Wherein Nomo Discusses a Book Without Reviewing It.

So, I finished reading Loving Frank for my book club meeting this week. I'm not going to review it save this: it was a good book, well-written, and I liked it.

Wow, I'm smart.

What I do want to talk about is the subject of the book. If you haven't read it, the basic premise is as follows: Mamah Cheney is a married woman with two small children. She and her husband, Edwin, hire Frank Lloyd Wright to design their home. She falls in love with Frank, and realizes that she not only loves someone else, she actually never loved her husband. She leaves him and joins Frank on a trip to Berlin. She asks her husband for a divorce, which he eventually grants. Cause: desertion. I won't say much more as not to ruin the (very shocking and unexpected) ending.

I actually finished the book last week, but I've been mulling it around in my head. Mr Earth is tired of talking about a book he hasn't read, so you, my lovely readers are the recipients of my thoughts.

I absolutely believe that if Mamah doesn't love her husband, and, in fact, never loved him, then she should have left him. I've never been a fan of the whole idea of "staying together for the sake of the children". While I respect the thought and love behind to the decision to stay together for the children, I think it does them a disservice in that they spend their childhood witnessing an unhappy and unhealthy relationship. As parents, Mamah and Edwin, should have made every effort to make the relationship work. But if they tried, and it still didn't work, everyone is happier separate, no matter how hard the initial shock of separation is for the children. So in that respect, she was absolutely in the right.

What I don't understand is how Mamah could leave her children behind FOR 2 YEARS while she gallivanted off to Europe to hang out with her lover and find her calling. Both are very important things, things that she had to do to regain her sense of self. But to do them at the expense of her relationship with her children...well, it made me think less of her. Yes, she had to be with Frank, who was overseas. Yet she could have stayed with him there and come back periodically. Yes, she had to find herself, and do her important work in the world - work that would have been hard to do with small children around - but she could have done it from a location closer to her children. It would make it harder, yes, as Europe was the epicentre of the new thinking, but as a parent - wasn't she obliged to stay? Wasn't she??

It's such a hard question, one I ask myself constantly. All people, mothers being no exception, need personal fulfillment. They can't just narrow their lives up to a point where they are "mom" and nobody else. It's a recipe for future disaster. As one of the characters in the book, Else, said "I was married to a doctor...I had fine china. Lovely rugs on the floor... One day, I woke up and thought, What have you done with your gifts? You've traded them for furniture." (pg 191) That quote really chilled me, because you can hear how easy it is to lose yourself in motherhood and forget selfhood.

But I still think that if you make the choice to have children - and nobody put a gun to Mamah's head, although in the early 1900's, I'm sure it wasn't really a choice - then you must necessarily be there for the children YOU CHOSE to have. They have a right to a mother, and you have an obligation to be there. She chose to further herself at the expense of her children. It's funny too, because she criticized her idol, feminist Ellen Key, for contradicting her own ideas and saying just that.

I'm just torn apart trying to figure out just exactly what I think of Mamah. I like her. I want to support her breaking the mold, going after her dreams, and seeking her happiness. I simply can't forgive her leaving her children to do so. Desertion is a cold word. An unforgivable word, where children are concerned. After a week of thinking about it, I still don't know whether or not I agree with the path she chose. (I know I don't have to. It's just a book. But I say a book is not worth reading if you're not invested in it. I like to put myself in the heroine's position and figure out a problem from her perspective.)

What do you think? Are you even following my muddled thought process...?

The Good Book

I am extremely, ridiculously lucky in that the good people at Random House send me review copies of some of their books. I don't write a post about every single one of them. Sometimes, I simply don't have time (loved The Lady Elizabeth, but life went crazy..and now the moment has passed). Some don't inspire me (sorry Vassanji, I'm usually a fan, but you lost me on this one). Sometimes, the book is amazing, but other bloggers posted way better reviews and I feel like I have nothing to add. (Have you read Six Months in Sudan? You should. It's the exact opposite of 'my type of book', and I loved it. Loved. Go read Kgirl's summary.)

But sometimes, I am truly enamoured by a book and I feel that I have to say something - even if it sucks as a 'review' - about it. This is the case with The Good Mayor. I was trawling Chapters looking for something to read, and finding nothing when I came across this book by an author that I'd never heard of. And no wonder, it's Andrew Nicoll's first book. The quaint, sepia cover caught my eye (I totally judge a book by it's cover. Totally. And the way it feels in my hands when I pick it up. I'm very tactile. And weird.), as did the quote:

'Simply makes you want to go out and fall in love with someone.'

