Somehow or other, I ended up with two books by the same author in my stack. Even though I didn't care much for the first one I read ("West of Here" which I reviewed awhile back), I decided to read this one and I did like it a little better. This author will never make my list of favorites, though.
The novel concerns a hopeless love affair between two young people. Not exactly ground-breaking material, but there is a twist at the end which anybody but me could have spotted two miles away. I think I missed it because I was not really engaged with the story to start with, but it explained (sort of) the anguish and mystery and heartbreak, etc., etc.
This would be a good summer poolside book. Easy to read, easy to lay down. And a little more substance than many summer-time novels. About 3 1/2 stars.
All About Lulu Jonathan Evison Soft Skull Press
Friday, May 20, 2011
Thursday, May 19, 2011
The Bathing Suit and the Bacon Fork
All families have silly family insider jokes and allusions that are incomprehensible and meaningless to outsiders. A word, a glance, a nudge, will instantly transport every family member into a special place shared and understood only by them. As surely as genetics, or love, or family loyalties, these special intimate references bind a family together in subtle ways.
We have a bunch of these in our family. I am about to divulge two of them that over the years have mystified our friends and confused even some of the immediate family members.
No. 1 is the bacon fork. Or as it has become over the years, in hushed tones, the Bacon Fork. The object in question is a small, two-tined fork with a bone handle. How this humble object got it's name or the mystique surrounding it is unclear. It was never used to turn any bacon as far as I know. Where it came from or what it's original purpose was are lost in the mists of time. It was owned by my mother, who used to wrap a piece of clean cloth around the tines, tied with a bit of twine. This she dipped into a can of ham or bacon fat which was kept by the kitchen stove, to grease the pancake
griddle. (In those far-off farm days, we had pancakes most mornings.) Somehow or other, it got to be an object of some veneration among the siblings, who pull it out of the utensil drawer when visiting and ooh and aah over it's qualities. They have suggested keeping it in the safe deposit box in the bank. They are considering a velvet-lined jewelery display case. They do a good bit of squabbling about who is going to inherit. (Answer: Nobody. I am taking it with me.) Now I ask you, does this make a bit of sense to anybody outside our family? Or even inside our family?
No.2 is the Bathing Suit. One day a good many years ago, as I was vacuuming, I found a small bathing suit on the floor of my bedroom, of the kind worn by Barbie dolls. I immediately assumed (wouldn't you?) that the suit belonged to of my girls' old Barbie dolls and since Erika was the only one living at home at the time, I handed it over to her. She denied ownership. Well, it sure wasn't mine, so I insisted. Before long, I found the thing under my pillow. I retaliated by sticking it into her makeup box. Not long after, there is was, tucked into the top of the cereal box. So I stuffed it into one of her shoes. War!! Over the years, things got more sophisticated. (As, sadly, the little suit became more faded and stretched and forlorn.) Once I sent it to a friend who lived in Kenya and she mailed it to Erika in Southern California. I didn't see the letter but have always hoped there were a lot of exotic African stamps and foreign signs plastered on the envelope. One Christmas which we all spent in Cabo San Lucas during Erika's stained glass period, I received the bathing suit nicely framed under glass. Sometimes a long period of time would pass and the bathing suit would be forgotten, only to turn up out of the blue in some unexpected place. And then it disappeared! Erika denied knowledge of it's whereabouts and I had no idea what had happened to it.
Well!
I have stopped traveling and it has been several years since I have used any of my luggage, but one day not long ago I got the idea that I should empty out my travel kit, which I always kept packed and ready to go with essential items such as toiletries, cosmetics, a small flashlight, a bottle opener, (most essential thing of all) and so forth. While fishing around in one of the side pockets, what should I find but a greeting card with the Barbie bathing suit neatly glued to it's inside cover!
Now, I am not a suspicious Mom type, but since my last trip using this luggage was to Seattle and since Erika was in Southern California at the time, I feel justified in thinking there must have been some collusion here. Of course, sisters support each other and often bond together and all that, so I am just assuming........Pretty strong evidence, though. Eh, Watson?
