Stikkord: memoir

Trans Mission: My Quest to a Beard – Alex Bertie

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Trans Mission is both a narrative about one person’s experience with discovering his gender identity and seeking medical help to transition and a sort of Transition 101. For anyone who knows little about what being transgender and taking steps to transition entails (whether questioning their own identity or just wanting to be a better ally) it’s probably quite a useful book and it’s definitely the sort of thing that I’d recommend for a school library.

The book reads rather like a transcript of a series of YouTube videos, which is unsurprising considering Alex Bertie is a YouTuber. It’s not neccessarily a bad thing, especially for the (probable) intended audience. The style is chatty and personal, and makes me feel old. I am not joking, either, Alex comes across as very young to my eyes. But then again: He is young. I assume I’m likely about the same age as his parents. I found myself wanting a smidge more mature reflection while reading, but I’m not actually sure that that would have improved the book as is. Perhaps I just wanted to read a different sort of book altogether.

It’s interesting to read about the process Alex had to go through with his parents before they were won over to fully accept and support his identity, but also frustrating, as I find the whole concept of not accepting your child they way they are wholly foreign and… bisarre. Being slow to catch on and needing things spelled out is one thing, actually denying reality or trying to convince the child it is «just a phase» quite another. Though I suppose Alex has a point when he sums it up:

Transitioning is always going to be a big deal to your parents and they’re never going to respond with, ‘Oh golly! I’m so glad my child is trapped in a body that makes them feel horrible!’ (At 38 %)

An episode both Alex and his mother (who gets to have her say in a chapter at the end of the book) recount is how he was forcefully persuaded to wear a dress at a junior prom. Even though he was not out as trans at the time (or even yet himself aware), what would the harm have been in letting him choose a suit? At least there’s a happy end, so to say:

His college leaving party was much better than his middle-school prom. Alex went in clothes he had chosen himself, with the hairstyle he wanted, and not an ounce of make-up in sight. He had no stress about conforming to the expectations of others, or the related pressures of gender dysphoria. My happy child was back: his college party photos are of a beaming Alex posing with all his mates. Finally, he was comfortable and settled and looking forward to his next chapter in life. (At 89 %)

Getting the mother’s point of view at the end is a good idea, but I don’t feel like it really provides an explanation for the slow process (and to some extent seems to suggest that there was a lot of miscommunication rather than actual lack of support). Perhaps it would have been more interesting to hear from Alex’s father, who seems to have taken a much longer time to accept reality?

I certainly learned something from Alex, though, and that’s never a bad thing, even if I think I was hoping for a different sort of book. (On that note: Hit me with suggestions for memoirs by trans people if you know any!)

Boka har jeg kjøpt sjøl.

H is for Hawk – Helen Macdonald

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Nå føler jeg meg veldig flink må jeg innrømme. Ikke bare har jeg lest ferdig månedens boksirkelbok FØR vi skal møtes, men jeg kan også krysse av en 1001-bok, og den PASSER i temaet for mars i Elidas 1001 lesesirkel. Og så er det faktisk en selvbiografi (eller memoar) snarere enn en roman (som jeg opprinnelig trodde), så med litt kreativ bokføring skal jeg til og med få den til å passe til biolesesirkelen. Kanskje.

Og så var den bra, på toppen av det hele.

Ok, nå hørtes jeg litt overrasket ut, kanskje, og det var ikke egentlig meningen. H is for Hawk av Helen Macdonald har vært på radaren min en stund, ikke minst fordi omslaget appellerer til meg. Men jeg vandret altså rundt i den villfarelsen av at det var en roman. Uansett, det var min tur til å foreslå bøker til boksirkelen forrige gang, og denne gangen tok jeg utgangspunkt i 1001-lista, og da først og fremst min filtrering av den, altså «ikke gamle hvite menn». Når kriteriet i boksirkelen i tillegg er at boka må finnes på norsk i tilstrekkelig antall eksemplarer på biblioteket ble forslagslista mi kortet ned til en håndfull titler helt av seg selv, og H is for Hawk ble faktisk enstemmig valgt av de tilstedeværende.

