Bookclub May 2012

We didn’t talk about a lot of books this time, discussing other things like MS Word and databases and the happy completion of Lois’s class that she’s teaching at Georgetown. Rebecca mentioned the Under Heaven book, by GG Kay, and said she’d enjoyed it, with reservations about the torture parts. Horrible indeed, though surpassed in both type and frequency in Tigana, the first book by this author that I encountered and which I loved despite the horrible bits. I talked about the Fionavar Tapestry books, by the same author: a lot of Tolkienia and My Lord/My Lady chivalry tossed up with ancient Gods and Warrior legends, with a heaping serving of Golden Bough on the side. Which in no way stopped me from frantically devouring all 3 books in a lather of intensity. He writes a Good Story, does Guy Gavriel Kay. The one I just finished was the Sarantine Mosiac series, an excellent historical fiction (with a healthy dash of magic and ancient gods) about Byzantium, at the time of Justinian. Fascinating, really fascinating. I have spent much time seeking out images of the mosaics at Ravenna, which is the culminating work of our hero the mosicist.

Ravenna mosaic of the Empress Theodora

Startling and beautiful scenes of the Byzantine (or rather, in this book Sarantine–the first book is called Sailing to Sarantium, with obvious reference to the poem by Yeats) court and the vibrant city with the furious rivalry between the factions that support opposing chariot racing teams–the Blues and the Greens (this is completely based on actual history, see here). This I have as a Kindle book–can I share

a Kindle book? Not sure, but if anyone is interested, I will look into it.
Rebecca and I persuaded Lois to try the charming Priestley book, the Good Companions, despite its rather daunting size. I hope you’re enjoying it, Lois!
Anyway, looking forward to hearing from you all–and seeing you all on the 8th! June already, good lord.
Hope

April 2012 Bookclub

Sorry that Cathie was ill, and couldn’t make it!  We discussed our books–let me see, Rebecca mentioned Terrie Pratchett’s Going Postal, that excellent book (of which, btw, there is a movie) and Lois mentioned the Lemon Tree, a book which another book group–Lawyers of Montgomery County, was it?–are reading. Which reminds how nice it is to have a bookclub where we read whatever it is we feel like reading, and have a grand time once a month talking about it. With a glass of wine or two on the table by way of  encouragement. I talked about the latest Guy Gavriel Kay book I am listening to, called The Summer Tree, an engaging fantasy book–the familiar people-transported-from-our-world-to-another ploy.   Think grown up Narnia. I described one of the plot threads in the book,  about a man  involved in a terrible car accident which killed his beloved. In this other world, of Fionavar, he finally learns to forgive himself–or at least, to realize that it was not his fault — that he is human, and humans make mistakes. He was not to blame, he was not a murderer. An amazing moment of blessed peace–and, odd to find it in a fantasy book  abounding in Tolkienia and magic–and even, yes, a unicorn.

I borrowed a book from Lois, a collection of drawings and caricatures by William Auerbach-Levy –the style so familiar, from years of seeing his work in the New Yorker, perhaps.  Here are a couple examples:

  Charming drawings, no? Of course, most of them are of people that we don’t know, actors and actresses of the 40′s and 50′s.

Anyway, a pleasant meeting!

The Good Companions, by J.B. Priestley

I have just finished a grand book by J B Priestly, called The Good Companions—a cheery and engaging story set in a lovingly described England of the 1920′s, that difficult time between the wars. The characters meet in a wily bit of plotting: three people have, for very different reasons, run away from their ordinary lives to go walkabout, and they come together in a teashop where a concert troupe (AKA Pierrot Shows, see link) —the wonderfully named Dinky Doos—are having a farewell tea, their manager having done a flit with all the money, leaving copious debts in his wake. Somehow, the three wanderers decide to join the troupe and save the show, changing the name to the Good Companions.

This lively book is perhaps more of a picaresque adventure than Great Literature—and indeed, there is a sort of ongoing joke about the young Inigo Jollifant, determined to write a grand novel, who regards his brilliant gift for creating and playing irresistibly appealing music as worthless frivolity. “But he was not a writer and never would be. Try as he might, he only succeeded in putting honest words on the rack, leaving them screaming.” I wondered if the author didn’t base this character on himself somewhat, in a mildly self deprecating way.

Then there is Jess Oakroyd, an absolutely delightful Yorkshireman, who always speaks in dialect: “One o’ t’ Good Companions, eh? By Gow, I’ll have a do at it, I will an’ all.”. . . “Nivver thowt I’d end up as a the-ater chap! This beats t’band, this does.”

