Kategori: Aardwolf – one hit wonders

Ah, poor, neglected bookblog

Mirthful 3 Comments

I guess a catch-up post is in order, and then I need to get back into proper posting. But, really, APRIL? How am I supposed to remember all I’ve read since April?

What with moving house and all, there’s been less time for reading than I could have wished, so there’s less to remember, but still.

Ah, well, let’s see:

Somewhere South of Here by William Kowalski, engaging, now bookcrossed.

Seventy-Seven Clocks by Christopher Fowler. Less funny than I had hoped, but still entertaining. Bookrcossing copy.

Theatre of Fish by Gimlette, found in my father’s colloection, an interesting account of Newfoundland, a place of which I knew very little, now I know a little more.

It’s a Long Way from Penny Apples, autobiography by Bill Cullen. An absorbing read. My two gripes were that though it’s supposed to be a memoir the author is referred to in third person throughout, which to me makes it more impersonal, and that in passages the sentences are waaaaay too short (unlike mine, as you can tell, I rather like run-on sentences). Now bookcrossed.

The Importance of Being Seven and The Double Comfort Safari Club by Alexander McCall Smith. Brilliant, as usual.

The Bronte Project by Jennifer Vandever. Picked up at a bookcrossing meetup in Mainz (of all places). Nice enough, but left me feeling a little, uhm, I don’t know, deflated perhaps?

Tonje Glimmerdal og Vaffelhjarte av Maria Parr. Disse fortjener egentlig egne innlegg, særlig Tonje Glimmerdal som muligens er den beste boka jeg har lest dette årtusenet, uavhengig av genre.

Peat Smoke and Spirit by Andrew Jefford, a reread in preparation for this summer’s  trip to Islay.

Call the Midwife: A True Story of the East End in the 1950ies by Jennifer Worth. A very worthwhile read. I see it’s available from Amazon in a set with its two sequels, and I think I have to ordr it, because I do want to read the sequels.

Vidunderbarn av Roy Jacobsen. Vidunderlig, sår, ekte og gripende.

Huset ved moskeen – Kader Abdolah

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abdolahDet passet i grunnen utmerket å lese Kader Abdolahs Huset ved moskeen i mars, selv om den ikke var på Lyrans liste foregår den tross alt i rett område for jorden rundt-utfordringen.

Huset ved moskeen er en slags familiesaga, og handlingen foregår i Sandjãn i Iran. I åtte hundre år har familien bodd i huset ved moskeen, og en mann fra familien har vært moskeens imam. Ãqa Djãn er familiens overhode, og styrer huset i tillegg til å drive en blomstrende teppehandlerbedrift og være en av de sentrale mennene i basaren og i byen forøvrig. Historien i romanen følger husets beboere, både de «gode» og de «onde» gjennom årene rundt kulturrevolusjonen i Iran og Shaens fall.

Jeg lot meg rive med av historien. Dette er dessuten en bok å lære av, både om Irans historie, noe som er nyttig nok, men også om mellommenneskelige forhold, av det mer universelle slaget.

Anbefales!

Persepolis – Marjane Satrapi

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persepolisVi har kommet til Midtøsten i Lyrans jorden rundtutfordring og jeg valgte meg Persepolis, siden den tross alt har stått på «skal lese snart»-lista en stund.

Jeg tror jeg hadde litt for høye forventninger til denne, eller kanskje litt feil forventninger? Jeg er glad i grafiske romaner, så det burde ikke være formatet som hemmer meg, men jeg ble litt mindre engasjert i Satrapis historie enn jeg kunne ønsket. For all del, boka var opplysende, tegningene er til dels svært talende (om de sier mer enn tusen ord skal jeg ikke gi meg ut på en diskusjon om) og jeg fikk et nytt innblikk i det å vokse opp i Iran. Men… Nei, jeg vet ikke. Jeg ble liksom ikke helt fenget.

I sin hånd – Heidi Halvorsen

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Jeg fikk et «anmeldereksemplar» fra forfatteren av I sin hånd. Det er kanskje litt farlig, da vil man jo gjerne like boka. Men jeg tror ikke jeg er forutinntatt når jeg sier at boka var svært lesverdig.

I sin hånd handler om Renate, som slett ikke får noen bra start på livet. Den handler også om fotballproffen Johnny Leine, som lever drømmetilværelsen in Manchester med samboeren Monica. En dag innhentes Johnny av fortiden og han oppdager litt om litt at han står på lista til en ung dame som ikke skyr noen midler for å få hevn.

Historien har et bra driv og mange nok overraskelser underveis til at det ikke ble for lett å gjette handlingsløpet. Jeg begynte i går kveld og leste ferdig i formiddag (er syk), så den hadde definitivt den «klarer ikke legge fra meg» faktoren som sjangeren trenger.

Og så var det gøy med både Hamar- og Manchester-tilknytning, jeg kunne nesten ønsket meg mer stedsbundne detaljer, lokalkjent som jeg er.

