongst my favorites. As you might expect, I watched the movie immediately after reading the book. Often my reaction is that the movie is good but fails in some way in comparison to the book. I can't say that this time. I thought the movie, despite solid performances from Anthony Hopkins and Emma Thompson, was a dud. I question why the movie makers feel the need to change important details in the novel, changes which almost always cheapen the film. Watching this, I felt Merchant Ivory simply used Ishiguro's novel as a pretence to make a period drama. The movie moved at a plodding pace and lacked the charm of Ishiguro's sparkling prose. (Comment on this)
Wednesday, July 1st, 2009
2:21 pm	Book Quiz Occasionally, a few of my friends post first lines of songs for us to guess the songs. I always do deplorably at this because I don't follow popular music much and I rarely pay attention to the lyrics. So, when sunstealer posted his book quiz earlier today, I was chomping at the bit. Surprisingly (because I do pay attention to books) my results were worse than deplorable. Still, I enjoyed taking part. And now I want to post my own book quiz and hope this turns into a meme. I am posting 10 first lines of novels. All of them are fairly well known novels, some more than others. (I would guess each has been read by someone on my friends list. I've only read three of them, but they're all on my bookshelves.) You guess the novel. No cheating! Simple! (Edit: When one is correctly guessed, I will add the title and author after the quotation.) (1) When Farmer Oak smiled, the corners of his mouth spread till they were within an unimportant distance of his ears, his eyes were reduced to chinks, and diverging wrinkles appeared round them, extending upon his countenance like the rays in a rudimentary sketch of the rising sun. — Far From the Madding Crowd, Thomas Hardy (2) Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again. — Rebecca, Daphne du Maurier (3) It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen. — 1984, George Orwell (4) It was a pleasure to burn. — Fahrenheit 451, Ray Bradbury (5) When a day that you happen to know is Wednesday starts off by sounding like Sunday, there is something seriously wrong somewhere. (6) Brother Francis Gerard of Utah might never have discovered the blessed documents, had it not been for the pilgrim with girded loins who appeared during that young novice's Lenten fast in the desert. — A Canticle for Leibowitz, Walter M. Miller, Jr. (7) "Tonight we're going to show you eight silent ways to kill a man." (8) My name is Robinette Broadhead, in spite of which I am male. (9) Wars came early to Shanghai, overtaking each other like the tides that raced up the Yangtze and returned to this gaudy city all the coffins adrift from the funeral piers of the Chinese Bund. (10) He speaks in your voice, American, and there's a shine in his eye that's halfway hopeful. (10 Comments |Comment on this)
Monday, June 29th, 2009
6:42 pm	I want to begin keeping a record of operas, concerts, and such that I perform in. Perhaps a scrapbook of sorts. To that end, I have photos, posters, fliers, programs, DVDs. I'm just not sure how best to proceed, as I haven't done anything resembling a scrapbook since I was a wee mite. Any suggestions? (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Thursday, June 25th, 2009
11:28 pm	I wanted to post about tonight's La bohème performance, but clearly any entertainment-related posts tonight have to be about Michael Jackson. As we drove away from the theatre, the Marcello received a text asking, "Is Michael Jackson DEAD?" As I waited at the kebab shop the fellow next to me said, "I just received a text saying Michael Jackson is dead." As I walked past the pub, they were playing "Billie Jean." A couple of blocks later, the fellow walking behind me talking on his mobile asked, "What? He's dead? Are you shitting me?" Reports are, at the time of this posting, unconfirmed, but if it is true, and I feel it is, it is huge news, as the way the news spread shows. Despite the controversies, the freaky surgeries, the allegations of child abuse, everything else, Jackson was a genius. He was a good singer, a brilliant dancer, a visionary entertainer. He more than anyone else, even Madonna, set the tone for my generation. And I am saddened to hear of his passing. (Comment on this)
Wednesday, June 17th, 2009
7:56 pm	I've noticed that everything is now "bleeding-edge" — "cutting-edge" just doesn't cut it anymore — and I wonder what's next: "severing-edge"? (5 Comments |Comment on this)
Sunday, May 31st, 2009