While I was composing this blog, Erika posted a picture of the bathing suit on her Facebook site so you can see what all the fuss it about. Since it is all now out in the open, I think we have agreed on a truce. Not that I really trust her. I would not be surprised to have the Barbie bathing suit turn up under my pillow one of these days.
We have a bunch of these in our family. I am about to divulge two of them that over the years have mystified our friends and confused even some of the immediate family members.
No. 1 is the bacon fork. Or as it has become over the years, in hushed tones, the Bacon Fork. The object in question is a small, two-tined fork with a bone handle. How this humble object got it's name or the mystique surrounding it is unclear. It was never used to turn any bacon as far as I know. Where it came from or what it's original purpose was are lost in the mists of time. It was owned by my mother, who used to wrap a piece of clean cloth around the tines, tied with a bit of twine. This she dipped into a can of ham or bacon fat which was kept by the kitchen stove, to grease the pancake
griddle. (In those far-off farm days, we had pancakes most mornings.) Somehow or other, it got to be an object of some veneration among the siblings, who pull it out of the utensil drawer when visiting and ooh and aah over it's qualities. They have suggested keeping it in the safe deposit box in the bank. They are considering a velvet-lined jewelery display case. They do a good bit of squabbling about who is going to inherit. (Answer: Nobody. I am taking it with me.) Now I ask you, does this make a bit of sense to anybody outside our family? Or even inside our family?
No.2 is the Bathing Suit. One day a good many years ago, as I was vacuuming, I found a small bathing suit on the floor of my bedroom, of the kind worn by Barbie dolls. I immediately assumed (wouldn't you?) that the suit belonged to of my girls' old Barbie dolls and since Erika was the only one living at home at the time, I handed it over to her. She denied ownership. Well, it sure wasn't mine, so I insisted. Before long, I found the thing under my pillow. I retaliated by sticking it into her makeup box. Not long after, there is was, tucked into the top of the cereal box. So I stuffed it into one of her shoes. War!! Over the years, things got more sophisticated. (As, sadly, the little suit became more faded and stretched and forlorn.) Once I sent it to a friend who lived in Kenya and she mailed it to Erika in Southern California. I didn't see the letter but have always hoped there were a lot of exotic African stamps and foreign signs plastered on the envelope. One Christmas which we all spent in Cabo San Lucas during Erika's stained glass period, I received the bathing suit nicely framed under glass. Sometimes a long period of time would pass and the bathing suit would be forgotten, only to turn up out of the blue in some unexpected place. And then it disappeared! Erika denied knowledge of it's whereabouts and I had no idea what had happened to it.
Well!
I have stopped traveling and it has been several years since I have used any of my luggage, but one day not long ago I got the idea that I should empty out my travel kit, which I always kept packed and ready to go with essential items such as toiletries, cosmetics, a small flashlight, a bottle opener, (most essential thing of all) and so forth. While fishing around in one of the side pockets, what should I find but a greeting card with the Barbie bathing suit neatly glued to it's inside cover!
Now, I am not a suspicious Mom type, but since my last trip using this luggage was to Seattle and since Erika was in Southern California at the time, I feel justified in thinking there must have been some collusion here. Of course, sisters support each other and often bond together and all that, so I am just assuming........Pretty strong evidence, though. Eh, Watson?
While I was composing this blog, Erika posted a picture of the bathing suit on her Facebook site so you can see what all the fuss it about. Since it is all now out in the open, I think we have agreed on a truce. Not that I really trust her. I would not be surprised to have the Barbie bathing suit turn up under my pillow one of these days.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Bad Things Happen
I love murder-mystery novels, especially the beginnings where the plot is developing and all the murders occur, and you sit up late at night reading because you can't wait to find out who-dun-it.
