Smakebit på søndag: Made in America

madeinamericaJeg tar nok en pause fra U- og leser litt i Bill Brysons Made in America, om hvordan amerikansk engelsk utviklet seg til å bli slik det ble. I dag skal jeg være så orginal at jeg serverer en fotnote som smakebit:

Why the -s termination rose to prominence is something of a mystery. It came from northern England, a region that had, and still has, many dialectal differences from the more populous south, none other of which has ever had the slightest influence on the speech of London and its environs. Why the inhabitants of southern England suddenly began to show a special regard for the form in the late sixteenth century is unknown.

(side 25) Språk er gøy.

Flere smakebiter finner du hos Flukten fra virkeligheten.

Bankstræde nr. 0 – Einar Már Guðmundsson

bankstrædeJeg kjøpte Bankstræde nr. 0 på Bogforum i København, en av få bøker jeg kjøpte i Danmark. Den blir derfor min islandske lesing i desember, selv om det ikke er en roman, men snarere en samling essays.

Jeg leste et par romaner av Einar Már Guðmundsson for over ti år siden, og likte dem svært godt. Denne boka ga meg egentlig bare mer blod på tann, så det blir nok noe gjenlesing og noe nylesing av hans senere romaner framover.

Jeg liker nemlig Einar Már Guðmundssons måte å skrive på. I Bankstræde nr. 0 spenner han vidt og bredt når han tar for seg bankkrisen på Island. Han sveiper innom islandsk litteratur og myte og studentpolitikk på 70-tallet og gir Det internasjonale valutafond det glatte lag (noe jeg har en viss forståelse for). Einar mener, og jeg har ingen problemer med å være enig, at det er blodig urettferdig at det islandske folk skal betale for gildet når islandske finansfolk i samarbeid med resten av verdens finansmiljø har skakkjørt sin og sine investorers økonomi så til de grader som de har gjort. At det ikke bare er islendingene som oppfatter dette som urimelig ser vi jo i den senere tid med Occupy-bevegelsen, som startet med Occupy Wall Street, men som har spredd seg til de fleste verdenshjørner. Vanlige folk over hele verden finner det like urimelig som islendingene at finansfyrstene fortsatt sitter i sine palass mens pengene som måtte til for å redde bankene trekkes fra statskassen og derfor nærmest rett fra lommene dine og mine.

Som Einar Már Guðmundsson skriver:

Rapporten fra Altingets Undersøgelseskommission viser, hvordan bankerne blev tømt indefra, og hvem der gjorde det, nemlig de, der fik bankerne lige i hånden og sagde, at de bar så stort et ansvar, men ikke desto mindre slipper for at bære noget ansvar.

Nettopp der ligger jo urimeligheten. Dersom man skal godta skyhøye lederlønninger og bonuser i finansbransjen fordi «banksjefene» sitter med et slikt stort ansvar, må det da være lov å forlange at de samme lederne faktisk stilles til ansvar når boblen de selv har konstruert sprekker? At de i det minste får en bot når tallene er røde tilsvarende det de kunne fått i bonus hadde tallene vært svarte? Jeg forstår selvsagt at det ikke er så lett å omsette en slik teori til praksis, men tingenes nåværende tilstand strider i alle fall mot min rettferdighetssans, og tilsynelatende er jeg ikke alene.

Selv om jeg altså liker boka, lurer jeg på om den først og fremst fungerer som preken til menigheten. Einar Már Guðmundsson kommer med mange gode poenger og mange interessante anekdoter, men som tekst virker det hele ganske løselig konstruert, og jeg føler at gjennomslagskraften argumentene kunne ha hatt drukner litt i alle «à proposene». Samtidig er alle sidesporene noe av det som gjør boka underholdende og verdt å lese, så jeg klager vel ikke.

Og Det internasjonale valutafond? Joda: 

De siger, at vi bliver Nordens Cuba, hvis ikke vi accepterer dette. Men burde vi så ikke tilføje: Vi bliver Nordens Haiti, hvis vi accepterer det. Dér gik man ind på alle kravene fra Den Internationale Valutafond, og nu hersker der hungersnød.

Bluestockings – Jane Robinson

bluestockingsBluestockings – The Remarkable Story of the First Women to Fight for an Education by Jane Robinson came home with me from one of my browsing trips in a proper bookshop (so, somewhere in Britain) and surfaced in the recent bout of putting books on shelves. And I’m sure glad it did.

As a female and a graduate I am profoundly grateful to the women who first breached the barricades of higher education a century and a half ago. And to those who, undaunted by jeers, ridicule, hostility and pig-headedness perservered so that I and my contemporaries could take it for granted that if we wanted to go to university our sex, at least, would not stop us.

Jane Robinson has assembled an impressive amount of personal anecdotes from interviews, letters and diaries and woven them in with officially recorded dates and facts to provide a consise and highly readable history of women’s entry into higher education.