I won't bore you with a summary of the story - especially as when you talk about 'what happens', it's really just a) the Mayor is in love with his secretary b) his secretary is married c) her husband sucks d) she starts to fall in love with the mayor. Not much to it, right?

Wrong.

I don't know how to describe it, except to say it's...magical. Nicoll has a way with words that is quite remarkable. Rich, plummy, unexpectedly descriptive words give this novel an offbeat charm that is simply entrancing. I had a hard time putting it down. I kept finding little chunks of time to read whatever I could, as often as I could. I was recommending it to people before I even finished it.

I was entirely captivated. The (surprise) twist near the end (which I won't reveal) was a little off-putting. But it was the only time that I was not completely under this book's spell. This is one that I think I will keep and read again. And again. A perfect, lovely, summer treasure. I look forward to more from this author.

The Truth About Me and Books

I grew up with a mom who spent every spare minute reading books. I mean, every spare minute. If you wanted to know where she was when she wasn't working tirelessly teaching, grading, cleaning or cooking, she would no doubt be in the living room, reading a book on the couch. It was inevitable that I too would learn to love reading.

My first memory of reading, though, is from my first day of kindergarten. I have no doubt that my parents read to me as an infant, but I'm one of those people that doesn't remember much before I was four. I picked out Barbapapa from the shelf of books on my first day of class. It was in french, so I didn't understand it at all, but I was shy and overwhelmed and the pictures were neat.

I kept reading.

In the summer between grades 1 and 2, my best friend Rachel found a new best friend, and I found myself at a loss. I started reading every chance I got. Morning recess. Lunch hour. Afternoon recess. By the end of grade 3, I was reading a chapter book a day and I got my first pair of glasses. I had friends, but the vast majority of them were fictional characters.

I kept reading.

In the summer before high school, my best friend at camp - the one I looked forward to seeing all year - was joined by her cousin. Her cousin took an instant dislike to me. She had a forceful personality, and made sure the everyone in our group of friends stopped talking to me. That was fun. So, instead of hanging out at the fort, making pie-irons and playing flashlight tag, I hung out with my younger cousin and spent countless hours by the campfire or at the beach reading books. I packed more books than I did clothes. I took out books from the library by the truckload.

I kept reading.

Fast forward many years, and, while I don't spend every spare minute reading like my mother, I do when the book is especially good. I can't bear to not have a book on the go. When I am within one hundred pages of finishing a book, I must have one lined up to read next. Preferably bought and waiting on my shelf for the second I finish the one I am currently reading. I get stressed out if I don't.

I keep reading. I am always reading. I didn't realize, though, until today what it means when I start reading voraciously - as I have been doing recently. I finished The Lady Elizabeth by Alison Weir. I can't believe that I haven't read anything by her before now. I have a penchant for historical fiction, you see, because it marries my love of reading with my love of the stage. What is historical fiction except taking cold, hard facts and building an interesting, living, breathing story out of it? Preparing a character is the same thing.

When I started reading the book, it was like coming home. I've been reading for my book club recently, and while the novels have been absolutely interesting and exciting, they are not necessarily books I would choose for myself. Which is a good thing. It's like going abroad on vacation. I love to do that more than anything, but I don't want to live there. I wanted to live in Weir's book. It felt so comfortable, so exactly right. It was all I could do not to run out during naptime (they frown on leaving small children alone, don't they..?) and buy Innocent Traitor (a fictional account of Lady Jane Grey), and Elizabeth the Queen (to see how her non-fiction novel compares to her fictional account of the queen's early years).

I was puzzled as to why, though. I had Little Bee all lined up to read next. Why would I feel such a strong need to keep reading Weir's books? Yes, The Lady Elizabeth was excellent, but I've heard much about Little Bee, and was excited to read it. Why the sudden change of heart? That, in turn, got me thinking about my sudden upsurge in reading time lately.