Å kalle boka en selvbiografi føles litt merkelig, siden den faktiske handlingen foregår over ca ett år av Helen Macdonalds liv, riktignok med tilbakeblikk på barndommen her og der. Det er også på sett og vis en bok om T. H. White, mest kjent (?) som forfatteren av The Sword in the Stone og The Once and Future King, som skrev The Goshawk om sitt eget tren-en-hauk-prosjekt. Både White og Macdonald har vikarierende for prosjektet sitt, den store forskjellen er at Macdonald faktisk vet hva hun driver med, hun har jobbet ved et falkejaktsenter og trent andre arter av rovfugl tidligere, mens White prøver seg fram og gjør omtrent alle feilene han kan gjøre i prosessen.

Å drive sorgbearbeidelse via hauk er et orginalt prosjekt, og kanskje nettopp det er en av årsakene til at boka ble en bestselger. Den andre hovedårsaken er utvilsomt Macdonalds formidlerevne. Hun skriver rett og slett godt. Jeg tok meg i å trekke paraleller til Havboka, vår egen naturhistoriske overraskende bestselger. Jeg kjenner igjen mye av den samme evnen til å formidle fakta om naturen (havet, hauken) på en måte som trekker leseren inn i historien og gjør boka til en page-turner der materien i andre hender kunne blitt tørr og uleselig. H er for Hauk, men også for Hav (funker ikke like bra på engelsk).

This summer lunch feels deeply unreal. Shadows of damask and silver, a photogravure in an album, something from Agatha Christie, from Evelyn Waugh, from another time. But the wasps are real. They are here, and they are present. So is the hawk, the sun at their centre. And me? I do not know. I feel hollow and unhoused, an airy, empty wasps’ nest, a thing made of chewed paper after the frosts have murdered the life within.

(Side 130.)

Interessant nok var vi fire boksirklere som likte boka. Én hadde ikke hatt tid til å lese den (oppgaveskriving fikk forståelig nok prioritet), mens én hadde gitt opp etter hundre sider. Sistnvente er vegetarianer og hang seg opp i det man jo med rette kan anse som dyreplageri. For å få en rovfugl til å komme tilbake til deg er du nødt til å holde den på sultegrensen. En mett rovfugl har ikke noe behov for menneskekontakt. I tillegg jaktes det jo på levende dyr – kaniner, fasaner og annet småvilt – og det er blod og gørr involvert. Siden det meningsløse dyreplageriet var det som ødela Havboka for meg kan jeg sympatisere, men H is for Hawk påvirket meg ikke på den måten.

Apriltema for biolesesirkelen er «Funny (gapskratt, merkelig, rorbu)» og det ville være løgn å si at H is for Hawk fikk meg til å le høyt. Men merkelig, det må det være lov å si at historien er. Og siden jeg har en tendens til å bruke «morsom» som synonym for «interessant» kan jeg til og med hevde at det er en morsom bok. Visste du forresten at hauker kan «le» – og leke?

Men selv uten bok- eller lesesirkler å tilfredsstille synes jeg du skal sjekke ut H is for Hawk. Om du ikke leser engelsk (og her er det mye spesialisert vokabular også, selv om det meste av falkejakt-spesifikke ord forklares) er boka oversatt til norsk av Knut Ofstad og gitt ut av Forlaget Press som H for hauk i 2015. (Jeg måtte grave i sitatene fra anmeldere for å finne oversetteren, forresten. Det synes visst ikke forlaget var så viktig å opplyse om i infoboksen sin. Smekk på lanken for det.)

Two middle grade/YA graphic memoirs

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The eldest put these on my pile, saying «I think you should read these», and so I did. She found them at the library (probably the main branch in town, which is the one she visits most often).

Hey, Kiddo by Jarrett J. Kosoczka is a graphic memoir detailing Krosoczka’s childhood and youth. He is brought up by his grandparents, who «rescue» him from his mother who is a heroin addict. She flits in and out of his life for the duration of the book, but is never much of a mother. His grandparents are not flawless either, but do their best to raise him, love him, and to give him the chance to develop his talents as an artist. He only discovers his father’s name by accident, and it takes years before he seeks any form of contact, and then only because he’s looking for siblings rather than a father.