Later, when the author is trying to untangle the mess he or she had so much fun getting into, things sometimes get a little heavy. I often wonder, do writers have the solution worked out before they start the novel, or do they just wait to see what happens and hope for the best? So many loose ends to tie up and things to explain! I have read books where I am sure the author was hoping the reader wouldn't notice all the disparities and unraveled clues lying about. You sometimes get the feeling that he (or she) got so entangled that they just said, "Oh, to hell with it! Let's finish it up."
In the case of this book, the writer has tied up the twists in the plot quite nicely. There is a plethora of bodies (I think I counted seven) but most of the violence takes place off-stage and none of it is graphic. Ditto for the sex. In fact, it is quite an old-fashioned book in this sense and being an old-fashioned kind of gal I found that refreshing. It isn't stodgy, though, and the dialogue is believable and and crisp. The main character is an interesting and very different kind of "hero" and part of the fun is trying to figure out who, or what, he really is. The detectives are smart and likable, as are some of the villains.
If you like intelligent crime thrillers, I can recommend this book. Maybe four stars.
Bad Things Happen Harry Dolan Berkeley Books
Later, when the author is trying to untangle the mess he or she had so much fun getting into, things sometimes get a little heavy. I often wonder, do writers have the solution worked out before they start the novel, or do they just wait to see what happens and hope for the best? So many loose ends to tie up and things to explain! I have read books where I am sure the author was hoping the reader wouldn't notice all the disparities and unraveled clues lying about. You sometimes get the feeling that he (or she) got so entangled that they just said, "Oh, to hell with it! Let's finish it up."
In the case of this book, the writer has tied up the twists in the plot quite nicely. There is a plethora of bodies (I think I counted seven) but most of the violence takes place off-stage and none of it is graphic. Ditto for the sex. In fact, it is quite an old-fashioned book in this sense and being an old-fashioned kind of gal I found that refreshing. It isn't stodgy, though, and the dialogue is believable and and crisp. The main character is an interesting and very different kind of "hero" and part of the fun is trying to figure out who, or what, he really is. The detectives are smart and likable, as are some of the villains.
If you like intelligent crime thrillers, I can recommend this book. Maybe four stars.
Bad Things Happen Harry Dolan Berkeley Books
Friday, April 29, 2011
Lion Taming for Dummies
Understand that I am to a savvy computer-user as "Chopsticks" is to Chopin's "Revolutionary Etude". I can do the simple things. Email has been a pleasure . Textediting has kept me in touch with old acquaintances who still use snail mail. (If I wrote in longhand, they would think a chicken had walked through an inkwell and across the page. I can't even read my own grocery lists.) I have become somewhat of a Facebook addict, checking a couple of times a day to see who is doing what. I can access a link and I have finally learned about Copy and Paste. But I have no idea how to change my profile picture on Facebook, or how to add clever photos to my blogs, like Erika, or to forward most stuff. How do you put those cute little hearts in your statuses? My hairdresser does all her bills, taxes, banking, and all other business on her computer and is always prattling away about storing and back-upping and other foreign terms. People earn their livings using the computer! My mind boggles.
It is not as though I am dying to do any of these things. I would just like to be sure this computer knows who is boss. The idea that a machine is smarter than I am makes me mad. And uneasy. I can feel that lion watching me and although I ought to be the controlling factor, I am keeping that whip and chair handy, just in case.
Monday, April 25, 2011
Gladly, the Cross-eyed Bear
I love mondegreens. True mondegreens are extremely rare and I treasure every one I find.
For those of you who do not know what a mondegreen is, the term was coined by an author named Sylvia Wright, who as a child often heard an old Scottish ballad called "The Bonny Earl of Murray" which contained this stanza: " Ye Highlands and Ye Lowlands/ Oh, where hae ye been?/ They hae slain the Earl of Murray/ And Lady Mondegreen."
Little Sylvia grieved for Lady Mondegreen, Such a sad end.
Only later in life did Ms. Wright discover that the verse really went like this: "Ye Highlands and Ye Lowlands/ Oh, where hae ye been?/ They hae slain the Earl of Murray/ And laid him on the green."