I came to this conclusion. I read insatiably, unstoppably when I am feeling lonely. I am loving being at home with the kids, but despite never being "alone", it is kind of...lonely. I see my kids, I see my husband, and that's the vast majority of time. I'm not finding the moms around here at the drop-in centres or in the parks to be very friendly at all. The nannies are a clique unto themselves. The moms that I am friends with are either back at work, or clear across the city, so playdates are not nearly frequent enough. Add to that doctor appointments, sickness, and preschool conflicts, and setting up get-togethers is a complicated dance of duelling calendars.

Books are always there, though, and always accessible - even when friends are not. I lean on them far too heavily when I am feeling sorry for myself. Nothing wrong with that, I guess, excepting that literature should be a pleasure, not a dependance.

Thank goodness for blooming spring hope and bloggy love. Maybe they can help me out of this funk I am in.

This is what I do in my spare mind.

Being at home with the kids all day, I've noticed that I've been spending a lot of time inside my own head. I'm trying my very best to be "present" all the time, but frankly, there's only so much brain power need to play with trains and sand, read countless truck books (with no storyline - throw me a bone here!) or to sweep cereal off the floor AGAIN. So I make up little projects for my brain to think about.

This past week, I read We Have Always Lived in the Castle by Shirley Jackson. I've been wanting to read this ever since I studied The Haunting of Hill House (one of the best books EVER) in university. When I Googled We Have Always Lived in the Castle so that Mr Earth could order it for me, I noticed that there was an acting edition by Hugh Wheeler available. Of course, this little nugget of info stuck in my head, and when I started reading the book, I couldn't help but try to cast the novel in my head.

I may be an actor, but I think I'm also a frustrated casting agent. Direction is important and all, but if you haven't cast your show well, then you're lost from the beginning. I have huge issues when I go see a movie that was originally a book, and I don't think the casting was appropriate. (Don't get me started on the Twilight movie - were they temporarily blind when they cast Rosalie and Jasper?? Ug.)

Anyways, once I started casting the book in my head, I thought: Wouldn't it be interesting if I tried to cast the book from bloggers, solely based on what I know from their writing, and random pictures of themselves that they may have posted. Here's what I came up with (please keep in mind that when I say you have the ability to portray a character it's a compliment to your intellect and sensitivity - not that I necessarily think you are that person...):

Mary Katherine (Merricat) Blackwood. Merricat is the central character and we see the book through her eyes. She is prone to daydreaming and dark thoughts about people who treat her or her family badly. She uses sympathetic magic and superstition for protection. Despite this, she misses nothing and isn't afraid to speak her mind. She has been described as one of the 100 Best Fiction Characters since 1900.

My natural inclination is to cast Painted Maypole. An accomplished actress who has done numerous and varied roles would be crucial to play the many shades of gray that Merricat displays along with the black and white. However, when I read the book, I immediately thought of Beck's dark, ethereal, good looks and razor sharp wit. I'm afraid I would have to call them both in and see who gives the better reading.

Constance Blackwood. Accused and acquitted of putting arsenic in the sugar bowl and murdering a large portion of her family. Described by Merricat as a fairy princess, "all pink and white and golden". She is a domestic goddess and agoraphobic. Despite all accusations, some people in the town want her to come back into society - presumably because she's so beautiful and charming that it would be a waste for her to hide away. BlogChocolate wins the role.

Uncle Julian. Frail and daft, he was poisoned by the arsenic but somehow survived. He spends all his time trying to remember, and record, the events of that fateful day. This role requires someone with excellent comedic timing. I think I would choose Looky, Daddy! but I am open to suggestions here.

Charles Blackwood. Cousin to the girls, he is after the Blackwood fortune and Constance - probably in that order. Requires someone who can show cynicism and self-importance, and yet still somehow remain likeable and persuasive with regards to Connie. I've chosen Denguy.

Helen Clarke. Seems like kind of a busybody-type but I believe she genuinely believes that what she's doing will help the girls. One of the few people that remains friends with the Blackwoods after the incident. I'm extra careful about casting "smaller characters". I think people tend to not take them as seriously. I think they require stronger actors than the leads, because they have less to work with and yet must be fully-developed people. This role needs an actor with the ability to play someone who is not as smart as she thinks she is. Which means, to me, you need an incredibly clever person. Only really smart people know how to play dumb. Dumb people are just...dumb. I would therefore call in Mad, Kittenpie, HBM and Bea to see which person works best with the cast and gives the best read.

Mrs Wright. Frightened by the Blackwoods, but morbidly curious, she comes to tea with Helen Clarke and wants all the details of that fateful night. I think Katie would make me laugh in this role.

