Forfatter: Mirthful

For Her Own Good – Two Centuries of the Experts’ Advice to Women

Mirthful

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I’ve been reading For Her Own Good on and off for a couple of months. Ehrenreich and English demonstrate how the (mostly) male «intellectuals» appropriated the right to make statements about female health – biological and psychological – which up until the 19th century had been the sole property of female healers, midwives and the network of mothers, grandmothers and aunts that any woman used to be surrounded by. It’s a pretty interesting piece of social history and an enlightening read, especially if you’re a woman, but I bet men would learn a bit about the «authority» of the self-styled/so-called experts, too.

Three Men on the Bummel

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As the copy I picked up of Three Men in a Boat was a «two in one» with Three Men on the Bummel thrown in (though an old Everyman’s hardback, not the currently available paperback), I thought I might as well read that too. The three friends (though sans dog) set out again, this time for a ramble round Germany, mostly on bicycles. Much in the same style, and certainly with the same merrity-inducing capacity. There is – to mention but one – a lovely description of the «bicycle overhauler», he who takes the thing apart with skills that do not in the slightest match his very knowledgeable comments – we’ve all met them.

Three Men in a Boat: To Say Nothing of the Dog

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I’ve been meaning to read Three Men in a Boat: To Say Nothing of the Dog for a while, as it’s been rumoured to be very funny – which it was. Not laugh-out-loud funny, at least not very often, but certainly of the laughing-quietly-to-oneself variety.

Krig!

Mirthful

Underholdende, vagt tankevekkende. Fikk lyst til å lese Åsne Seierstad for å sjekke om parodien er treffende (det er akkurat sånn jeg tror hun skriver, av en eller annen grunn, men siden jeg ikke har lest noe av henne er det jo litt vanskelig å vite… men jeg lo da i alle fall).

Where Did it all Go Right?

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One of the Copenhagen finds, Where Did it all Go Right? is subtitled «Growing up normal in the 70s» – intriguing enough to get me to pick it down from the shelf. This is a tale to counterpoint the chronicles of suffering produced by people who had miserable childhoods – not, as Collins points out, in order to belittle their plight, but in order to show that some things are right with the world even if much of it is wrong… And for someone who’s grown up normal in the 80s (Collins was born in 65, and is thus 9 years older than me – I can’t remember much from the 70s…), a lot of this stuff is head-noddingly familiar. «They tucked him up, his mum and dad» – well, so did mine. Collins bemoans the fact that he was never seriously ill – neither was I, I had chicken pox when I was four and at about the same time had to have two or three stitches on my chin due to slipping on the ice below a slide and hitting said chin on the edge, and that’s the most I can boast (Collins beats me in the number of childhood diseases, but only has a measly ingrown toenail to my stiches). There are other similarities and there are, reassuringly, quite a few differences, but despite these it’s mostly comfortingly familiar. This might not be great art or a candidate for «Memoirs of the Year», but it’s interesting enough and sufficiently well-written for me to want to get hold of the «sequel»: Heaven Knows I’m Miserable Now: My Difficult Student 80s. We’ll see.

Home Truths – David Lodge

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Picked from the shelf because of its lightness and it’s potential for being left behind when leaving Copenhagen, Home Truths is pleasant enough read, raising a couple of interesting (though, it must be admitted, by now somewhat over-hashed) points about media and fame and privacy and so on. The novella is basically the playtext of Lodge’s play by the same name with a couple of extra bits stuck in and «disguised» to read like a novel rather than a play (i.e. it says «Adrian said, (…), (…) Eleanor replied.» rather than «Adrian: (…) (line break) Eleanor: (…)»), which is fair enough, I suppose, except it still reads rather a lot like a play (being mostly dialogue) and since I’m the sort of person who enjoys reading play texts I would have preferred to read it as such. Never mind. Stuck a bookcrossing note in it and left it in The Bloomsday Bar.

Ruffen og det mystiske hullet

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En MEGET etterlengtet ny Ruffen-bok! Og selvsagt er den akkurat så fantastisk som man hadde ventet. Litt pussig, sånn i lesebunke-sammenheng at den hadde med Nederland å gjøre, men mer om det senere…

Løp og kjøp!

One Pair of Hands

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It’s amazing how you «fall over» books now and again. In this case it turns out that my new GP’s office have a shelf of books for sale – the proceeds going to Lions – which is where I found Monica Dickens’ One Pair of Hands while waiting to have my plantar faciitis diagnosed. I read (or rather listened to – the local library has an audiobook) – Dickens’ My Turn to Make the Tea way back when (must be getting on for ten years ago) and have only vague recollections of it, but I rather think I enjoyed it. I still think I must have, One Pair of Hands is certainly enjoyable. It’s an engagingly written story chronicling Dickens’ soujourn as a «general» – a combined cook/housekeeper/cleaning lady – the only job her education at various schools for young girls has (partly) qualified her for. It’s an interesting peek at the upstairs/downstairs way of life – with some brilliantly drawn characters from both sides of the green baize door thrown in – from someone who isn’t really «meant» to be there.

Samtaler med en svart hund

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En fornøyelig, og av og til ganske tankevekkende, vandring gjennom Bringsværds notatbøker og skriverbordsskuffer. Jeg nøyer meg med å sitere et par linjer av Bringsværds egne. En observasjon:

Han ville så gjerne ta tingene som de kom. Men der satt han og ventet.

Et godt spørsmål:

Hvorfor kommer alltid det ene etter det andre? Burde det ikke vært omvendt?

Og Bringsværd som siterer Jean Kerr:

Hvis du holder hodet kaldt når alle andre mister det, er det mulig at du ikke helt har skjønt situasjonen.

San Francisco

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Dette er en pinlig parodi av en bok, der forfatteren bedriver ablegøyer med politisk realitylitteratur og er utelukkende subjektiv i sin framstilling.

Neida. Jeg bare tester evnen til å skrive en sammenhengende setning der jeg bruker alle ordene i en gitt liste, i dette tilfellet John Erik Rileys liste på «Sju ord man bør unngå å bruke i anmeldelser av denne boka». Problemet er selvsagt at setningen på ingen måte beskriver San Francisco… Vi begynner på nytt:

Spartacus har skjønt det. «Det» i dette tilfellet er at normale reiseguider kan være interessante nok (jeg har f.eks. nettopp lest mesteparten av The Rough Guide to Copenhagen) men det man virkelig kan kose seg med er personlige beretninger, og da gjerne velskrevne sådanne – derfor spør man gjerne noen som allerede kan skrive om å berette… Hepp, vi har «Forfatterens guide» serien.

Jeg vet lite on San Francisco – jeg innbiller meg at jeg vet en smule mer etter å ha lest denne boka – og jeg har ingen umiddelbare planer om å reise dit. Men det er nettopp det som er så fint med denne typen «guidebøker», man behøver slett ikke ha reiseplaner for å ha glede av dem. Riley forteller om livet i SF (en by som høres ekstra forlokkende ut i forkortelse for oss som av og til liker en science fiction fortelling eller to…) og entusiasmen hans er smittende. Dette er langt fra pinlig eller parodisk. Faktisk er det eneste ordet fra hans liste på sju som jeg har lyst til å bruke «subjektiv» – det ville vært trist om ikke boka var subjektiv, det er jo nettopp det som er poenget.