This is what I mean by a true mondegreen.......innocent, natural mishearings or misunderstandings. Many of the ones you hear have a contrived feel, as though someone had thought them up in an attempt to be clever. But you never know...people hear things in different ways. I bet everyone at some time has coined a mondegreen without knowing it. Children do it all the time.
Some examples: A woman returned home to find a note from her husband which read: "Your doctor's office called. Your Pabst beer is normal."
On a program at a residence for the elderly: "The artists will be singing the timeless sounds of classic Broadway and the marvelous melodies of Tim Panally."
"Our Father who art in Heaven, How did you know my name?"
"Is there a saying that goes, 'Hope springs a turtle?' "
This one is problematic and may well have been made up by somebody, but it is cute and funny and is one of my favorites:
The small son of a minister was conducting a graveside service for his pet robin or goldfish or whatever and his little friends were gathered around while he intoned the words he had so often heard from his father: "...... in the name of the Fatherrrrr, the Sonnnn....and into the hole he goes!"
Hope you will all be watching out for mondegreens. They are worth a smile on the darkest day.
For those of you who do not know what a mondegreen is, the term was coined by an author named Sylvia Wright, who as a child often heard an old Scottish ballad called "The Bonny Earl of Murray" which contained this stanza: " Ye Highlands and Ye Lowlands/ Oh, where hae ye been?/ They hae slain the Earl of Murray/ And Lady Mondegreen."
Little Sylvia grieved for Lady Mondegreen, Such a sad end.
Only later in life did Ms. Wright discover that the verse really went like this: "Ye Highlands and Ye Lowlands/ Oh, where hae ye been?/ They hae slain the Earl of Murray/ And laid him on the green."
This is what I mean by a true mondegreen.......innocent, natural mishearings or misunderstandings. Many of the ones you hear have a contrived feel, as though someone had thought them up in an attempt to be clever. But you never know...people hear things in different ways. I bet everyone at some time has coined a mondegreen without knowing it. Children do it all the time.
Some examples: A woman returned home to find a note from her husband which read: "Your doctor's office called. Your Pabst beer is normal."
On a program at a residence for the elderly: "The artists will be singing the timeless sounds of classic Broadway and the marvelous melodies of Tim Panally."
"Our Father who art in Heaven, How did you know my name?"
"Is there a saying that goes, 'Hope springs a turtle?' "
This one is problematic and may well have been made up by somebody, but it is cute and funny and is one of my favorites:
The small son of a minister was conducting a graveside service for his pet robin or goldfish or whatever and his little friends were gathered around while he intoned the words he had so often heard from his father: "...... in the name of the Fatherrrrr, the Sonnnn....and into the hole he goes!"
Hope you will all be watching out for mondegreens. They are worth a smile on the darkest day.
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Would you repeat that, please?
I am quite hard-of-hearing. I am not deaf. With the help of today's improved hearing aids, I function perfectly well in everyday situations, although I admit there are a large amounts of "Excuse me's"?, "What did you say's"? and "Huh's"? involved. In many cases, although I can hear what you are saying, I can't understand it. This is especially true on the telephone. Voice-mail messages are often just gibberish which I have to ask someone to interpret for me. ("Hello? This is Mr. Szchiwrovjg's office calling. Would you please return this call as soon as possible? Our telephone number is txe-kwp-vrzn") Any one with an accent or one of those high-pitched little-girl voices might as well be speaking Swahili.
Needless to say, all this is very frustrating, but there are worse handicaps and I deal with it as best I can.
Social situations are another thing. Where groups of people meet and converse, the hard-of-hearing are often lost. Conversations become a blur of murmurs and whispers and mumbles. It is like sitting in front of a plate glass window watching the action and hearing only a distant hum. This can mostly be avoided if the person speaking faces you and speaks distinctly, but in an animated discourse this can be difficult and restricting. You focus intently, you smile and nod when it seems appropriate, you sometimes offer a comment if you have managed to pick up some thread of the conversation, but essentially you are just a spectator watching other people talk. It can be very lonely.