Hey, Kiddo is an understated tale of growing up with an unconventional family constellation, and how what we think we’re missing out on might not actually be missing, just present in a different way, and how the «families» we make for ourselves may more than make up for the ones we were dealt to start with.

The 12-year-old obviously enjoyed it as well, though she was… I was going to say shocked, but I think guiltily pleased is more accurate, at the not infrequent swearing. Needless to say that hardly shocked me, but they seem to be quite strict about «bad words» at school.

Be Prepared by Vera Brosgol is also a graphic memoir, but covers a much shorter time-period, namely summer camp (actually an amalgate of two consecutive summers, according to the author’s afterword). The story itself is… Well, I think Emma in this review on Goodreads summed it up well:

it’s a classic indoors-kid-goes-to-camp-and-hates-it-and-everything-is-terrible-but-then-she-likes-it-because-she-makes-a-friend-just-in-time-to-leave story. which, like, not my favorite trope? presumably no one’s favorite trope? just a lot of gross toilets and bugs and outdoor shenanigans.

But just like for Emma what rescues this book for me is Brosgol’s art. It draws you in and makes you live the story. I would, however, reccommend Anya’s Ghost over Be Prepared if you’ve never read Brosgol before. And Hey, Kiddo is going to stay with me for longer.

The Princess Diarist – Carrie Fisher

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After reading Wishful Drinking towards the end of last year I was eager to read more of Carrie Fisher, and therefore I picked up The Princess Diarist in London. I got a little stuck half-way through, but I don’t think that was Fisher’s fault, as I didn’t really read anything else either.

The book oversells itself a bit on the «behind the scenes on the Star Wars set» plot (if one can call it plot in a memoir?), as there is actually very little about the actual filming. Fisher does describe how the auditions happened, which is fascinating, but the main theme of the book is «Carrison», the affair between Fisher and her co-star Harrison Ford.

I’m not a Star Wars fan (I haven’t even seen all of the original three, though I keep meaning to), but even so I was a bit disappointed in this, partly because other people’s love-affairs (real, not fictional) don’t really interest me much. What does create interest, though, is the contrast between the young Fisher – the diarist – and the old Fisher. The former is just entering adulthood and is unsure about pretty much everything, quite far removed from the who-gives-a-fuck Fisher that has been catching my interest lately.

On the whole, though, the parts that deal directly with the events during filming are the least interesting parts of the book. Fisher’s musings on fame and fictional self are much more readworthy.

I had never been Princess Leia before and now I would be her forever. I would never not be Princess Leia. I had no idea how profoundly true that was and how long forever was.

Everything delivered in the style I recognise from Wishful Drinking, a slightly haphazard, very oral style, like you’ve sat down with Fisher one evening and she decides to tell you her story there and then. It creates intimacy, which I find charming, but also somewhat ironic, as one of the problems of being Princess Leia is that everybody feel like they already know you (and have a right to your time and attention) and now Fisher is creating a new connection to her readers/fans which has much of the same quality. However, I suppose that it might be a good thing, as this new connection is something she is in control of the contents of, as opposed to Leia, which was never first and foremost her creation.

Carrie Fisher is worth reading must be my conclusion, though I would definitely recommend Wishful Drinking over The Princess Diarist.

PS: Siden det ble dårlig med lesing av det andre jeg skulle ha lest i februar (og mars, forsåvidt), inkludert Anorektisk og andre kandidater, får jeg hevde at The Princess Diarist er mitt bidrag i biografilesesirkelen. At Fisher passer beskrivelsen «oppdragne piker» er det vel liten tvil om. At jeg er vel sent ute er ikke noe nytt (og det blir neppe siste gang).

The Best We Could Do – Thi Bui

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Siden jeg har bestemt meg for å heller skrive korte omtaler enn å utsette blogginga til jeg har glemt boka blir det kjapp omtale av Thi Buis The Best We Could Do, for biblioteket vil ha den tilbake (helst forrige uke). Den fikk rykke litt opp på leselisten siden biblioteket maste, og det er mulig det er en medvirkende årsak til at jeg er litt underveldet (det var kanskje ikke akkurat dette jeg var klar for å lese nå). Eller er det det at jeg hadde høye forventninger på grunn av omtaler andre steder? Det var tross alt overstrømmende entusiasme fra tidligere lesere som fikk meg til å reservere boka på biblioteket.

