Trieste Day 1

And now, dear blog readers, self is in Heaven.

No, not in Heaven.  She is in Trieste.

La Serenissima is hours away.  Here, the Adriatic is cold, pewter.  There are boats lining the harbor.  And a giant aquarium.

The taxi she took to her new digs (for at least three more days) cost 7.5 euro (about $10).  The man refused a tip.

Ah, thanks much, Alexei J. Cohen who wrote the Moon Handbook:  Italy.  Because of the five-page section he included about Trieste, self was determined to get there.

For a brief couple of minutes, she wondered if she were in her right mind, for every available seat in her train compartment was taken up by a group of very young, very athletic-looking men, who were oh so bursting with energy and high spirits.  And self had the mean thought that if these young men were all bound for Trieste, she would have to return to Venice bright and early tomorrow morning.

But, lo and behold, the young men all stayed until Trieste, and just when self was reaching up for her roll-y, one of the young men swung it down for her without having to be asked.  Ah, grazie, grazie!  He smiled and said, It was nothing.  So there you go, another of her mean assumptions exploded.  Traveling is certainly good for self, as it forces her to abandon her old thinking.

DSCN9197

At the moment, self is unwinding in her all-white room (with its rather florid chandelier) and waiting for the kettle of water to boil so she can have some tea.

A Sweet Little Kitchen

A Sweet Little Kitchen

There’s a TV (Perhaps self can get caught up in “Game of Thrones”!), but she has not turned it on just yet.

There’s a shelf of books:  John le Carré’s A Most Wanted Man, Jo Nesbo’s The Redeemer, Flaubert’s Madame Bovary, and a travel book:  36 Hours:  125 Weekends in Europe, by The New York Times.

Self pulls down 36 Hours:  125 Weekends in Europe and browses through the Table of Contents:  London, Oxford, Cambridge, and Edinburgh are all in a section called “North Atlantic.”  Paris, Lyon, St. Tropez, Madrid and Pamplona are in a section called “Southwest.”  Berlin, Frankfurt, Vienna and Salzburg are considered “Central.”  Rome, Naples, Capri, Florence and Milan are considered “Southeast.”  And Copenhagen, Moscow, St. Petersburg and all of Sweden, Iceland, Norway and Finland are of course “Northern.”

Time to stop posting and start rejuvenating!

Arrivederci, dear ones.  Stay tuned.

Self’s Reading Life (February 2013 Edition)

Self finished Graham Greene’s The Human Factor last night.

BTW, the words “the human factor” never occur at all in the book.  But they so aptly sum up the story.

Every word of this novel is absolutely necessary.  Not a bit of flab anywhere.  It is as hard and tight as a drum.

Before this, the best mystery self read was Morag Joss’s Half-Broken Things (which, strangely, Blackwells didn’t carry.  Self was so confused:  she kept telling the salespeople at Blackwells how much she loved Morag Joss, who is Scottish though she teaches in England).  She read Half-Broke Things several years ago, and never read a “genre” book that came close (though Ruth Rendell has been closing).

Gad, did Graham Greene ever nail it, though.  He nailed it!  Self forgot everything while she was reading the closing pages, and when she read the last sentence, it caught her heart in a vice.

Then, self began reading the next book on her shelf, which was The Black Count, by Tom Reiss, about the general who fathered the writer Alexandre Dumas, and who was the model for the Count of Monte Cristo.  Of course, it was so fascinating to read the opening pages and to realize that the author of such swashbuckling tales as The Three Musketeers was a mulatto (His father, a general who fought alongside Bonaparte, was the son of a French marquis and a slave.)  But she kept itching to put the book aside in favor of Anna Karenina (which self has never read –  no, never)

This evening, self took a quick peek at Anna Karenina (the Modern Library version).  She skipped the Intro and the Preface, as she doesn’t want anything to spoil her response to the work itself.  She went to Chapter 1 and read:

Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.

Everything was in confusion in the Oblonsky household.  The wife had discovered that the husband was carrying on an affair with their former French governess, and she had announced to her husband that she could not go on living in the same house with him.

Tolstoy is such a card.  Though the events described above are supposedly tragic, there is such wry humor in the way he phrases “she had announced to her husband that she could not go on living in the same house with him.”  As if, duty demanded no less of the wife, though it seems all for show.  For if no one else had noticed, the wife probably wouldn’t have been able to muster such a definitive break.