There is plenty of gentle humour and careful observation of people, which rings very true. Joe, the huge baritone, was once a prize fighter: “It cannot be denied that Joe was a very wooden vocalist. He stiffened his massive body, clenched his fists, and roared until he was purple in the face. It was not so bad when his themes were nautical and it was his duty to point out the various perils of the de-ee-eep, but when he tried to turn himself into a melodious victim of the tender passion, when he declared that he heard you whisper his name among the roses or admitted that he had been standing ‘neath your window in the moonlight or confessed that he thought of nothing night and day but two bright eyes and two white arms, and stood there bellowing, fifteen stone of taut muscle and stiff bone, with his big chin jutting out, his forehead gemmed with beads of perspiration, and his two fists apparently ready at any moment to deliver a knock-out, then it was very hard indeed not to smile at honest Joe.”

Mr. Priestley was involved with theater, and knew exactly what he was talking about. He gets the tone of their conversations and concerns just so. And he spares a glance for the grim factory towns –and the despair of the working men whose jobs were vanishing in the post war depression – though he gives us a happy ending, all’s well that ends well.

This, by the way, is a big book, 635 pages—and it says a lot for the charm of the thing that I was willing to tote it in my back pack for a couple weeks. And I’m sorry to finish it, though welcoming the considerably lightened load of a morning.

Under Heaven, by Guy Gavriel Kay

Another fine book by this author, this time based on a particular time in the Tang dynasty of ancient China. Again, a fantasy version of actual history– in this case, the story of the An-Shi Rebellion. This was terrible and bloody time, when many millions died, either in the rebellion itself, or in the subsequent famines and plagues that are the inevitable sequel to such events. We move with our hero through fabulous scenes as he makes his way through gorgeous country to the startling wealth and splendor of the capital. There are women warriors (and the kind of fighting seen in recent movies such as House of Flying Daggers), and silk farms, and brilliant poets, and concubines of surpassing beauty and courage, and through it all, a gripping plot, engaging characters, and fascinating  descriptions of elaborate customs — based on fact, which is more exotic and alien than anything a story teller could make up.  I particularly loved the notion of a famous poet showing up and becoming a companion of our hero–and that everywhere they go, the poet is immediately recognized and revered. Poets were the rock stars of the day, I saw somewhere. The skill of writing poetry was a required part of  the entrance exams for the civil service. A charming notion!

There is an elegiac note to the writing, an acknowledgement of time passing and the brevity of human life, often noted by way of the poems. And some of the poems quoted are very beautiful indeed. The poet in the book is based on the famous Tang poet, Li Bai.  And, by a strange coincidence — or, maybe not so strange, Mr. Kay is obviously a well read and educated man — the following poem by Li Bai,  quoted in the first chapter of Under Heaven, was also quoted in Patrick O’Brian’s Desolation Island:

The floor before my bed is bright:
Moonlight – like hoarfrost – in my room.
I lift my head and watch the moon.
I drop my head and think of home.

Tigana, by Guy Gavriel Kay

I forget how I came upon this excellent author, but once I had downloaded it–read by the lyrical Simon Vance, who could, as they say, read a phone book and move you to tears –I could not put it down. Extremely engaging, extremely witty and also–extremely troubling. Violence, grotesque and nightmarish  violence, is always at your elbow in this book–and in subsequent books of the author that I have encountered. There is also a certain amount of explicit sex.  Not for the fainthearted, nor for the squeamish–which would usually include me, but somehow, didn’t, this time.

The story takes place in a fictional world, which however has a solid believable presence, and a tenuous relationship with medieval Italy. But so what, you say–many fantasy books are based on medieval history, many books blend fantasy with believable real world details. What this book has is all that–but also,  elegant language and exceptional plotting. This is a skillful work of art, filled with gorgeous images and a certain zest for life, for singing, for drinking with friends. And even, something of a happy ending, a  thing of which I am inordinately fond.