The Best We Could Do er biografi i tegneserieform. Thi Bui utforsker sin families historie, hva som drev foreldrene til å flykte fra Vietnam til USA med fire barn. Et gjennomgående tema er hennes eget forhold til foreldrene og hvordan det påvirker hennes rolle som mor.

Kanskje det beste med boka fra mitt synspunkt er alt jeg lærer om Vietnam. Som de fleste andre i vesten har jeg først og fremst hørt amerikanerenes versjon av historien (hadde jeg vært frankofil hadde jeg kanskje hatt franskmennenes versjon inne også, men det er jeg ikke). Å få et annet perspektiv på konflikten(e) er nyttig, ikke minst som en påminnelse om at det alltid er flere sider i en sak enn man tror.

Ellers får historien i boka litt for tungt fokus på fødsler og mors-/farsrolle for min del, det svarer ikke helt til forventningene (uten at det nødvendigvis er Buis feil), og interesserte meg bare sånn måtelig. Jeg synes rett og slett noen av de passasjene ble repetitive og opplevdes litt meningsløse.

Det grafiske uttrykket er gjennomgående flott og ekspressivt, men jeg ble litt sliten av den monokrome fargesettingen. Siden jeg uten problemer leser grafiske romaner i svart-hvitt vanligvis kan vi kanskje skylde på sliten-i-hodet-pga-cellegift for akkurat det, men jeg kunne i alle fall ønsket meg noe annet enn bruntoner i i alle fall noen av scenene (faktisk tror jeg at svart-hvitt hadde fungert bedre for meg).

En noe tilbakeholden anbefaling, derfor, men likevel, du kan finne dummere måter å bruke en time eller to på enn å lese The Best We Could Do.

The Glass Castle – Jeanette Walls

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walls_theglasscastleThe Glass Castle was the April pick for my book club, so it’s been a while since I finished it, but I didn’t want to leave it completely unmentioned here on the blog, despite not having felt the blogging groove lately.

I found Walls’ story utterly fascinating. She describes a highly dysfunctional family, but does it in such loving terms (even when she’s obviously angry and frustrated, she never sounds bitter). Perhaps it’s easier to forgive incompetent parents when they despite everything they don’t provide, at least provide you with plenty of spunk, a curiosity about the world and belief in yourself?

Suffice it to say that I’ll be seeking out Walls’ other books.

Non-fiction

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Twenty Chickens for a Saddle – Robyn Scott
Since I finished Beadle the Bard during the flight to Oslo for a course and I hadn’t brought another book (I wasn’t expecting any reading time, actually), I swooped down on the non-fiction shelves at Tanum at OSL, and managed to pick this up and pay for it and still run to catch an earlier flight that my colleague had just realised we were in time for. (Yay for run-on sentences!) I don’t normally pay much attention to the blurbs on the cover of books, but in this case they had me even before I’d read the book’s title. The top of the cover reads: «A wonderful memoir of an exotic childhood. – Alexander McCall Smith». Sold! And he’s right, too. Robyn Scott grew up in Botswana with an, uhm, excentric collection of relatives and the book is full of wonderful detail and hilarious anecdotes, as well as some more serious topics, amongst them perfectly heartbreaking illumination of the emergence of HIV/AIDS in Botswana. One for your mnt tbr, dear reader.

Martha Jane & Me: A girlhood in Wales – Mavis Nicholson
I’ve never seen Mavis Nicholson on tv, as far as I know, and certainly had no idea who she was when I picked up this book second-hand on one of our pilgrimages to Britain. But then, this book does not really demand any prior knowledge of the writer, and though if you were a fan you’d find it an interesting read, I found it interesting enough in its own right. I’m not really a great one for biographies and memoirs as such, I’m not all that interested in how a great man or woman became great. What I am interested in is stories. That they happen to be non-fiction is fine with me, were they all fiction that would be fine, too.

