Showing posts with label England. Show all posts
Showing posts with label England. Show all posts

Friday, December 16, 2011

Reading is sexy XLVIII

(image source) The next two books I read had a theme of dysfunctional sibling relationships, where siblings compete for love with fatal results, also the theme of Eden, the serpent and fall from grace. Just in time for the holidays! (kidding of course)

23. The Game by A.S. Byatt This is a shorter, early novel by Byatt, which tells the story of two adult sisters, Casandra the Oxford don and Medievalist, and Julia, best-selling novelist. As children they had an elaborate, shared, imaginative life and the titular game, inspired by Medieval romances, reminiscent of what the young Brontë sisters made with their mythology of Gondal and the associated maps and stories they created together. The adult sisters are distant, but brought together when their father has a stroke. They grew apart, we learn, as the novel progresses, due to a series of perceived transgressions (Julia writing about their shared game, their mutual and competitive love of the neighbour Simon -now a jungle-dwelling herpetologist with a budding TV career, Cassandra's rather melodramatic denunciation of the family's Quaker faith and conversion to Anglicanism, Julia's sort of self-sabotaging hero-worship for her older sister). Cassandra is a spinster, with a secret obsession still for Simon, who shared her early religious investigations. Julia is married to would-be Quaker saint Thor, and has a teenage daughter Deborah. Julia finds herself on a TV show about art and ideas, through which Simon re-enters their lives. Once again, Byatt has a natural scientist as a character to involve zoology, but also the symbol and mythology of snakes and serpents. I appreciate her consistent argument that science, like art, contributes to culture. Julia, initially intending to repair her relationship with her sister, ends up writing a novel, which is a thinly-veiled story of Cassandra and her relationship with and to Simon, without much thought to consequences. This is a study of family relationships, unrequited love, ideas, the nature of art versus science, writing, mental health, suicide, charity, academia, and responsibility. The characters feel quite real and the story is engaging, though it is perhaps less of a tapestry of ideas than Byatt's later novels.

(Literary gossip being what it is, I read once that this novel started her feud with her sister Margaret Drabble, though, it's also been attributed to writing about a family tea set.)

24. Cain by José Saramago This strange and final parable from the wise old man himself, is a sort of mythical biography of Cain. It begins with his parents, Adam and Eve, and their despotic Old Testament Creator (complete with ample pride and crown) in the Garden of Eden. After their expulsion, and an interesting interlude between Eve and the guarding Cherubim, they land on their feet when taken in by a caravan (because, of course, there are other people), and eventually they make a home and a family. Cain, in frustration with God's petty testing of his faith by only accepting Abel's tributes, kills his brother in jealousy, but argues for God's partial culpability. The story is really of his life after this, as a nomad, through time and space. He serves as skeptical witness to all of the most famous Old Testament stories (from Abraham and Isaac through Sodom and Gomorrah, the Tower of Babel, Moses, Job, various wars and battles ending with Noah). The thesis seems to be that the Old Testament God is cruel and capricious (all that senseless death and destruction, including innocent children destroyed in Sodom and cruel demands of sacrifice), but Cain has a plan for retribution.

As intriguing as all of Saramago's novels, this is a most unusual book.

25. My White Planet by Mark Anthony Jarman At first I thought, that's what you get for choosing books at random off RJH's shelf. He, after all, has King Leopold's Ghost (about the exploitation of the Congo) by his bedside, and The Road (in which *spoiler alert* people are eaten) in the glove compartment of his car. I wondered whether perhaps all his favorite books would be sad. Jarman's first story (and some of the subsequent stories) of a soldier's life in Custer's army is a bit grim. Several stories are informed by the violent North American colonial wars and battles (with allusions to Sitting Bull through Louis Riel). The titular dreamy story about seven isolated men at arctic research station which has fallen out of contact with civilization, who find a shipwrecked girl, is quite creepy. But, he writes crystalline stories like poems. "Make way for my itchy antlers, my spikes of rage, my affection for the slippery slope." I have the idea that Jarman is a writer's writer. He knows how to wield words. His stories are very evocative. I recognized the unnamed Straight of Georgia (and was unsurprised to learn the author lived in Victoria, prior to moving to Fredericton) in the description of a float plane flight in Bad Men Who Love Buzz Lightyear; I recognized Fredericton with its right side and wrong side of the Saint John River in Bear on a Chain. I can see how his simple story of a New Brunswick old timers hockey team, A Nation Plays Chopsticks would charm RJH, with its descriptions of the game, the odd camaraderie, driving moose-ridden highways at night, haunting old arenas, and questioning the drive of the 'civilized' narrator (presumably Jarman) to play a sometimes violent game. I personally enjoyed the sporadic allusions to an interesting array of music (clearly he's an avid listener) - from Bobbie Gentry through the White Stripes, by way of everyone from Otis Blackwell, Neil Young, Stereolab, Godspeed You! Black Emperor, Joy Division, the Tragically Hip, Sid Vicious, Syd Barrett and assorted unexpected allusions. The final two stories are even labeled "Bonus Tracks". Personally, I would read this book for the sheer pleasure of these two sentences: "If Derrida didn't exist we'd have to invent him. And then beat him up at recess," but the book is much richer than that. Read these well-crafted stories and see.