Jonas. In the book, Jonas was Merricat's cat and you get the sense that he is also her "familiar". In the play version, he was revised to be an adopted servant boy, but I would keep this as a person playing a cat - boy or girl (Much like Sarah Jessica Parker played a dog in Sylvia on Broadway). Jonas watches everything and misses nothing. You get the feeling that he understands and has opinions. He follows Merricat everywhere, but is drawn to Charles for a bit. The person playing this cat must have incredible magnetism and the ability to create a rich inner world. You must be able to know what the person is thinking from reading the eyes and the body language. I don't think Jonas needs to be a "he", and Kgirl is the only person with enough audacity to take on such a challenging role.

Do you agree with my casting? Please feel free to argue why you would be right for the suggested - or any other - role. Or, cast yourself in a different book. These kind of things intrigue my small brain.

I kinda wish my last name started with a "J".

At the end of our last book club meeting, it was announced that the next book would be JPod by Douglas Coupland. My heart sunk. There are certain types of books that I just naturally avoid because, however clever they may be, they are just not my cup of tea. I was dreading having to plow through a book that just doesn't interest me.

I am here to tell you I was dead wrong.

(I am also here to tell you that I thought Douglas Coupland wrote The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. I was also dead wrong about that. That was Douglas Adams, not Douglas Coupland at all. Stoopid.)

(And while we're on the subject of the Hitchhiker's Guide, the movie of that book was possibly one of the worst movies I've ever seen. Gah! I can never get that time back...)

I went into this JPod experience completely fresh. (Obviously, since I thought Coupland was Adams...duh.) I have no idea if JPod is just an updated version of Microserfs, and frankly, I don't care. It was just plain good. No, great. In fact, I haven't has as much fun reading a book in...well, I can't really remember when.

The basic premise is that it's about the lives of six young video game programmers in BC who were all assigned to the same cubicle pod by an HR computer glitch - they all have names starting with the letter "J". Seing as they're all young and basically unnattached, they pretty much spend their lives at (or around) work. Except that they seem to do everything and anything under the sun OTHER than work. They play clever (read: nerdy) pranks on each other. They write descriptions of themselves as if they were going to sell themselves on Ebay. The write a love letter to Ronald McDonald because they figure he's lonely. They shun anyone who brings "The Taint" (McDonald's food) into the office. In otherwords, this is my kind of place to work. How many times have I been at work and wanted to kill someone who brought McDonald's fries back to their cubicle? I get these people. Which must mean that I am a nerd too. (Shock! Horrors!! How can life continue??).

What I found especially intriguing was the premise that many more people than you think are actually undiagnosed, highly-functioning autistics. All the members of JPod are highly technically adept, and yet are presumed to be mildly autistic . And no one is any the wiser. It really made me think. Thinking is good. (Not thinking = Bad.)

It was so refreshingly different, and yet so comfortably familiar, to read a book with topical references. I am so used to reading classical literature, historical romances and modern books from different cultures (my go-to reads) that this was a breath of fresh air. And I didn't even get all the jokes, methinks. There were a lot of math-y, computer-y little digs that I am assuming just went over my head. And yet I never felt like I was missing out.

However much I liked the book, I didn't think it was perfect. I didn't like Coupland inserting himself as a character in the book. I appreciated that he made himself seem like an evil a$$hole, but it still came off as kind of conceited and just a bit...lame. I also didn't like the pages of "spam" all that much. I get the effect Coupland was going for, but it seemed kind of pointless.

Still...I laughed out loud (a rarity for me). I forced Mr Earth to listen to countless little excerpts and (lame attempts) at retelling of sections. He is now required to read the book, because he knows I won't stop talking about it until I do. I wish I had watched the CBC show while it was on TV, because I just went to Amazon to order it, and it costs too much. I'm on a budget, people! Aren't Canadian shows supposed to be cheap??

Do you need more of a reccomendation? Cause I can come to your house and talk about it. Mr Earth would be relieved.

The In-Between Kite Running World of Q&A

OK, so I was at a bloggy book-club meeting last week and the book was Vassanji's The In-Between World of Vikram Lall. I was so excited to read it. I took a Canadian literature in university, and loved Vassanji's work (especially No New Land).

I couldn't get through it.