Since the middle of February

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The Tale of Desperaux – Di Collofello
Very sweet. Not exceptionally good, though, and with an underlying sort of morality which bothered me. Since I rather like rats I objected to the description of them being so nasty to look at and touch (especially in comparison with mice, which are, apparently, not nasty at all), but I can understand how it might be necessary for the story. However, I can’t quite excuse the idea that a rat is a rat and can never change his nature, it smacks – to me – a little of the I’m-trying-to-be-politically-correct-but-I’m-a-racist-really premise that all, say, negroes are lazy, but it’s in their nature and they can’t really help it. Balderdash.

Small Wars Permitting – Christina Lamb
Very interesting, highly readable. My father just finished this when I was trying to get through Sorting Out Billy (see below) and there was no competition, really, I jumped at the chance to read something else. Lamb manages to be both informative, profound and thought-provoking and at the same time laugh-out-loud funny in places. The book contains both newly written context material and quite a few of Lambs articles from various papers and both are equally readable and absorbing. Highly recommended.

Then, a bit of a Durrell reread going on – in between all the other stuff – if I find the time and energy I might write a more detailed post on Durrell, but for now, here’s a list:
The Bafut Beagles – Gerald Durrell
Fillets of Plaice – Gerald Durrell
The Stationary Ark – Gerald Durrell
A Zoo in my Luggage – Gerald Durrell
Catch me a Colobus – Gerald Durrell
The Dunken Forest – Gerald Durrell
Himself and Other Animals – David Hughes (biography)

Sorting Out Billy – Jo Brand
I read only the first half, or thereabouts and then gave it up in disgust. Abysmally bad, actually.

The Book of Lost Things – John Connolly
Entertaining, slightly scary in parts. Well worth the time.

Anybody Out There? – Marian Keyes
Excellent. I was a little worried, not being a great fan of spiritualism and trying to speak to the dead, however, Keyes managed the issue beautifully, I think, and I didn’t cringe even once.

Slam – Nick Hornby
Hornby’s first «young adult» novel, which probably should be compulsory reading for most British teenagers as a sort of literary contraception. Not Hornby’s best book – by far – from an adult point of view, but then that’s hardly the right point of view for judging it.

American Gods – Neil Gaiman
Superb.

A Ramble Round the Globe – Thomas Dewar
Disappointingly unoccupied with whisky or with advertising, the two main reasons I am interested in Tommy Dewar, but a rather interesting read nonetheless.

The Life and Times of the Thunderbolt Kid – Bill Bryson
Just what you’d expect from Bill Bryson: Very good.

Going Solo

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I ended up rereading Going Solo because I had found it in a box (along with Waltzing through Flaws) and had given it to the husband with a «here you go, you need to read this» and he’d brought it to Vienna and was reading something else when I needed something to read and had put my own book (which I still haven’t finished) in the wrong bag. Uhm. Nice sentence, that.

Anyway. I’ve read Boy once, and as far as I can remember I found that pretty tedious. Going Solo, however, is charming and, amongst other things, leaves you wondering how on earth Hitler managed to get beaten by the allies, though I suppose someone in charge must have learned from their mistakes at some point after Dahl was invalided home. Or perhaps the allies were just more stubborn and won on the basis of sheer luck, which seems to be mainly what kept Dahl alive.

Diplomatic Baggage: The Adventures of a Trailing Spouse

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Diplomatic Baggage: The Adventures of a Trailing Spouse by Brigid Keenan was an impulse buy at a newsagent in town, and a pretty lucky one in one respect – Keenan’s husband «AW» gets posted to The Gambia in the late eighties, and since it’s hardly the country that pops up in books most often, it was a bit like an unexpected meeting with an old acquaintance*. The family arrives in the country just about a year after we left it, and the girls go to the same school my brother and I attended. That section alone made the book worth the price for me, but also the rest of the book is interesting and at times laugh-out-loud-funny, and Keenan manages to mix humour and seriousness in a way that makes the pages fly past.

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* For those not in the know, my familiy spent a year in The Gambia in 1986/87.