Reading this, self determines to return to The Black Count, for she wants to put off the pleasure of beginning Anna Karenina, for as long as possible.  Self is a devoted practitioner of the Art of Delayed Gratification.

Other classics self hopes to tackle in 2013:

  • War and Peace (She read this aaaages ago.  When she was expecting)
  • Don Quixote (She made several half-hearted attempts to begin this book while growing up in Manila.  Maybe now that three decades in America have cleared her head, maybe now she can actually finish it)
  • The Portrait of a Lady (She read this after she got to the States.  But would like to refresh her memory)

Self hardly reads novels anymore; last year, she read only 20, and most of them happened to be mysteries (except for Ian McEwan, Nicholson Baker, and F. Scott F).  But this year’s gotten off to a tremendous start, for The Human Factor positively slayed her.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers.  Stay tuned.

Observations on Taylor Hackford and “Parker”

Taylor Hackford was the guy who, 30 years, ago, brought us “An Officer and a Gentleman,” that movie with Richard Gere as a Navy runt (Early scenes even have him wandering around Subic) and Debra Winger as a townie factory girl, and Louis Gossett, Jr. as a marine drill sergeant.

30 years later, Hackford is directing Jason Statham in an action movie.  Wow!  That shows real flexibility and directorial chops.  Self is not being ironic.  Self really does think Hackford is a very good director.

Before watching “Parker” today with The Man, self was not all that enthused about seeing it –  largely because of a review in Pajiba that basically made it sound like the same old Jason Statham shtick.  Like a recycled Transporter.

The Man chose “Parker” over “Les Miserables,” however, and self does tend to go along with his movie choices, as he has much less free time to see movies than self.

So, having seen the movie, here are some points self wishes to make:

  • You will not see this movie if you are turned off by screen violence.
  • You will not see this movie if you do not like Jason Statham.
  • You might see this movie if you like J Lo.

Further observations:

Self did not find Jason Statham as priest (Parker’s first iteration) in the least ridiculous.  In fact, he looked like a believable priest, in self’s humble opinion.  Except for the fact that when he throws darts, he never misses (He’s at the Ohio State Fair; he helps a little girl so that she can win a stuffed toy)

In addition, Taylor Hackford deserves audience’s utmost gratitude for showing that J Lo can play a ditzy Palm Springs real estate agent with money problems (Her car is about to be repossessed and as a brand-new real estate agent she hasn’t yet landed a commission) better than a real Palm Springs real estate agent with money problems.  From her disappointed pout when Parker’s girlfriend materializes, and her outfits (J Lo minces around in tacky, super-tight neon-colored suits and white pumps (Watch her stakeout a bad guy’s house –  Bad Guy’s Name is Rodriguez, how very “Bad-Guy-Sounding,” BWAH HA HA! — in high-heeled white pumps and the tightest pencil skirt this side of “Justified”!  Oh, self almost forgot :  the skirt is silk, with a pattern of big flowers), she is funny and, best of all, convincing playing a regular person!  One who doesn’t get the guy!  But who manages to swallow her disappointment with good grace!

It’s so violent, it’s almost like a B movie.  While watching, self found herself comparing the level of violence to, say, something like “Silence of the Lambs.”  It is not on that same level of gross.  At least, the villains here do not express desire to cook their victims with Fava beans.

The screenplay was surprisingly deft.  Even the minor characters –  Michael Chiklis and his gang; Nick Nolte as Parker’s father figure; Parker’s girlfriend (a very pale blonde, with a kind of Mia Wasikowska thing going); a document forger; J Lo’s mom; J Lo’s fellow realtors, even J Lo’s mom’s pet dog –  have definition.  There’s even a minor riff involving the aforementioned wee dog that reminded self of –  gasp! –  “There’s Something About Mary!”

Self loved this dialogue:

Three bad guys tied up on the floor in the document forger’s office.  Parker hands the forger a gun and tells him to shoot them.  When the forger balks, Parker says:  “If I have to shoot them I will.  But I’ll shoot you next.”  So the forger grabs the gun and obliges.  Then Parker tells him, “Shoot them again.”  And the forger protests, “But they’re dead!”  Parker’s response:  “Then they won’t feel anything!  Shoot them again!”