Granted, I was doing a play. I was very tired. My limited subway-related reading time was axed now that I'm a stay-at-home mom. BUT. I did manage to finish other books while doing a show. I gave up napping "while the children are napping" in order to finish some of them. But I didn't.

I almost never give up a book without finishing it. I can count on one hand the number of times I've done this. White's The Once and Future King. (And for the record, I did like it and got within 50 pages of the end and just gave up because it was soooooooooo loooooooooong. I have a short attention span. I felt life was passing me by.) Hardy's Far From the Madding Crowd. Um, boring, much? DON'T TAKE THREE PAGES TO DESCRIBE A SUNSET. You'll lose me. There were a couple other books - probably French ones because I was in immersion classes - but they didn't make enough of an impression to stay in my memory.

My (very intelligent) summation of Vikram Lall? Too many...words. There were so many foreign words used that I spent half my time trying to figure out what they meant instead of enjoying the story. And by the way...what story?? I'm still not sure what the book is about. I'm sure, though, if I could make myself read more then something would happen. Eventually. I don't like reading books where it takes FOREVER to get the plot going. Oliver Twist was like that. The movie-musical starts on page 495. I know. I read the whole damn thing, cover to cover for english class.

Anyways, a good friend and I were talking about the book at the meeting, and how it made us feel stupid to read it. We then went on to compare it to The Kite Runner, which is equally foreign to a Canadian middle class audience, and yet we both loved it. And felt like we even maybe learnt a thing or two. In fact, I still can't stop thinking about The Kite Runner. It's my top recommendation for anyone looking for a sensational read.

A very smart lady pointed out that Kite Runner was written with movie adaptability in mind, while Vikram Lall was not. And that is why Hosseini's novel is more accessible to general audiences. She got me there. I had no clue about that.

Then I got to thinking. Why on earth would you write a book that is NOT accessible to the general public?? Vassanji was writing a popular fiction novel, not a text book. I can only assume that he wants to reach as wide an audience as possible. I'm not a stupid person. I'm no beginner reader. I like book-candy as much as the next girl, but I'm also a person who reads Tolstoy and Shakespeare FOR FUN. I certainly hope that Vassanji's goal was not to alienate a potential fan of his work by creating a novel that is only for Elite Readers.

Or, have I just turned stupid? Can people get stupider as they age??? Don't answer that. I don't think I want to know.

I also read Q&A by Vikus Swarup, the novel behind Slumdog Millionaire. Pretty much my favourite novel EVER (since Kite Runner). It was such a charming, clever and wonderful book. I loved it so much. I was SO excited to see the movie. I loved the movie too, but it was different from the book. They made the romance so much more central in the movie (of course). But what shocked me the most is that they changed all the questions asked on the game show. Why?? To make them more accessible to a general movie-going public? The questions in the book were fine. There was no need to change them.

Why does everyone in the film industry feel the need to "dumb things down" for the movie-goers, and why do some authors feel the need to "smart things up" to make their books more erudite?? I don't know if I'm coming or going. Stupid or smart.

Again, don't answer that question. I don't think I'd like the outcome.

The Truth about Packs and Dogs

One of the best things about going back to work is the chance to read. Twenty minutes on the way to work in the morning and twenty minutes on the way home. If I'm lucky, and not running around like a chicken with my head cut off, I even get to read some at lunch.

Heaven.

I find reading so relaxing. It's one of the many manifestations of order in my life. If I have time to read, I can't be too overburdened or overwhelmed. I must always have a book 'on the go' and at least one 'in the queue'. If I don't have a book to read - even when I don't have the time to read anything - chaos ensues. If a book I am reading is no good, I am moody and annoyed (well, more so than usual). If a book I am reading is suspenseful I am tense and spook easily (Koontz's Intensity was a bad choice - I couldn't sleep). If a book is good, it's -- magic. I will find any and every chance to squeeze in a few pages, paragraphs, sentences even. I'm a slow reader, admittedly. I like to savour the words, not rush through them. On the upside, I remember what I've read really well. Sometimes I can even picture the words on the pages. That probably comes from memorizing so many scripts.

I just finished Kelley Armstrong's Bitten (Random House Canada). What a fun read! Just what the doctor ordered. I've been so stressed about returning to work, the Little Guy not sleeping, everyone being sick and trying to figure out just what I want to be when I grow up, that I really needed some kind of break. Bitten is pure escapism, and I loved it.