26. Myths To Live By by Joseph Campbell. Guess it's back to the imagery of the Garden and the serpent.

{Series so far: books read, more books read, books read, books read continues, more books read,  Reading is sexy I,  Reading is sexy II,  Reading is sexy III,  IReading is sexy V, Reading is sexy V, Reading is sexy VI, Reading is sexy VII, Reading is sexy VIII, Reading is sexy IX, Reading is sexy Reading is sexy X, Reading is sexy XI, Reading is sexy XII, Reading is sexy XIII, Reading is sexy XIV, Reading is sexy XV, Reading is sexy XVI, Reading is sexy XVII, Reading is sexy XVIII, Reading is sexy XIX, Reading is sexy XX, Reading is sexy XXI, Reading is sexy XXII, Reading is sexy XXIII Reading is sexy XXIV, Reading is sexy XXV, Reading is sexy XXVI, Reading is sexy XXVII, Reading is sexy XXVIII, Reading is sexy XXIX, Reading is sexy XXX, Reading is sexy XXXI, Reading is sexy XXXII, Reading is sexy XXXIII, Reading is sexy XXXIV, Reading is sexy Reading is sexy XXXV, Reading is sexy XXXVI, Reading is sexy XXXVII, Reading is sexy XXXVIII, Reading is sexy XXXIX, Reading is sexy XL, Reading is sexy XLI, Reading is sexy XLII, Reading is sexy XLIII, Reading is sexyXLIV, Reading is sexy XLV, Reading is sexy XLVI, Reading is sexy XLVII}

Friday, July 22, 2011

Dorset, Poole, Bournemouth, and the New Forest

So we continued south through Dorset, which was extremely picturesque, but not driving for the faint of heart. I decided I did not like lorries. They hog the narrow road, driving over the central line as you come around a sharp bend, on a hill, with a giant hedge of doom encroaching onto the passenger's side. There were road signs we did not recognize. RJH was sort of stunned that they just let you rent a car with a Canadian driver's licence and provide neither maps, or information on rules which may be unique to English roads. I decided one sign meant 'giant hegde of doom' as these seemed to be correlated with even narrower roads. Also, they don't seem to believe in shoulders on the road. So, there is nowhere to pull over. My mother said that in her experience, just when you think the lorry is going to squish you and drive over your little car, it will suddenly back up a mile and a half to the closest place for you to pass. I saw no such thing - though we also did not see any evidence of road accidents, so perhaps it's not as dangerous as it felt.

Dorset

RJH pulled off the road at a small town he instinctively wanted to explore, and we found this:
Dorset
DorsetDorset

We continued down to Poole, on the coast. This proved a real challenge to navigate a city without any sort of street map, but eventually we found the water. We asked for directions from a friendly man, with a sadly, mostly inpenetrable accent. We nonetheless, found the waterfront and had lunch near Paden Powell.

Baden Powell, Poole

Then, we drove through neighbouring Bournemouth.
Bournemouth
roundabout amoeba

When RJH saw this road sign he protested. He said, "We've just managed to master the roundabout, but what is that? It's not a roundabout. It's an amoeba!" and we had a good laugh. I managed to get us to the smaller road through the New Forest. We didn't want to drive on the "double carriageway" (like a freeway). Rather, we wanted to see the national park, with is free-roaming semi-feral ponies. All the signs warned against petting, feeding or approaching the ponies, who would bite if threated, hungry, curious, or generally annoyed. They were something to see. There's something rather magical about a wild, or semi-wild animal approaching you unexpectedly without fear.

New Forest ponies
New Forest poniesNew Forest New Forest ponies
New Forest ponies
New Forest ponies
New Forest poniesNew Forest poniesNew Forest ponies
New Forest poniesNew Forest poniesNew Forest ponies

We went off the small road, onto an even smaller road or track which lead to a deer sanctuary. We didn't see any deer, but there were a lot of rabbits.
rabbits in the deer sanctuary, New Forest

The towns within the New Forest were very quaint. We continued to Southampton. I missed our exit so had to navigate through the city. I was interested in what the rest of the city looked like. We spent the night in a hotel "near" the airport (or so it alledged, on the internet). In the morning we took the train to Gatwick and returned to Toronto.

We were glad we managed to see so many different places. With a minimum of planning, and despite illness, we managed a really interesting visit.

Bath

Bath, EnglandBath, EnglandBath, England
Bath, EnglandBath, EnglandBath, England
Bath, EnglandBath, EnglandBath, England


We got up the next morning and wandered around Bath. By this time, I had the bad cold RJH had suffered from, but could handle walking. We got away from the baths and the tourist-filled area and found a nice French café for breakfast. Then, we continued to The Circus, which is not what you might think.

Bath, EnglandBath, EnglandThe Circus, Bath
The Circus, BathThe Circus, Bath
The Circus, BathThe Circus, Bath
The Circus, Bath
The Circus, BathThe Circus, BathThe Circus, BathThe Circus, BathThe Circus, BathThe Circus, Bath

The plaques above the doors of the homes within the Circus identified original inhabitants, like Lord Clive, nabob owner of the East India Company who figures highly in the novel I was reading (Mason and Dixon) or Thomas Gainsborough, the portrait painter.

The Circus, Bath
The Circus, Bath
The Circus, BathThe Circus, BathThe Circus, Bath

We continued up the street to see the Assembly Rooms, straight out of a Jane Austen novel and then came back down and over to the Royal Crescent, and meandered back to the car.

England 252England 253England 254
England 255Bath, England
Royal Crescent, Bath
Royal Crescent, Bath
Royal Crescent, Bath
Royal Crescent, BathRoyal Crescent, Bath
Royal Crescent, BathRoyal Crescent, BathRoyal Crescent, Bath
Royal Crescent, BathRoyal Crescent, BathRoyal Crescent, Bath
Royal Crescent, Bath
Royal Crescent, Bath
Bath lionBathBath
BathBathBath
Bath, England Bathmodern Bath
Bathsewingmachine window

We then drove south (moreorless) towards the coast.

England - south of BathEngland - south of BathEngland - south of Bath
England - south of BathEngland - south of BathEngland - south of Bath