10:56 pm	Book 15 ( 1-10 ) Dodge, Jim — Fup (121 pages) Bauby, Jean-Dominique — The Diving-Bell and the Butterfly (114 pages) Fleming, Ian — Casino Royale (219 pages) Blake, Quentin — Clown (30 pages) Weigel, George — The Courage To Be Catholic (249 pages) Page count: 3862. For Lent I try to read at least one book that is religion-oriented. This year, though, I didn't feel like delving into theology or apologetics, so I chose The Courage To Be Catholic, an account of the recent abuses of the Catholic clergy in the United States. In retrospect, I would have been better off reading one of the saints or one of the great apologists. I don't mean to imply that this isn't a good book in many respects. Weigel's analysis of the sexual abuse crisis was illuminating and penetrating. He describes in detail what the crisis was and was not. He gives information about many of the cases brought against clergy. (The paedophilia cases get all the attention, as they are the most scandalous, but there was a much greater number of cases involving seduction and abuse of sexually mature minors (i.e., preteens, teens) and sexual improprieties with consenting adults.) He also discusses how numerous factors (coverups by bishops, a misunderstanding of the situation by the Church, etc.) led to the situation becoming a crisis instead of a scandal. Weigel's analysis correctly determines that the crisis went much deeper than one of sexual abuses and was, indeed, a crisis of faith and fidelity, and he identifies areas that need reform (seminary training, selection of clergy and bishops, lines of communication between dioceses and Rome and between both and the media, etc.). The first five (of nine) chapters of the book, where he dispassionately explains the crisis in detail without pulling punches, is brilliant. But then I got to page 161. Only the obsessive completist in me kept me from walking away at the point. Rarely does a book make me angry. This one made me livid within a few short lines as Weigel's agenda became clear. In the last four chapters, Weigel explains how the reforms that the Church has made in the past two decades are good but don't go far enough and suggests what further needs to be done. A lot of what he suggests sounds good. Unfortunately, it become clear on page 161 and the following pages, in the subsection titled "Homosexuality and the Seminary," that Weigel is driven as much by bigotry as any sincere desire to improve the clergy. Weigel has the balls to defend his statements by referring to "homophobiaphobia," insists that homosexuality is a disorder, and attempts to make a distinction "between a man with a 'homosexual orientation' and a man who declares himself to be 'gay.'" It is difficult enough being a devout Catholic in an increasingly secular world that is cynical of religion. People like Weigel do not help. Though Weigel is hardly the only one in the Church making such claims, Catholicism does not condemn homosexuality. I am no theologian, but I do read a lot and converse with priests and other devout Catholics regularly, and we all seem to be in agreement that Catholicism welcomes all and celebrates diversity. Okay, there are seeming contradictions in the Church's refusal to ordain women or allow gay marriage; I do not understand the theology behind those sacraments to explain why that is. But I do know that Weigel's attitude towards homosexuality, despite his claims, is a political, not theological stance. So it pisses me off to read comments like his in a book with such wide circulation, as if people aren't already confused enough about Catholicism. The Courage To Be Catholic is like a building erected on sand. It doesn't matter that Weigel's insight into and analysis of the sexual abuse crisis was so penetrating, it all falls apart because he built it on such a flawed foundation. (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Sunday, May 24th, 2009
1:55 am	Book 14 ( 1-10 ) Dodge, Jim — Fup (121 pages) Bauby, Jean-Dominique — The Diving-Bell and the Butterfly (114 pages) Fleming, Ian — Casino Royale (219 pages) Blake, Quentin — Clown (30 pages) Page count: 3613. I ordered Quentin Blake's Clown using the giftcard I received for my birthday and had to wait three months for it to arrive. It was worth the wait. This slim volume is worth ten times its weight in gold. Quentin Blake conveys so much through his illustrations that, really, words would have been superfluous. It's a wonderful story, and the little clown is so expressive. His sad face as he tries to tell others about his friends just breaks your heart. Yet he soldiers on, adversity after adversity. And at the end, a very happy ending, of course, I was all choked up and teary eyed and beaming. Do yourself a favor: Find yourself a copy of Clown. And whenever you need a smile or a little pick-me-up, spend some time with this little clown. You'll be glad you did. (3 Comments |Comment on this)