I went at it kind of blind (thought it was going to be about vampires - whoops!), and was surprised at the loot that fell out. I've never read any books about werewolves although I've seen lots of movies (Ginger Snaps, An American Werewolf in Paris, Teen Wolf. Anyone-??). With the exception of Ginger Snaps, most werewolf stories are kind of...um...unreal. (This is coming from a girl who LOVES fantasy novels, so take that as you will.) Armstrong pulled off a really neat trick of making a story about werewolves not only thoroughly modern, but very believable. Her narrative style, while it took me some time to get used to, is very familiar - like sitting down with a good chum and recounting what you did last summer.

If you want to get all philosophical and thinky, I would add that the book really spoke to me on a personal level because although it is about werewolves, fights for Alpha position, betrayal and all that, at the heart of the story is Elena's (the sole female werewolf, and central figure) struggle with accepting who she is, and not who she thinks she wants to be. Working through that whole can of worms myself, and it's a messy job.

But Boo to thinkiness - I want fun! I want excitement and intrigue! Bitten delivers. It's total book-candy. (And anyone who knows me well, knows how I loves me some candy..)

Sympathy of Souls

Do you believe in reincarnation? I'm not sure how I feel. My romantic side immediately stakes it's territory, refusing to believe that life can simply end. It wants to believe that the people in my life are there because they are meant to be. Fated. Endlessly intertwined. Then my practical side rushes to the fore, wagging it's metaphorical finger and telling me not to be so silly. Death is an end. Period. My creative side, of course, thinks that the ability to reincarnate is so much more of an interesting choice.

At the risk of sounding overly fanciful and new-agey, I believe I have what, for a lack of better words, might be called a sympathy with different historical periods. I don't imagine I was a princess in a tower pining for a lost love, or a president's wife quietly ruling a country from a seemingly subservient role. (Why do people who believe they are reincarnated always assume that they were someone extraordinary in their past lives? For surely if I lived before, I came from peasant stock.)

But I don't know how to explain why music from the forties breaks my heart as if I was personally affected by the war. How picking up a long skirt so that I could run up a grand staircase without tripping seemed oddly familiar. How every time I visit the ocean, it feels like I've come home and yet I've never lived near water. Why the Claddagh ring is ridiculously important to me (I have some Irish background, but it's mixed in with Scottish, German and Russian and no doubt many others). Why hearing words like Old Bailey, or Ludgate, or Fleet Street make my blood race.

I call it a sympathy, because I just finished reading Mary Novik's Conceit (Random House). It's such an interesting novel. I didn't warm to it right away, but somehow somewhere in the middle, I realized that I was really enjoying it. It kind of gave me the comfortable feel of Pride and Prejudice meets Little Women. But what really stood out to me, and what I think makes this novel worth reading, regardless of what you think of the story itself (I preferred the secondary story of John Donne and Ann More to the trials and tribulations of the central Pegge), is the author's voice. She manages to write as if she is actually from 17-century England. I've read many plays from that time period, and if I didn't know from the flap that Novik is Canadian and still alive, I would have thought that this book was written back then. It's remarkable. Authors can do extensive research, but it doesn't mean they can pull that off.

As I was coming to the end, I read this passage:

..two lutes, being both strung and tuned to an equal pitch, and then one played upon, the other will, like an echo to a trumpet, warble a faint audible harmony in answer to the same tune, yet many will not believe there is any such thing as a sympathy of souls. (pg 346)

The author was talking about love, not reincarnation, but the phrase struck a chord. This sympathy of souls describes how I feel connected to a past that I never experienced. Is this reincarnation? Is this a scholar who has done too much study on a particular subject? Is this a woman who reads too many historical romances and uses sympathy with the past as an excuse for not fitting in to the present?

The Gargoyle Got My Tongue

The thing is, when you have a kid, your freedom is severely truncated. When you have two kids, you realize just how much freedom you had when you only had one. There simply isn't enough time in the day. Something's gotta give.

I have very little free time without a baby in my lap or a preschooler shouting (happily) in my ear, and I've found that when I do have free time, I have to make a choice. Do I want to read blogs? Or write in my own? Do I want to clean the house (ha, ha)? Do I want to have a nap? Do I want to write that post for Playdate? It's due Thursday. Oh, and I'm going away for two weeks, and I really should figure out what I need to pack.