From the above,  dear blog readers will conclude that self has quite a high tolerance for movie violence.  Are you kidding?  Self saw the Indonesian movie “The Raid:  Redemption” last year, and gave it five stars!  She loved “Django Unchained!”  About the only cinema violence can’t stand is when it’s directed at women — those “Kill Bill” movies made her squirm.  Also, “Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2.”  Also, “The Last House on the Left.”

So, “Parker”:  self loved it.  It made her sad to learn, however, from the closing credits, that Donald E. Westlake, who wrote the Parker books, was no more.  She loved Donald E. Westlake!  His Money for Nothing had her in stitches!  It’s the story of a man who, for seven years, receives monthly checks of $1,000.  The man is so happy about the situation that he decides not to pry into the reason for the checks. (And you and self would probably do the same, right, dear blog readers?)  Lo and behold, at the end of the seven years, a stranger appears and demands that our hero do something in exchange.  Naturally, it’s something wicked.  The man is aghast!  But he is already tainted.  Perhaps he can return the money — but no!  It’s already been spent.  And –  OK, you’d have to read the book to find out what happens.

Self is giving “Parker” –  believe it or not –  five stars!

Stay tuned, dear blog readers.  Stay tuned.

Personal Library 7

Bella whines, whines, whines.  Self ignores her.  There’s a swimming pool of piss on the kitchen floor.  Self spread newspapers over it, a trick The Man showed her when she got back from her most recent trip to Bacolod.  If you cover the piss with newspapers, the newspapers absorb the piss, and in a few hours, the floor is dry and back to the previous state.  Most important, the pee smell disappears.  What a genius The Man is!

Self is perched on the couch, and the TV is tuned to Syfy.  Self loves the Syfy channel, even when it’s being crappy.  Right now, the show is “Stonehenge:  Apocalypse.”  Self thinks that’s a pretty fab title and wishes she had thought of it first.  Well, she does have a story called “Stonehenge/Pacifica” but that one’s not science fiction.  If dear blog readers want to know the kind of story that is, kindly proceed to Wigleaf, January 2012.

Yesterday, The Man and self had this strange conversation:

The Man:  What shall I do for my lunch tomorrow?

Self:  You don’t have to worry about that until Monday.

The Man:  But I have office tomorrow.

Self:  You mean they asked you to come in ON A SATURDAY?

The Man:  Tomorrow’s Friday.

Self:  No, today‘s Friday.

The Man:  No, today’s Thursday.

And it turned out The Man was absolutely right.  OMG!   Self better stop taking those pain pills the dentist prescribed for her!  Onward!

Self was going to stop tabulating her books, but then she got an exciting comment from Kyi.  So she will proceed.

Self is on shelf # 2 in a bookcase in the dining room:  52 books

52 + 211 = 263 total # of books tabulated so far

This shelf includes:  Poeta en San Francisco, by Barbara Jane Reyes (signed by the author);  Fiction by Filipinos in America, edited by Cecilia Brainard;  the Peterson Field Guide to Western Birds; Delivered, by Sarah Gambito; Aguinaldo’s Breakfast:  And More Looking Back Essays, by Ambeth R. Ocampo; Field of Mirrors:  An Anthology of Philippine American Writers, edited by Edwin A. Lozada;  Malgudi Days, by R. K. Narayan (the Penguin Classics Edition); Blacker Than a Thousand Midnights, by Susan Straight;  The History of San Isidro (Nueva Ecija) Told and Retold, by Leonila C. Gonzales (San Isidro is where The Man’s Lolo was from); Thousand Pieces of Gold, by Ruthanne Lum McCunn;  The Collected Stories of Isaac Bashevis SingerHer Wild American Self, by M. Evelina Galang; The Peppered Moth, by Margaret Drabble; Smilla’s Sense of Snow, by Peter Hoeg (the first, the progenitor, the one that started the long run of Scandinavian-Mystery-Writers-in-Translation:  Hoeg’s translator was Tina Nunnally);  Old Glory:  An American Voyage, by Jonathan Raban (a classic, the one that started self’s many decades-long fascination with travel books)

Stay tuned, dear blog readers.  Stay tuned.

Currently Reading: Second Sunday of December (2012)

It is a beautiful, sunny day.  Jennie and son have decided to sleep in.  Just as well, for they have a long drive ahead of them:  they are heading back to Claremont today, boo.

But, first there will be brunch!

Self keeps herself occupied by reading.  Her current book is Ruth Rendell’s The Monster in the Box.