12:58 am	Book 13 ( 1-10 ) Dodge, Jim — Fup (121 pages) Bauby, Jean-Dominique — The Diving-Bell and the Butterfly (114 pages) Fleming, Ian — Casino Royale (219 pages) Page count: 3583. Last year when Quantum of Solace came out, I decided I wanted both to watch all the Bond movies (I've probably watched most but not all, and I certainly don't remember much about any before the mid-80s) and read all the Fleming novels on which they were based. And best to start with the novels, I thought. So, I bought the box-set of the new editions (the ones with the really cool retro covers by Richie Fahey) at a bargain price, and only now, months later, have I gotten around to starting this project. Casino Royale was better than I expected. I'm not (as you can tell from my reading lists over the past few years) an afficionado of the spy thriller genre, so I wasn't sure what exactly to expect. The novel was unsurprisingly plot-heavy and reeking of machismo. But Fleming proved adept at making Bond more than a stereotype, giving him depth and character, making him a real human being. This, moreso than the high-stakes card game, the car chase, the torture, the intrigue, or the romance, is what I enjoyed so much about Casino Royale. This is where I make the inevitable movie comparison. I had no need to watch Casino Royale again, since I watched it just before watching Quantum of Solace last year. Reading Fleming's novel, I had to get used to a different James Bond than what has been portrayed iconically since Connery. If anything, though, I've come away from the novel impressed with how Daniel Craig got it spot on; his is the most authentic Bond. The Casino Royale movie stayed faithful to the Fleming's novel while changing a few details in the interests of updating the story. It was a great way to "reset" the Bond franchise, and I like the movie even more now having read the novel. I look forward to the other books in the collection and then, when I'm done with the books, watching the movies in chronological order. (3 Comments |Comment on this)
Friday, May 22nd, 2009
6:15 pm	The BBC website has a new feature asking the UK to vote for its favorite poet. I got to thinking: Which of my three favorite poets would I choose? Right away I could see I'd have to strike off Neruda, as all the poets listed were British or Irish. But surely the other two, pillars of English poetry, would be there. And if I really wanted a third, I could use W. H. Davis. Of course, I have yet to see any of Davis' works in a single British bookstore, so I wasn't surprised not to find him on the list. Do the British exclude him because he spent so many years in Canada and the U.S., despite being Welsh and spending the latter half of his life in England? Or have they simply forgotten this great voice? Surely, the other two poets would be on the list, though. Right? No. Apparently, the committee that narrowed the list of poets down to thirty did not deem Housman or Shakespeare worthy of their list. Inconceivable. And thus, I did not vote. I cannot take seriously a list of the British Isles' thirty greatest poets that does not include Housman and Shakespeare. (5 Comments |Comment on this)
Thursday, May 21st, 2009
2:47 pm	Book 12 ( 1-10 ) Dodge, Jim — Fup (121 pages) Bauby, Jean-Dominique — The Diving-Bell and the Butterfly (114 pages) Page count: 3364. A quote on the front cover of The Diving-Bell and the Butterfly states it is, "One of the great books of the century." That is an ambitious claim, and one that is hyberbolic. This is a good book, an important book, but not one of the great books. The Diving-Bell and the Butterfly is the memoir, dictated through a blinking left eyelid, of former Elle editor Jean-Dominique Bauby, who suffered from locked-in syndrome brought on by a massive stroke. It gives insight into what it's like to be so vibrantly alive yet trapped in a body that cannot respond, brilliantly conveying his frustrations, his regrets, and the vividness of his memory and imagination. That I was not terribly moved is doubtless a reflection on my own jadedness than on the book's quality. It is sad that a person who enjoyed life so much should be cut down in his prime like that. But then I think of all the suffering in the world, and of other touching accounts of personal tragedy and disability, and Bauby's story — significant, honest, unsentimental, and certainly praiseworthy — just doesn't stand out. I watched the movie this afternoon. Of course. It seems I always watch the movie, if there is one, shortly after I've finished the book and tend to gravitate towards books that have movies based on them. It is a very good movie, strictly by movie standards. I might even say the movie is a better movie than the book is a book. But the movie is a lie. I often bemoan Hollywood's need to alter elements from the book when adapting it to the screen. Some of the changes I can certainly understand and often agree that they were necessary for drama or pacing. Others simply boggle the mind. Why was it necessary to give Bauby a third child? Were his two not enough? Why is the girlfriend who was constantly at Bauby's side during his ordeal almost completely excised from the movie, except to be represented as a coward and hypocrite in a couple of scenes? Why was the ex-wife, who was off galivanting with her new boyfriend, represented as the doting love of Bauby's life? Why was practically not a single detail from the book included in the film until more than forty minutes into it? In the penultimate chapter of the book, Bauby mentions that the Beatles' "A Day in the Life," was on the radio the morning of his stroke, and the song is engraved in his memory as a sort of soundtrack of and commentary on events, heightening the drama and adding to the surrealism of the day. So, why did the director replace this song with Charles Trenet's "La Mer," a charming French song, to be sure, but one which has no relevance to the story? Usually, such unjustified alterations of the story merely cheapen the end product. In this case, because this is a real story, real people were offended and hurt. A Salon.com story relates the outcry of Bauby's closest friends and relatives. It is well worth reading. By all means, enjoy the movie — it is a very good movie. But if you want a true account, stick to the book. (Comment on this)