So, I apologize for not visiting your blogs lately, and I haven't had much time to write anything of interest (with the exception, perhaps, of my posts at Playdate). You may have been under the impression that I'd already gone on my vacation, but we don't leave until Sunday. What I have been doing with my spare time is reading The Gargoyle by Andrew Davidson. You'll remember that everyone attending the BFF was given a free copy thanks to Random House?

Well, I had to finish reading Twilight, but I knew that it was next on my list. A book like that generally pushes through to the top of the pile because it hits all my "must-read" buttons. Historical Romance? Check. Hero overcoming seemingly insurmountable odds? Check. Artist exemplifying their process? Check. Medieval religion? Check. Cool cover art? Check - I absolutely judge a book by it's cover. Great title? Check. I mean, c'mon, "gargoyle" is just a fun word. Not one that you get to use much in daily conversations, either. (Honey, could you take the gargoyle to the curb for me? Who left their dirty socks on the gargoyle? Does anyone know how to take a stain out of a gargoyle?)

Apparently, it's being met with mixed reviews. Some people have suggested that the writing is clumsy, and the author is trying to do too much. Maybe. Fact is, I kind of like that about it. It's the author's debut and he's trying to find out what he's all about. It's not going to be perfect, and nor should it have to be. There were a couple awkward parts, like the "trippy" through the Inferno that I didn't think quite hit the mark. But, there were some brilliant bits too, like the romantic fables from around the world.

Me, I like reading stuff from authors who haven't "made it" yet. It's refreshing. Kind of like watching Brad Pitt in Thelma and Louise - you didn't know who that hot guy was, but you could put money on the fact that he had a future in showbiz. Anyways, I'm not a literary critic, and I don't pretend to be one. I have read a lot of books though, and I know what I like and what I don't like.

I used all my non-existent free time to read this book. Instead of checking emails. Instead of blogging. Instead of napping for God's sake. Every free moment that I had, I used to read this book in (for me, right now) record time. When I wasn't reading the book, I often thought about it. When I wasn't reading the book, I was trying to find time when I could read it. I'm not saying it was the best written book I ever read. It wasn't. I'm not saying everyone would like it. They might not. But I had a really, really hard time putting it down. My absence in the blogosphere (and my dirty house) will attest to that.

What the Earth needs now is Love

***Caution: long and overwhelming sentimental and indulgent..***

I am feeling terribly wistful and nostalgic these days. It makes me want to re-read all my favourite books, only I don’t have time. So I went in search of what I love most about my favourite books and thought I would share them with you. Call it my “10-minute Love Fix” if you will. If you could use a few minutes of romance, read on… and let me know what your favourite romantic books are, will you? I could use a really good book..one I haven't read a million times before, that is.


5. Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen

Sadly, I have only lately come to a true appreciation of Austen’s novels. I know, I know! How could someone like me NOT like them in the past? What can I say? I was young and foolish. After seeing Colin Firth speak these words, though, my heart was lost..

``If you will thank me,'' he replied, ``let it be for yourself alone. That the wish of giving happiness to you might add force to the other inducements which led me on, I shall not attempt to deny. But your family owe me nothing. Much as I respect them, I believe I thought only of you."

'Elizabeth was too much embarrassed to say a word. After a short pause, her companion added, ``You are too generous to trifle with me. If your feelings are still what they were last April, tell me so at once. My affections and wishes are unchanged, but one word from you will silence me on this subject for ever."

'Elizabeth, feeling all the more than common awkwardness and anxiety of his situation, now forced herself to speak; and immediately, though not very fluently, gave him to understand that her sentiments had undergone so material a change, since the period to which he alluded, as to make her receive with gratitude and pleasure his present assurances. The happiness which this reply produced, was such as he had probably never felt before; and he expressed himself on the occasion as sensibly and as warmly as a man violently in love can be supposed to do. Had Elizabeth been able to encounter his eye, she might have seen how well the expression of heartfelt delight, diffused over his face, became him; but, though she could not look, she could listen, and he told her of feelings, which, in proving of what importance she was to him, made his affection every moment more valuable.

They walked on, without knowing in what direction. There was too much to be thought, and felt, and said, for attention to any other objects.


4. A Girl of the Limberlost by Gene Stratton-Porter

A true gem of a novel that is often overlooked. I grew up with this story in my head and my heart. The passage will not reveal the true beauty of this novel, you simply must read the whole book..