Witches Abroad

I have just re-read one of my favorite Terry Pratchett’s, called Witches Abroad. As always, he is brilliantly entertaining–and, as always, he has a serious message at heart, one that is actually very relevant to the current climate of non-stop-regulation-for-our-own-good. The witches come to a city whose ruler enforces happiness and happy endings on everyone–but, as Granny Weatherwax says, “You can’t make things right by magic. You can only stop making them wrong. . . No more stories. No more godmothers. Just people, deciding for themselves. For good or bad. Right or wrong.” Self reliance, self respect: no one can do it for you. A very worthy aim, and of course, our trio of witches leave the city with the job done.
But such fun along the way! Some of my favorite Pratchett scenes are in this book–like the one in which Nanny Ogg’s vile cat Greebo is briefly changed into human shape: a “six-foot, well-muscled, one-eyed grinning bully”. . . “his nose was broken and a black patch covered his bad eye. The the other one glittered like the sins of angels, and his smile was the down fall of saints. Female ones, anyway. . .Greebo broadcast a kind of greasy diabolic sexuality in the megawatt range. . .”Uh, Greebo,” said Nanny. He opened his mouth. Incisors glittered. “Wrowwwwl,” he said. “Can you understand me?” “Yesss, Nannyyy”. She tells him to stop the magic coach, drawn by rats transformed into horses and driven by coachmen transformed from mice. No problem! He knows what they really are. He picks up one of the coachmen “by his collar and bounced him up and down. . . “Run awayy, furry toy?” he suggested. . . The coachman fainted. Greebo patted him a few times, in case he was going to move..”Wake up little mousey..” and then lost interest. ” Greebo gets to drive the coach to the ball, “swaying and grinning madly and cracking the whip. This was even better than his fluffy ball with a bell in it.” He has a grand time at the ball, eventually finding the kitchen, and persuading the cook to give him a bowl of fish heads.
All through the book we have droll scenes of the witches disporting themselves in Foreign Climes, and dealing with the wretched Foreign Ways. “I mean, take that stuff we had for lunch. I’m not saying it wasn’t nice,” said Granny graciously. “In a foreign kind of way, of course. But they called it Cwuissessses dee Grenolly, and who knows what that means?”
“Frogs’ legs,” translated Nanny, without thinking.

Nanny Ogg and Greebo

The silence was filled with Granny Weatherwax taking a deep breath and a pale green color creeping across Magrat’s face. Nanny Ogg now thought quicker than she had done for a very long time. “Not actual frogs’ legs,” she said hurriedly. “It’s like Toad-in-the-Hole is really only sausage and batter puddin’. It’s just a joke name.”
“It doesn’t sound very funny to me,” said Granny. She turned to glare at the pancakes. “At least they can’t muck up a decent pancake,” she said. “What’d they call them here?”
“Crap suzette,I think”, said Nanny.
Granny forebore to comment. But she watched with grim satisfaction as the owner finished the dish and gave her a hopeful smile.
“Oh, now he expects us to eat them,” she said. “He only goes and sets fire to them, and then he still expects us to eat them!”
Heh.
What can I say–I LOVE this stuff. Silly, ridiculous, but exactly tuned to our times. I can’t resist one more quote–this is from one of Nanny Ogg’s postcards home: “funny thing, all the money is different. You have to change it for other money which is all different shapes and is not proper money at all in my opnion. We generally let Esme sort that out, she gets a very good rate of exchange, it is amazing. Magrat says she will wright a book called Traveling on One Dollar a Day, and it’s always the same dollar. Esme is getting to act just like a foreigner, yesterday she took her shawl off, next thing it will be dancing on tables.” Nanny has her own approach to spelling.
With good reason is there a worldwide community of Terry Pratchett fans. It may not be the most challenging or fortifying fare for a reader, but it is unfailingly entertaining. For which, I give my heartfelt thanks. Blessings on the man! And may he conquer his terrifying affliction.

After the Bookclub–Rebecca’s car As Ornithological Romance Object

Meanwhile, we were all entertained on leaving the meeting when Rebecca showed us her car: a testament to testosterone. The bird, wild to demonstrate his superior maleness to everyone and anyone, had attacked his reflection in the car window, over a long period of time, adorning the car with streaks of white guano the while. To this, add defiance! And actually, while acknowledging the horrid mess which of course HAS TO BE CLEANED UP, I think that we–females, after all–can find it in ourselves to forgive the love crazed male his idiotic behavior. It is in our service that he thus drives himself to madness.
I remember once seeing my younger son strutting like a peacock, that particularly loveable walk of the young man. He had the power, the girls looked at him. I had seen it before, that walk, that power. No point in trying to deny it. Woman needs man, and man must have his mate. We should be grateful that least the human males are able to control themselves in the guano department. Usually.