Tuesday, May 19th, 2009
1:24 am	Book 11 ( 1-10 ) Dodge, Jim — Fup (121 pages) Page count: 3250. Fup has been described as modern allegory, a scurrilous parable, a fairy tale, a fable. I have no clue how to describe Fup, except to agree that it is splendidly Fup Duck! I cannot tell you how much I've enjoyed this book, and I wish the experience had lasted more than a few hours. The story revolves around three main characters: "Granddaddy Jake" Santee, his grandson "Tiny," and Fup the Duck. The dynamic between these three characters, the roles they play in each other's lives, is priceless. Each character really comes to life with surprising vividness, given the slimness of this book, especially Jake. It was a real joy reading about this irrascible sumbitch and his temper, his luck with gambling, his bad luck with women, and his homemade whiskey, "Ol' Death Whisper." The ending is something else again. Well, the whole book, all 121 pages, is something else. But while the bulk of it will have you guffawing and grinning like a kid, it's the last few pages that will make you sit back in awe and reflect. Dodge's style has been compared to that of Hemingway, Steinbeck, Twain, Melville, Pynchon, and even Oscar Wilde. (In fact, some think he is Pynchon, the way Kilgore Trout was Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.) I can't comment on the Pynchon, as I only read two pages of his before I forever walked away exasperated. And I don't really see the Wilde comparison, though I'm not as familiar as I'd like to be: perhaps it's for the wit and the transformation and absolution (if that's what it is) that occur at the end, as in A Picture of Dorian Gray. I'm not sure if the comparison to Steinbeck is warranted, outside of capturing the poetry of rough folk living in California. Dodge probably only gets the Twain comparisons for his nationality and wit, and the Melville comparison again for nationality and the embodiment of human traits in an animal that takes on mythic proportions. The Hemingway comparison I can (almost) see: though not sparse as Hemingway's, Dodge's narrative is a very matter-of-fact third person account, and Fup has an almost Old Man and the Sea quality to it. However, the two works Fup most reminded me of, and I'm surprised I didn't see these comparisons made anywhere, were Faulkner's "The Bear" and Márquez' "A Very Old Man with Enormous Wings," for the way they deal with mortality and loss and the fairy tale-like, mythic qualities in each. However one might describe Fup and whoever one might compare Dodge to, I can assure you of one thing: reading Fup is a great way to spend a few hours. You will not regret cracking this one open. In fact, I wish more of you would read it, so we could discuss it. This is one book I won't be giving away, as I look forward to reading it again and again. (Comment on this)
Sunday, May 17th, 2009
9:55 am	Book 10 Grossmith, George & Weedon — The Diary of a Nobody (166 pages) McCarthy, Cormac — Blood Meridian (334 pages) Moore, Alan & Dave Gibbons — Watchmen (399 pages) Moore, Christopher — Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ's Childhood Pal (507 pages) Murger, Henri — The Bohemians of the Latin Quarter (381 pages) Walk with Me: A Lenten Journey of Prayer for 2009 (98 pages) Douglas, Lloyd C. — The Robe (438 pages) Robinson, Marilynne — Gilead (281 pages) Jerome, Jerome K. — Three Men in a Boat (182 pages) Satrapi, Marjane — Persepolis (343 pages) Page count: 3129. Persepolis, my second graphic novel, dispels any doubts I may have had about the seriousness of this genre. This is a powerful, meaningful work. Persepolis is Marjane Satrapi's two-volume memoir of growing up Iranian during the Revolution. The first volume, Story of a Childhood, presents a brief history of Iran before recounting events during Satrapi's childhood and her reaction to them: the initial Revolution to depose the Shah, the Islamic Fundamentalist takeover of Iran, and the war with Iraq. In the second volume, Story of a Return, Satrapi recounts life-changing encounters in Vienna, where she was sent to be safe from the war, and then later back in Tehran, where she tried to make do in an oppressive system as a university student and young adult. Both volumes are powerfully moving, but the first delivers a particularly harrowing punch, as we witness Satrapi's loss of