Before Elnora missed her, Alice, who had gone to investigate, came flying across the shadows and through the sunshine waving a paper. She thrust it into Elnora's hand.

"There is a man-person -- a stranger-person!" she shouted. "But he knows you! He sent you that! You are to be the doctor! He said so! Oh, do hurry! I like him heaps!"

Elnora read Edith Carr's telegram to Philip Ammon and understood that he had been ill, that she had been located by Edith who had notified him. In so doing she had acknowledged defeat. At last Philip was free. Elnora looked up with a radiant face.

"I like him 'heaps' myself!" she cried. "Come on children, we will go tell him so."

Terry and Alice ran, but Elnora had to suit her steps to Little Brother, who was her loyal esquire, and would have been heartbroken over desertion and insulted at being carried. He was rather dragged, but he was arriving, and the emergency was great, he could see that.

"She's coming!" shouted Alice.

"She's going to be the doctor!" cried Terry.

"She looked just like she'd seen angels when she read the letter," explained Alice.

"She likes you 'heaps!' She said so!" danced Terry. "Be waiting! Here she is!"

Elnora helped Little Brother up the steps, then deserted him and came at a rush. The stranger-person stood holding out trembling arms.

"Are you sure, at last, runaway?" asked Philip Ammon.

"Perfectly sure!" cried Elnora.

"Will you marry me now?"

"This instant! That is, any time after the noon boat comes in."

"Why such unnecessary delay?" demanded Ammon.


3. Anne of the Island by LM Montgomery

Oh, how many times have I read this passage? Out of all the Anne books, surely this is the best one, hands down. How can you not love a line like “shining with all the love-rapture of countless generations”? I did not see my face when Mr Earth proposed, but I’m pretty sure that’s how I looked…

Gilbert was not to be thus sidetracked.

"I have a dream," he said slowly. "I persist in dreaming it, although it has often seemed to me that it could never come true. I dream of a home with a hearth-fire in it, a cat and dog, the footsteps of friends -- and YOU!"

Anne wanted to speak but she could find no words. Happiness was breaking over her like a wave. It almost frightened her.

"I asked you a question over two years ago, Anne. If I ask it again today will you give me a different answer?"

Still Anne could not speak. But she lifted her eyes, shining with all the love-rapture of countless generations, and looked into his for a moment. He wanted no other answer.


2. The Blue Castle by LM Montgomery

People tout the Anne books as the best that Montgomery have to offer, but clearly they have not read The Blue Castle. Possibly my favourite book of ALL TIME. I have never identified so much with one character, nor read a book as many times as this. The line “the little low laugh of the triumphant lover” echoes unbidden in my head whenever I’m feeling romantic…

"Love you! Girl, you're in the very core of my heart. I hold you there like a jewel. Didn't I promise you I'd never tell you a lie? Love you! I love you with all there is of me to love. Heart, soul, brain. Every fibre of body and spirit thrilling to the sweetness of you. There's nobody in the world for me but you, Valancy."

"You're--a good actor, Barney," said Valancy, with a wan little smile.

Barney looked at her.
"So you don't believe me--yet?"

"I--can't."

"Oh--damn!" said Barney violently.

Valancy looked up startled. She had never seen this Barney. Scowling! Eyes black with anger. Sneering lips. Dead-white face.

"You don't want to believe it," said Barney in the silk-smooth voice of ultimate rage. "You're tired of me. You want to get out of it--free from me. You're ashamed of the Pills and the Liniment, just as she was. Your Stirling pride can't stomach them. It was all right as long as you thought you hadn't long to live. A good lark--you could put up with me. But a lifetime with old Doc Redfern's son is a different thing. Oh, I understand--perfectly. I've been very dense--but I understand, at last."

Valancy stood up. She stared into his furious face. Then--she suddenly laughed.
"You darling!" she said. "You do mean it! You do really love me! You wouldn't be so enraged if you didn't."

Barney stared at her for a moment. Then he caught her in his arms with the little low laugh of the triumphant lover.


1. The Velveteen Rabbit by Margery Williams

OK, technically this is not a love story. On the other hand, it is the only story that really approaches the true meaning of love for me. It was read by my father at our wedding, and will always have a special place in my heart…

"What is REAL?" asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"

"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."

"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.

"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt."

"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?"

"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."