«There is a wonderful exhilaration about getting a degree. It is something more than the degree itself. It feels like coming into an inheritance of tradition,» quotes Robinson from a female graduate of Manchester in 1926. And it does. At least it did for me, and reading this book made me relive my own years at university and, particularly, my own graduation from Manchester (did you hear me cry: «Oh, sister!»?) and to reflect.

Read this book, especially if you also happen to be female and a graduate. It would also be the perfect gift for any young woman of your acquaintance going away to university for the first time, as it is not only designed to give her a sense of history but also to instill love of learning for learning’s sake, and to remind her to enjoy herself.  No mean thing.

The Worst Date Ever – Jane Bussmann

bussmann

We meet Jane Bussmann in Hollywood where, having failed at making it as a comedy writer, she is making a living interviewing – or making up interviews with – celebrities. Not feeling like this was, perhaps, just where her career ought to have taken her, she sets out to do something more meaningful in the best way she can, by finding a celebrity that’s doing something worthwhile. That he is also drop-dead gorgeus does not strike her as a drawback, hence the title. Through a series of events Bussmann finds herself in Uganda, without her interviewee, and starts doing her own research while waiting for him to show up. What she finds is that the drawn out conflict between the government of Uganda, headed by Museveni – regarded by «the west» as one of the Good Guys – and the rebel Kony, leading an army consisting mostly of kidnapped children, was not being carried out in such a straightforward manner as one might think, and that who was actually on which side seemed less clear the more people you talked to.

Now, finding that a conflict in an African country is not straight forward, finding that a conflict anywhere at all is not straight forward, is hardly surprising. However, Bussmann manages to narrate her investigation in such a way that you do feel personally involved, which is a good thing.

And along the way she does manage to convey the insanity of conflicts such as these and some of the plain idiocy you can be met with from those who are supposed to know better. Of the latter, here is an example:

Rebecca had had her retirement plans shelved by AIDS. I could be wrong, but I’d read that the man George Bush put in charge of foreign aid had the chance to make AIDS drugs affordable in Africa. However, the unfortunately named Andrew Natsios said it would have been irresponsible, because these drugs need to be taken at the same time every day. He really did mean Africans couldn’t tell the time.

All in all, though, it left me feeling a little… deflated? Not that I expected Bussmann to somehow, singlehandedly, solve all the political problems in Africa. That, I guess, would be an unfair expectation. However I guess I did expect… something. Something more than the book provides, anyway. Because whereas, to all intents and purposes, The Other Hand – a book still fresh in my memory – ends in disaster, it still manages to be life-affirming, and The Worst Date Ever ends on a bit of a «Meh».

Pies and Prejudice – Stuart Maconie

maconie_piesI found Pies and Prejudice – In Search of the North by Stuart Maconie in the newly extended English language section of one of the lokal bookshops (Norli på Nordre, om noen av mine norske lesere lurer). To my surprise, and glee, they now have a proper section for non-fiction, covering two whole book cases. I celebrated by buying this book, and I am very glad I did. The Times – according to the blurb on the cover – called Maconie «The new Bill Bryson» in their review, and I think they might be on to something.

Maconie writes well, seems to know what he is talking about, and most importantly, conveys a genuine affection for his subject, even the not so pretty bits. And he shows the right sort of attitude.

From [the Henry More Centre], you can stroll through a Perspex walkway to Leeds City Art Gallery, haunt of the teenage Alan Bennett and home to the finest collection of twentieth-century British art outside London. Their online literature encourages visitors to ‘read… mingle… chat… laugh’. Personally, I’d have put ‘look at some pictures’ in there as well but I understand that museums are now so terrified of being thought elitist, so desperate to be ‘inclusive’, that they have to avoid the unspeakable truth, namely that modern art isn’t for everyone. Neither is John Coltrane or Bartók or the ghost stories of Robert Aickman or peaty Laphroaig whisky or English mustard. That’s why they are special and fabulous. Let’s not patronise the public by wet-nursing them like this.
(p. 210)

Maconie has written anothe book called Cider with Roadies. I’ll be reading it.

Round-up

Woooooody’s round-up. Eh, no, sorry, wrong movie.

The Help by Kathryn Stockett
Ok, so I’ve only read half. That half was really rather good, but I find myself unwilling to keep reading because I’ve got an uneasy sense of impending disaster. I might have to do something I would never normally do and find someone who’s finished it and make them tell me what happens. Then I might just finish. We’ll se.