friends and family, her questioning of faith, and so much more through the eyes of a child. Two things help make this account particularly effective. First, Satrapi does not hide her flaws and blemishes, does not make herself out to be something she isn't. Her honesty about herself makes me more receptive to believe the rest of her account. Second, she tells her story with an economy of words which allows her illustrations to speak volumes. And the simple black-and-white drawings are very effective. I also watched the recent movie adaptation and was not as impressed. I think the graphic novel format works better in this case than film. This may be partly because many events had to be referred to only in passing or omitted altogether. Also, a small number of details seemed to be altered slightly, which I probably only noticed because I watched the film the same day I finished the book. Satrapi was involved in the filmmaking process, so when the film and novel conflict I don't which is the truer account. I recommend the novel to anyone interested in learning more about Iranian life or, really, life in any repressive society. Despite its format, though, this is not a light read. It is stark and moving. I had to put it down a few times because it was just too much to digest all at once. Powerful stuff! (Comment on this)
Friday, May 15th, 2009
10:59 pm	Book 9 Grossmith, George & Weedon — The Diary of a Nobody (166 pages) McCarthy, Cormac — Blood Meridian (334 pages) Moore, Alan & Dave Gibbons — Watchmen (399 pages) Moore, Christopher — Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ's Childhood Pal (507 pages) Murger, Henri — The Bohemians of the Latin Quarter (381 pages) Walk with Me: A Lenten Journey of Prayer for 2009 (98 pages) Douglas, Lloyd C. — The Robe (438 pages) Robinson, Marilynne — Gilead (281 pages) Jerome, Jerome K. — Three Men in a Boat (182 pages) Page count: 2786. I hadn't planned on reading Three Men in a Boat just now. Rather, I was the victim of circumstance. During a train ride home with a Susannah cast member, we got to talking about books. He was currently reading Three Men in a Boat and I mentioned I had seen it in a bookstore at the same time I bought The Diary of a Nobody and was quite curious. The two do seem to be linked together as slim and very English satires of late-nineteenth-century English middle class life. I hadn't expected to see it again when I gave him my copy of The Diary of a Nobody, which he had expressed interest in reading, yet he treated it as a loan. When he returned it to me, he had for me his copy of Three Men in a Boat, which was clearly regarded a loan. I resolved to read it as soon as I finished Gilead. But I was not about to rush Gilead and didn't finish it until the day of my last Susannah performance. (In fact, the ending of Gilead left me in such an inspired state that it raised my final performance to a whole new level.) Though I thought I could finish Three Men in a Boat in just two days, given its length, there was no way I could finish it quickly enough to return to my castmate at the cast party the next day. It actually took me two weeks to finish this slim volume. Three Men in a Boat starts off in a very charming manner. It just never really goes anywhere. The three men (and Montmorency, the fox terrier) don't actually spend much of the book on the river or in the boat. Three Men in a Boat is more a collection of anecdotes and hyperbolic tales than a narrative of three men on a boating holiday. Indeed, too many of the bits that were narrative simply described the idyllic Thames countryside as the boat worked its way upstream. The boat trip was very much peripheral to the reminiscences about historical events or such and such crazy incident that happened to this and that acquaintance. These anecdotes were all charming and flashed a satirical edge, but, as is the case with charm, it lacks much substance. I began to tire of all the cleverness and charm halfway through. Perhaps I am not being fair. The novel as a whole is entertaining and witty, and I often smiled. I guess I was in the mood for something that might hit me deeper than a mere grazing of the surface. This would be the ideal read for a nice little sojourn in the country. As novellas go, it's an English bonbon, which is all well and nice, except when you want meat and potatoes. (Comment on this)
Thursday, May 14th, 2009
5:58 pm	Finally, I'm all caught up with my book-tracking posts. By the end of the week, I should be finished with another two, perhaps even three, that are in progress. I'm still behind pace to meet my goal for the year, but it doesn't seem as bleak as it had before these last few posts. (Comment on this)