Helen Keller once observed that if she could have just one of her senses restored, she would choose her sense of hearing. It is the thing that connects us most of all, that ability to communicate and exchange opinions, ideas, news, gossip, joy, grief. The loss of it is profound.
But, there is a bright side! The decibel level of most modern pop music has receded somewhat. Background music, which I have always detested, has mostly disappeared from my consciousness. The Saturday night car races here in Lakeport are a distant buzz. The bullfrogs in the lagoon, which keep my neighbor awake at night, pose no problem for me.
I have to say that, given a choice, I would put up with the elevator music and lie awake listening to the bullfrogs. But I am overwhelmed with gratitude that I can move about in daily life without problems, that I can mostly hear the voices of the people I love, and that my hearing loss in more of an inconvenience than a handicap.
What was that you said?
Needless to say, all this is very frustrating, but there are worse handicaps and I deal with it as best I can.
Social situations are another thing. Where groups of people meet and converse, the hard-of-hearing are often lost. Conversations become a blur of murmurs and whispers and mumbles. It is like sitting in front of a plate glass window watching the action and hearing only a distant hum. This can mostly be avoided if the person speaking faces you and speaks distinctly, but in an animated discourse this can be difficult and restricting. You focus intently, you smile and nod when it seems appropriate, you sometimes offer a comment if you have managed to pick up some thread of the conversation, but essentially you are just a spectator watching other people talk. It can be very lonely.
Helen Keller once observed that if she could have just one of her senses restored, she would choose her sense of hearing. It is the thing that connects us most of all, that ability to communicate and exchange opinions, ideas, news, gossip, joy, grief. The loss of it is profound.
But, there is a bright side! The decibel level of most modern pop music has receded somewhat. Background music, which I have always detested, has mostly disappeared from my consciousness. The Saturday night car races here in Lakeport are a distant buzz. The bullfrogs in the lagoon, which keep my neighbor awake at night, pose no problem for me.
I have to say that, given a choice, I would put up with the elevator music and lie awake listening to the bullfrogs. But I am overwhelmed with gratitude that I can move about in daily life without problems, that I can mostly hear the voices of the people I love, and that my hearing loss in more of an inconvenience than a handicap.
What was that you said?
Thursday, April 21, 2011
West of Here
This is a novel set in the fictional town of Port Bonita on the Olympic Peninsula in Washington State. The plot involves the damming of the river on which Port Bonita is located and follows the stories of a variety of characters, switching back and forward in time between the 1800's, when the dam was built, to 2006, when it is going to be demolished.
There are a lot of characters and I found some of their stories distracting. There are lots of loose ends. There is a strange paranormal relationship between the lives of two boys, one in 1890, the other in 2006. The significance escaped me. The author does a good job of invoking the feel of a frontier town in this part of the world, and if you have ever lived in the Northwest you will recognize the drippy firs, the mossy forest floors, the ugly clearcut hillsides, the mighty rivers roaring through their narrow canyons.
I am undecided about this book. It was a pretty good read, but not something I would go back to. I think if you like this type of novel, it would probably be worth your time. I'd give it about three stars, if I was grading.
West of Here Jonathan Evison Algonquin Books of Chapel Hill
There are a lot of characters and I found some of their stories distracting. There are lots of loose ends. There is a strange paranormal relationship between the lives of two boys, one in 1890, the other in 2006. The significance escaped me. The author does a good job of invoking the feel of a frontier town in this part of the world, and if you have ever lived in the Northwest you will recognize the drippy firs, the mossy forest floors, the ugly clearcut hillsides, the mighty rivers roaring through their narrow canyons.
I am undecided about this book. It was a pretty good read, but not something I would go back to. I think if you like this type of novel, it would probably be worth your time. I'd give it about three stars, if I was grading.
West of Here Jonathan Evison Algonquin Books of Chapel Hill
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