Last week I finished My Dark Places and Far Eastern Tales:
My Dark Places is a great book for those who are already fans of Ellroy’s writing, or are fans of true crime writing in general. It’s very weird to have true crime mixed in with memoir, but Ellroy is definitely a special case. If my mother had been murdered when I was ten and my father had spent all his time talking shite about her (constantly referring to her as an alcoholic whore, I recall), I’d grow up pretty fucked up, too.
I got Far Eastern Tales out from the library. I remember my mother being a fan of Somerset Maugham’s short stories, but she’s also into chick lit and self-help, so I was a bit wary. I enjoyed it a lot more than I thought I would — it’s really interesting to see the society of early expats to Southeast Asia through this medium, and how Singapore, briefly mentioned here and there, has changed in (what must amount to) a century or so.
I’ve just started Country Driving, a proof of a book being published in January 2010. Given the time I spent in China, I’m pretty keen to see what the author has to say.
(I thought this had been published, but it hadn’t. Ah well. Imagine it’s 23 November, you can do it.)
Can I just say what an unexpected delight The House of the Mosque was. I do feel I’m at one remove from the author’s intentions in a translation, so I hope that the novel in its original Dutch has as light a touch yet as evocative a storytelling style. Stories that outline the horrors of a particular period in history are important but they get a bit same-y after a while. This novel tells the story of the Iranian Revolution and its effects through the eyes of one extended family. The earlier sections did read like a magical fable of sorts, and it’s only when you get to the second half that things get serious. Highly recommended.
Then I remembered that The Yellow Wallpaper was due back at the library this week, so I sped through it. That’s not hard because it’s only 30 pages or so long. It’s essentially a first-person short story of a woman losing it. I’m not sure it’s the literary or feminist masterpiece, but it was pretty good and the author, Charlotte Perkins Gilman sounded like quite the woman. What I found most interesting (in the afterword) was how Gilman attributed her ‘inherited’ personality traits — the emotional ones from her mother, the logical and intellectual from her father. Perhaps she was more a product of her times than she (or her fans) would like to admit!
Now I’m about halfway through my gifted copy of My Dark Places (James Ellroy). It’s pretty riveting reading.
Via the Tezza, strange client requests in web design. I like the transparent colour request the best. I’m going to use it in my meeting tomorrow.
There’s something good about being a miserable bastard after all.
A letter from another literary crush — Kurt Vonnegut’s POW letter home.
I am now more than halfway through The House of the Mosque. It’s a real page-turner, a couple of nights ago I had to tell myself to stop reading because it was really getting late.
Yesterday I went to Waterstone’s to get Makers by Cory Doctorow, and I also ended picking up Flash Forward by Robert J Sawyer and The Ascent of Money by Niall Ferguson (non-fiction literary crush right here, baby). I should not be allowed near any bookshops. Seriously.
I’m making less-than-stellar progress with The House of the Mosque so far — we spent more time walking around outdoors and then watching DVDs over the weekend. So I’m only about a third of the way through.
But we just bought four more books from Fopp on Rose Street and they were all steeply discounted (remainder stock, I imagine) and two of those are by T.C. Boyle — squee!
Ohhhhh… I have literary crushes on weird old men.
Oh my. Clearly I have been completely taken in by the feel-good atmosphere of Ikea, when the family is allegedly pretty slushy grey snow.
Has anyone ever complimented someone or an organisation with the phrase “punching above your/his/her/its weight,” then followed up (either out loud or under one’s breath) with, “… and it shows…”?
Last night I finished The Solitude of Prime Numbers by Paolo Giordano.
- The dude is only 27. Holy fuck.
- I love the fact that Mattia is so into numbers, although I have no reason to.
- It’s very contemporary and people will be able to identify with their neuroses in some way.
- It had a very real, if surprising, ending.
- My only criticism is it jumped forward in time so quickly and briefly.
The years really skip ahead on The Solitude of Prime Numbers, don’t they? While I’m still enjoying it, for some reason I’m enjoying it slightly less than when I started. It might be because I’m thinking of what my ‘books of the year’ might be (although I have no idea why I or anyone else should care), so I’m getting distracted.
At the moment, I could care less what happens to Alice, but I identify with Mattia’s social difficulties and I’m rooting for him.
cf. How Many Books Do You Read Each Year? — approximately 50, plus a few manuscripts here and there*. One good thing about working for a publisher is that I get to read stuff that isn’t published yet. It’s also bad because some things don’t get published as soon as I’d like so I can recommend them.
Of course it helps that I’m a bona fide bookworm anyway. I probably averaged in the high 30s or 40s before 2007, and these days I still buy at least 20-30 books a year, along with whatever I read with work.
(I’ve seen some people on BookCrossing claim to read at least 100 books a year. They mustn’t have jobs, or they work at the library.)
But y’know, if Kottke ain’t doing it, it’s not worth doing!
* I don’t work in editorial, otherwise it’d be hundreds a year.
I finished Ah, Sweet Mystery of Life last night while Neil was watching Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels (I find their accents and the whole laddish caper thing annoying).
I loved the darker stories and I’m sure I’ve read Parson’s Pleasure before. I can see these stories being a big hit in the 40s when they were published in the paper.
We were all about the acting (watching other people do it) this weekend.
Eastern Promises and A History of Violence — thank Deity Viggo Mortensen is no longer simply that bloke who plays Aragorn. He is stunningly good in Eastern Promises and pretty damn good in A History of Violence. Note to self: research any future tattoo ideas to make sure they aren’t also Russian prison tattoos. I don’t need anything chopped off.
We saw the final matinee of Confessions of a Justified Sinner at the Lyceum. I make no secret of being a fan of the book, so it was nice to see it on stage. A decent adaptation of a book that was difficult to adapt — the captioning certainly made it easier for people to understand Gil-Martin’s ability to ‘take on’ the looks of other characters.
The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas — oh, *sniff*. I’ve been meaning to read this for a long time, and now I’m not sure if I want to at all, it’s so sad. Great performances by both boys.
An aborted attempt to watch Infernal Affairs — damn you, scratched rental DVD!
The Lives of Others — I picked this because 1) the name was familiar, and 2) it’s work-related. What a good film. I’m not convinced of the ease at which Wiesler formed an emotional bond with Dreyman (he’s an experienced Stasi captain, after all), but the depiction of the oppression and self-censorship spoke volumes. Go watch it if you haven’t yet.
I finished Naming the Bones on Saturday — I’d say it’s a page-turner.
I started Ah, Sweet Mystery of Life on Friday when I wanted some light reading. It’s no’ bad.
Last night I got stuck into The Solitude of Prime Numbers and it’s pretty good. I’d read ten chapters in no time!