4:54 pm	Book 8 Grossmith, George & Weedon — The Diary of a Nobody (166 pages) McCarthy, Cormac — Blood Meridian (334 pages) Moore, Alan & Dave Gibbons — Watchmen (399 pages) Moore, Christopher — Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ's Childhood Pal (507 pages) Murger, Henri — The Bohemians of the Latin Quarter (381 pages) Walk with Me: A Lenten Journey of Prayer for 2009 (98 pages) Douglas, Lloyd C. — The Robe (438 pages) Robinson, Marilynne — Gilead (281 pages) Page count: 2604. Gilead is one of the most beautiful books I have ever read. As tempted as I am to leave it at that, this book deserves more. I had been browsing through the Willesden Green Library Bookstore when I spotted this. I had absolutely no intention to buy anything at all; I was just curious about what I thought (erroneously) might be a used-book store that I so often ride by in a bus at night. But then I saw a novel by the popular Iain Banks that takes place in Panamá and a new, interesting-sounding treatise on twentieth-century classical music, and suddenly I lost my resolve and was in book-buying mode. When I spotted Gilead, the name and the attractive, understated cover made me curious. Robinson's name sounded familiar, and after a few moments skimming through my mental archives I remembered why. She had written a first novel in the early '80s, Housekeeping, that was broadly proclaimed as one of the great books of the twentieth century but had written no other. I hadn't been too interested in Housekeeping, I remembered, because it's subject matter (a mother-daughter relationship in or on the way to Seattle, if I recall correctly) didn't greatly interest me. I read the commentary on the back cover of Gilead and cracked it open to skim through the prefatory material. I noted that the book had something to do with Protestant ministers in the American midwest. Having just been promoted to the role of Reverend Blitch in Susannah, I felt reading this might help me prepare the role. (I also read the story of Susannah in the Bible and watched YouTube videos of American evangelical preachers, especially Jimmy Swaggart.) The purchase thus justified, I added Gilead to my modest pile. The premise is simple: Reverend John Ames married and had a child very late in life. Now in his seventies, he knows he won't be around to raise his now-seven-year-old boy. He seeks to write a long letter to his son, setting down everything one might normally spread over the length of a normal father-son relationship in these pages. He talks extensively about his father and grandfather; stories of their involvement in the abolitionist movement and the Civil War; about his childhood; what life was like during the Great War, the Spanish Flu pandemic, the Great Depression, the Second World War; his first wife, who died in childbirth, and the young daughter who died shortly thereafter; the town of Gilead in Iowa; his church (Congregationalist, I think, determined by process of elimination) and other church communities in Gilead; friends, acquaintances, and other characters that drifted in and out of his life; religion, philosophy, and his sermons; his current wife; and himself. There's no real plot, or only the suggestion of an outline of a plot; rather, it's more a meditation on life and everything in it. The beauty of Robinson's prose alone is enough to recommend this novel. Her words bring scenes vividly to life and touched me to the quick. But if that weren't enough, the power and depth of her thoughts are staggering. Above all, Gilead's humanity is palpable. I felt as though I were spending time with a dear old friend, one who easily moved me to laughter or tears, not reading a novel. Marilynne Robinson has since published a third novel, Home. The central character of Home is one of the main characters of Gilead. I don't know, though, if Home is a sequel or meant to give another perspective on events recounted in Gilead. I'll find out soon enough, as I had to buy it when I saw it in a bookstore recently. If it's anywhere near as well-written as Housekeeping (nominated for the Pulitzer Prize) or Gilead (winner of the Pulitzer Prize and the National Book Critics Circle Award), it will be a joy to read. (Comment on this)
Wednesday, May 13th, 2009
3:40 am	I don't know how real this is or whether it was staged, but it's cute and reminds me of Tweety & Sylvester. (4 Comments |Comment on this)
Tuesday, May 12th, 2009
1:54 pm	Check this out! As cheesy as it may seem, this is what it's all about. I think if you ask any performing artist, whether singer, actor, dancer, magician, comic, whatever, they would all, despite all the egos which are so common, say more or less the same thing: We do it so that we can bring a smile to someone's face, however fleeting, so that we can help others feel better for a moment. The folks who pulled off this stunt aren't asking for anything: the looks of surprise and the smiles all around them are all the thanks they need or want. Maybe I'm just being a sentimental fuddyduddy, but I had tears streaming down my cheek as I watched this. (2 Comments |Comment on this)