To ting skurret litt for meg, uten at de på noen måte ødela leseropplevelsen der og da. Det ene var at bruken av hedmarking/hamarsing bare nesten var konsekvent (et eksempel jeg kommer på var at en person refereres som å si «je» og «noe» i samme setning, det naturlige ville vært «no»). Det andre var at jeg ikke helt trodde på alderen som ble oppgitt for Renate i de første delene. 9 og 15 hadde vært mer troverdig ift måten hun tenker på enn 6 og 12.

Men, altså, en veldig god historie. Jeg føler vel at det boka hadde trengt for å bli perfekt var en mer kritisk korrekturleser/redaktør som kunne rettet litt på de stedene der man som forfatter blir «blind» (om det kan være noen trøst var det akkurat den samme følelsen jeg satt igjen med etter å ha lest Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix: at redaktøren ikke hadde gjort jobben sin).

A different sort of catch-up post

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I’m going to a bookcrossing meetup this afternoon, and have gathered a pile of books to bring, most of them bookcrossing copies that have been lying around for over a year without being read, and I feel it’s time to let them go. But then the odd one shows up that I have read, but that I have neither journaled nor blogged. Remiss of me. So here:

Terra Incognita by Sara Wheeler was sent to me as an rabck. I had it on my wishlist following a discussion in the forums about travelogues written by women. I actually read it when I said I would, that is following the reread of Aubrey/Maturin last winter, but I didn’t want to wild release it, and so it ended up on a pile of «need some effort on these» books and has been neglected ever since. The book is pretty good, and I did enjoy it, but it didn’t quite hit its mark with me. I think one reason is I simply don’t understand the obsessive fascination with Antarctica (or the poles) which Sara Wheeler certainly seems to share with a lot of people, and she doesn’t really help me understand it either. I’m not suggesting she should have explained better, as I’m pretty sure it’s not something one can explain, like a phobia, obsession is hardly rational, but I do wish she’d made me feel it. Without that the book is a bit too long, too dry, dare I say too cold? Still, worth reading. I’ll try to find someone who wants it this afternoon.

Alice by Lela Dowlings is a graphic rendition of Alice in Wonderland and is simply wonderful. I’m putting it on my «be on the lookout for» list, as I want this in my permanent collection, but this copy is travelling on.

Thirteen Orphans by Jane Lindskold is a competent fantasy, with clever use of Chinese cultural symbols and with the nicely executed «people with affinity with animals» theme that I’ve come to expect from Lindskold. First in a series, and I’ll be looking for the rest, but I don’t think I’ll reread, so I will register and bring it today.

På vegne av venner – Kristopher Schau

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skauPå vegne av venner fikk god omtale på Bokelskere.no, så jeg slengte den på ønskelisten, og så tilbød Tone meg å lese hennes eksemplar, og da var det jo bare å kaste seg over tilbudet.

Vinteren 2009 går Schau på kommunale begravelser i Oslo, begravelser som det av en eller annen grunn ikke er venner eller familie til å ta seg av og som derfor faller på kommunen. Av og til kommer det allikevel mange mennesker, da snur han og går. Av og til er han den eneste, utenom presten og begravelsesagenten. Ja en begravelse mangler sogar prest (med fornuftig grunn, det skal sies).

Jeg har hatt svært lite sans for Kristopher Schaus tidligere prosjekter, men akkurat dette tiltalte meg. Det er vel også av en helt annen karakter enn det han ellers er kjent for.

Han sier «Jeg ville vite hva dette var; og jeg ville være der.» Og man får ett lite innblikk i hva det vil si at noen dør så ensomme at det ikke engang er noen til å komme i begravelsen. Dette er en bok det er vel verdt å investere noen timer (og det skal ikke så mange til, den er ikke akkurat tykk). Men på sett og vis føler jeg at det mangler noe. Kanskje var ikke Schau tjent med at jeg hadde en artikkel fra Magasinet friskt i minne. I går var det nemlig en artikkel i Magasinet om en mann som døde alene, som ble begravet av kommunen, uten sørgende. Men der journalisten graver – og graver – og faktisk finner noe. Nå mener jeg vel ikke at Schau skulle tatt på seg å være privatdetektiv for hver eneste avdøde han «møter», men den artikkelen gjorde allikevel at «bare» å møte i begravelsene virket litt, tja, som å si A uten å si B, kanskje? Men, som sagt, vel verdt tiden i alle fall.

Noe av det beste med boka er forresten omslaget. Jeg er helt forelsket i det og kunne godt ha rammet inn boka og hengt den på veggen hvis vi hadde hatt veggplass til sånt (det har vi ikke, det er bokhyller på veggene våre). Det hadde vel forresten funket fint, siden boka er såpass tynn.

The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society – Mary Ann Schaffer and Annie Barrows

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shafferI could have sworn I had blogged this already, but I must have dreamt it.

This book is a bit of a gem. I’m sure I’m not the first to say so. I picked it up in London this summer, with a title like that I was hardly likely to pass it up.

Epistolary novels are delightful when they work and excessively tiresome when they don’t. Luckily, this is an example of an epistolary novel that works.