The Other Hand by Chris Cleave
On the back this books gives a very sketchy idea of what it’s about and it asks you, when you’ve read it and want to recommend it to others, not to tell them much beyond «read this», which makes sense, since part of the charm of this book is how the story unfolds. I say «charm», because the book is charming. It is also very life-affirming. However, it is not for the faint-hearted. It deals with refugees and their stories, and the stories are never nice. They all start, as the narrator says, with the phrase «The men came and they…» and there is never a happy ending.  We only get one complete story, but the others are hanging about in the reader’s consciousness and are even more awful for being incomplete. Read it, though.

coupland

Generation A by Douglas Coupland
Served mostly to remind me of why I find it hard to like most new novels. It’s because they aren’t as good as this. This is what a novel should be like.

india

India by Torbjørn Færøvik
Excellent. Part travelogue, part condensed history of India. Note to self: Read more of Færøvik’s books.

Non-fiction

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.

Den lille stygge sjokoladeboka – Simen Sætre

Jeg var litt tvilende til om jeg turte lese denne boka, faktisk. Ignorance is bliss og så videre. Vel, det viste seg at den forsåvidt ikke inneholdt så mye nytt. Jeg følte faktisk at de negative sidene ved sjokoladeproduksjon kunne vært utdypet og illustrert enda bedre. Flere sitater og historier fra kakaoplantasjearbeiderne – både de som er de facto slaver og de som har valgt jobben «frivillig». Fokus på sukkerproduksjon og all utbyttingen og utnyttingen som foregår der kunne kanskje også vært nevnt – det meste av sjokolade som selges i Norge inneholder tross alt en ganske stor andel sukker.

Allikevel, har du ikke lest side opp og side ned om slavearbeid og grunnene til at du bør handle Fair Trade om du kan bør du nok lese denne boka. Har du allerede lest side opp og side ned kan du godt lese boka allikevel, for den er såpass kort at det ikke er allverdens investering av tid, og noe nytt lærer du nok (det gjorde jeg, tross alt). Og den var vel med på å dytte meg over i et standpunkt jeg allikevel var i ferd med å ta, at sjokoladeinnkjøpene heretter bør være Fair Trade i enda større grad de også (kaffe, sukker, ris og bananer er nesten utelukkende det allerede, og vi jobber med andre produkter). Men jeg kommer nok til å kjøpe Freia melkesjokolade også i fremtiden, bare kanskje ikke så ofte. Problemet er nemlig at der Fair Trade kaffen, for eksempel, smaker like bra eller bedre enn alternativene er det ingen annen sjokolade som smaker som Freia melkesjokolade og dermed er det lite poeng i å proppe i seg lassevis med Fair Trade sjokolade i et forsøk på å tilfredstille behovet når det melder seg.

Hvis noen har funnet Fair Trade melkesjokolade som faktisk smaker godt tar jeg gjerne mot tips (når det gjelder mørk sjokolade er vi nemlig også nesten utelukkende på Fair Trade, men jeg sliter med melkesjokoladen).

April, May and much of June

I swear I meant to write proper posts on some of these. However:

Police at the Funeral – Margery Allingham
Showed up in my mailbox as a sort of birthday present – bookcrossing style. A quirky and charming read and definitely an author to look out for later. I still haven’t quite decided who next to «inflict» this on, I think it takes a certain kind of reader… Hm.

Portnoy’s Complaint – Philip Roth
A little dreary, but good in its way – I think its supposed to be a little dreary, to be honest. Recognisable and not so recognisable themes of guilt and shame, religion and upbringing.

The Chronicles of Prydain – Lloyd Alexander
A reread occasioned by finding the first three books in Norwegian second-hand by chance.

Sputnik Sweetheart – Haruki Murakami
Also a bookcrossing copy, my suspicions that I’d like Murakami in novel-form was confirmed. A perfectly beautiful – though quite sinister – book, and very hard to put down once you’ve started.

Under the Duvet, Angels and The Other Side of the Story – Marian Keyes 
A three for one sale on Marian Keyes paperbacks, and these are the ones I came away with. Under the Duvet was entertaining, but possibly a little too light-hearted for my taste (even the pieces dealing with serious issues such as alchoholism somehow felt light-hearted, something Rachel’s Holiday – the novel dealing with the same issue – doesn’t). I realised, shortly after having started it, that I’ve read Angels before. Nevermind, I didn’t remember how it would all end and it was worth a reread (even if I still don’t really like the ending. Bah). The Other Side of the Story was, uhm, not quite up to Keys’ usual standard, I don’t think. I think partly it was the narrative form I didn’t like, it was slightly too disjointed to suit the overall style of the novel (or me, possibly).

The Vanishing Act of Esme Lennox – Maggie O’Farrell
Received from Tonbel, who grabbed the chance to get rid of some books while I was there. Most of them ended up bookcrossed, but this one she suggested I read, and I’m glad she did. The main problem with this book was that it was at least 400 pages too short. I wanted to know more, much more, and it left me (internally, I was on the bus) shouting «But what happened next?» Not that the story is unfinished as such, just that the characters were compelling enough to make me want to read more. I think I will have to put the books O’Farrell mentions as helpful when researching on my tbr list.

I’ve probably forgotten something here, oh well.

Since the middle of February

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.