12:03 pm	Book 7 Grossmith, George & Weedon — The Diary of a Nobody (166 pages) McCarthy, Cormac — Blood Meridian (334 pages) Moore, Alan & Dave Gibbons — Watchmen (399 pages) Moore, Christopher — Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ's Childhood Pal (507 pages) Murger, Henri — The Bohemians of the Latin Quarter (381 pages) Walk with Me: A Lenten Journey of Prayer for 2009 (98 pages) Douglas, Lloyd C. — The Robe (438 pages) Page count: 2323. I like to choose reading that is appropriate to the season or to a locale that I'm visiting. Thus, I chose The Canterbury Tales when I went to Canterbury, I used to read a baseball book every summer for a few years when I lived in the States, I like to read something in a horror or mystery strain in October, something Christmassy or fantasy-themed in December, and so on. During Lent the past few years I've gotten into the habit of reading a couple of religious items: Thomas Merton, Dorothy Day, G.K. Chesterton, C.S. Lewis, St. John of the Cross, Thomas à Kempis, etc. But this year I wasn't quite in the mood for theology or Christian apologetics. With my commitments to regular employment and to the operas, I wanted my reading to remain wholly pleasure reading. I remember fondly as a kid watching the old Richard Burton movie, The Robe, several times at Easter. And back when I was at Amherst, when students could organize movie nights in the campus theater, I scheduled an Easter doubleheader of Jesus Christ Superstar and The Robe. (You can guess which one was significantly better attended.) So, with gift card in hand, I set out to acquire a copy of the novel on which the movie was based. While I don't think The Robe could ever be considered great literature, I found it an exciting read, in the way I might find a Grisham novel (were I ever to read one). It had the feel of a best-seller, which no doubt partly explains its dominance of the bestseller lists. (It sat at number one on the New Year Times Bestseller list for over a year in 1942-43, remained on the list for a couple of years, and periodically returned to the list for several years, including in 1953 when the film was released.) The writing contains flaws: the style is a bit precious at times; all the characters, whether Roman legate, Greek slave, Roman emperor, or Jewish fisherman, speak with the same voice; the religious bit can get a little heavy-handed at times. But the plot is rip-roaring; the principle characters of Marcellus (the Roman legate who crucified Christ and finds conversion through the robe) and Demetrius (his Corinthian slave who twice turns down manumission because he feels bound by duty and filial love to help Marcellus) are beautifully rendered; and the slow process of conversion and all the mental anguish that accompanies it makes fascinating, throught-provoking reading. I happened to be at the Westfield Mall one day when I was nearly through with the novel and decided to walk into an HMV to see if they had a copy of the DVD. I didn't think they would, as the movie is old and fairly obscure now. But I was surprised to find one copy at a very reasonable price, so I snatched it up. I don't know if the movie is not as good as I remembered, or if my viewing was significantly affected by having read the book. I didn't enjoy it as much. I felt Burton's character had no depth and none of the nobility given in the book. Marcellus is supposed to be a well-respected officer, an intellect and skeptic who disdains all religion as silly superstition, a man of upstanding character and conviction who acted with nuance, subtlety, and sensitivity; and Burton depicted him as a hot-headed, impetuous rascal. This, in my opinion, makes the ultimate conversion and sacrifice less powerful. I also remembered being particularly taken by Victor Mature's turn as Demetrius; while I still enjoyed his performance, the character in the movie was not drawn as staid, honorable, and loyal as in the book. Perhaps these choices were made to expedite action in the movie, but I felt the movie thus lost a lot of it's meat, leaving us with a skeleton that could have substituted for any Greek/Roman period piece with sword fighting and chariots. I also felt the inclusion of Judas in the movie, a character not even mentioned in the book, was a cheap theatrical stunt that hurt the quality of the film. Still, the movie won two Academy Awards, so maybe my initial favorable impression was more on the ball. It's still an enjoyable enough movie, thanks in great deal to the charm Jean Simmons brought to the role of Diana. It just suffers in direct comparison to Douglas' novel. (Comment on this)
11:55 am	Book 6 Grossmith, George & Weedon — The Diary of a Nobody (166 pages) McCarthy, Cormac — Blood Meridian (334 pages) Moore, Alan & Dave Gibbons — Watchmen (399 pages) Moore, Christopher — Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ's Childhood Pal (507 pages) Murger, Henri — The Bohemians of the Latin Quarter (381 pages) Walk with Me: A Lenten Journey of Prayer for 2009 (98 pages) Page count: 1885. This collection of prayers, scripture passages, and reflections which I used daily during Lent this year will be of no interest to anyone, I'm sure, who isn't religiously like-minded. Still, 98 pages is 98 pages, so I'm logging this to keep track for my year-end goal. (Comment on this)