I laughed and I cried, both quite literally, it doesn’t get much better. How it’s all going to end becomes obvious quite early on, but that’s part of the charm. This is a feelgood book of the highest order. Better than chicken soup.

Mary Ann Shaffer sadly died in 2008, so no hope for more gems from her, unfortunately.

Summarising again

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Really, where does the time go? Recent (well, since may…) reads in no particular order (and probably missing a few):

The series that will no longer be named. All in a row. Lovely. I am still pretty happy with the ending, but noticed a few minor inconsistencies along the way this time.

Lessons from the Land of Pork Scratchings by Greg Gutfeld. Abysmal. Didn’t finish it. I’ll be writing more about it at some point, because, really! But, you know, take this as a warning to stay WELL away.

Packaging Girlhood. Quite illuminating. Meant to write more on this, too. Ah well.

Consumer Kids. Followed naturally. Very informative on how kids are not only inundated with ads, but used to advertise to friends and provide market research, quite frequently unknowingly. Should probably be read by every parent.

Tea Time for the Traditionally Built by Alexander McCall Smith. Perfection, as usual.

This Charming Man by Marian Keyes. Keyes back on great form and with a serious theme this time, which she excels at treating.

The Brontes Went to Woolworth by Rachel Ferguson. Reread because I had to take it down to copy out one of my favourite quotes ever:

A woman at one of mother’s parties once said to me, «Do you like reading?» which smote us all to silence, for how could one tell her that books are like having a bath or sleeping, or eating bread – absolute necessities which one never thinks of in terms of appreciation.

Paths of Glory by Jeffrey Archer. As usual Archer spins a pretty – and gripping – tale. However, knowing how it all ends spoiled it a bit for me. Not that I know all that much about Mount Everest climbs and such, but I do know a little, and the prologue reveals what I didn’t. I suppose part of it is knowing it doesn’t end in «they lived happily ever after», which I’m a sucker for and which Archer frequently delivers with aplomb. Still, exceedingly readable.

And that made me realise I’ve forgotten to note reading A Prisoner of Birth, also by Archer, which was REALLY good, just what the doctor ordered, and Archer – to me – at his best. I happen to love courtroom dramas, too, so this had pretty much everything. No idea when I read it, though, so I popped it in here… Probably shortly after the paperback was issued, but I’m not sure.

The Thirteenth Tale – Diane Setterfield

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The Thirteenth Tale by Diane Setterfield was passed on to me from my mother, who thought I’d like it. And I did, sort of. After all it’s hard not to like a story where books are so much the be all and end all.

It’s a hard book to put down, and the tale was gripping enough, but once I had read the last page I was left feeling somewhat unsatisfied. Though the plot is clever and the booklore abundant I missed some sort of deeper connection with the story. None of the characters really stayed with me past the last page, and they shoukd have.

Anyway, here’s one of the passages on reading to which I cried «Oh, sister!» (well, not really, but I certainly felt recognition):

I have always been a reader; I have read at every stage of my life, and there has never been a time when reading was not my greatest joy. And yet I cannot pretend that the reading I have done in my adult years matches in its impact on my soul the reading I did as a child. I still believe in stories. I still forget myself when I am in the middle of a good book. Yet it is not the same. Books are, for me, it must be said, the most important thing; what I cannot forget is that there was a time when they were at once more banal and more essential than that. When I was a child, books were everything. And so there is in me, always, a nostalgic yearning for the lost pleasure of books. It is not a yearning that one ever expects to be fulfilled.

Lessons from the Land of Pork Scratchings – Greg Gutfeld

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I bought Lessons from the Land of Pork Scratchings by Greg Gutfeld in London in July, partly because, well «A Miserable Yank Finds Happiness in the UK» appealed to me as an anglophile, partly because I like books about Britain, and partly because it says

«A Bill Bryson for the noughties» – Daily Mirror

on the front. I guess I should have known not to trust a quote from the Daily Mirror. Shame on me.

Well, I can tell you, a Bill Bryson he ain’t.

AND, and I can’t believe the first time I ever feel the need to say this in a blog post it’s for a review of a «travel book» on Britain: Trigger warning. Really.

I have an admission to make, I didn’t finish the book. I almost stopped reading at around page 20 and kept going partly because I was horribly fascinated and partly because I thought «someone really ought to point a few things out as regards this book». I made it to page 138 out of 239 before finally giving in.

The blurb on the back starts out cheerily «Battered sausages. Warm beer. Earl Grey tea in chipped mug. Morris dancers. Pub dogs. Car boot sales.» Which sounded good to me. I wish they’d added «Misogynist jokes» to the list, and I might have known to stay clear.

I would need to reread the first 20 or so pages to find the first place where my inner editor went «Strike this!», but the first instance that compelled me to mark the page for future reference was this:

Why do girls with backpacks always seem so tempting? I think it’s because if a week goes by and nobody has heard from them, it’s OK. (p. 22)

You what?

WHAT?

And so it went on. And on. Be wiser than me, don’t try to read this book.