Self’s first Ruth Rendell mystery was Thirteen Steps Down, and it was absolutely fascinating, a novel told from the point of view of a murderer.  The main character (the murderer) did not have as spectacular a psyche as, say, Hannibal Lecter or others of his ilk, but was rather a run-of-the-mill sad sack who had no idea that he was capable of murder –  that is, until he finally went and did it (more out of pique than, even, of anger).  Self would never have thought she would be quite so engaged.  Anyhoo, after that book, self added Rendell to her list of favorite crime writers, a list that includes Henning Mankell, Karin Fossum, Morag Joss, and Arnaldur Indridason (She also recently added a new name to the list:  Colin Harrison, whose thriller The Finder self read in Paris, during the few days she spent in a friend’s apartment, in July)

The Monster in the Box is again about a twisted soul, but this time we are in the point of view of a decent man, a recurring character in Rendell’s books, an Inspector Wexford.  Self has not yet been able to pinpoint his age, as –  despite her best efforts –  she is still only on p. 76 (and she began the book about a week ago).

But that’s OK!  Because self finished the novel she is reviewing, and she worked hard on her novel-in-progress, and son came two days ago with Jennie, and various other exciting things happened, which will keep on happening, self is sure, until the end of the holidays.

Casting a glance at the blurbs on the back of the book, self finds this by P. D. James:  “She has transcended her genre by her remarkable imaginative power to explore and illuminate the dark corners of the human psyche.”

Hear, hear!

And here’s something from Marilyn Stasio, the crime columnist for the New York Times Book Review:

“Ruth Rendell is my dream writer.  Her prose style, so intricate in design and supple in execution, has the disquieting intimacy of an alien touch in the dark.”

Again, hear, hear.  Turning, now, to one of self’s recent posts, she finds that a lot of people are viewing the post about  Naguib Mahfouz, the one in which she quoted from an issue of The Economist (September 2, 2006).  It is quite clear, after re-reading that obituary, that Mahfouz was a writer of place.  Quoting from The Economist:

. . . he was born, in 1911, in Gamaliya, a 1,000-year-old quarter whose densely packed and labyrinthine lanes were overhung by balconies that blotted out the daylight.  By the time he was six his father, a local merchant, had done well enough for himself to join the flight of Cairo’s burgeoning middle class to the airier, more modern parts of town.  But Mr. Mahfouz never lost his love of the Old City.  Many of his most pungent novels were set there and drew their titles from it:  Zuqaq al Midaq (Midaq Alley), Al Sukariya (Sugar Street).

Truly, your earliest memories never fail you.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers.  Stay tuned.

NYTBR, 21 October 2012

Oh what to do, what to do?  Today self is running around completely like a chicken without a head!

First, she had to call Petco 3x to connect with a groomer (to bring The Ancient One to have her nails clipped–  The Man of course did not have the time while self was in Bacolod.  He did enough:  at least The Ancient One was still alive when self arrived home.  Still alive, and still kicking!  Still able to recognize self and wag her tail!)

Where are all the Christmas decorations self put up last year?  She swears she had boxes and boxes.  But when she hunts around in the garage, she only finds two, filled with tacky plastic poinsettias.

Never mind!  She is busily engaged with stringing the almost bare trees with fake holly and fake poinsettia.  She would have had real holly if the gardener she used, about seven years ago, hadn’t chopped down one of the gigantic holly trees in her backyard.  By accident, the woman said.  How does one cut down a full grown tree by accident?  Well, to tell you the truth, self hated that tree because it was so tall and blocked out the sun and she could never grow flowers.  When The Man came home, however, he was so beside himself he wouldn’t speak (to anyone) for months!

The remaining holly tree remained tall and proud, right in the middle of the backyard, but stopped producing red berries.  It just stayed green all year long.  Finally, self consulted an arborist who told her that hollies need to be fertilized in order to produce berries.  That is, one needs to have both a male and female, in close proximity.  Aaaach!  So the tree that got cut was the mate of the remaining holly tree, and now self is punished forevermore by never having any more holly berries.

Self is also going back and forth between a novel, the Ruth Rendell mystery she began yesterday (The Monster in the Box –  absolutely gripping so far, though self must admit she hasn’t gotten very far, maybe just 10 pages in), the reviews from the weekend edition of the Wall Street Journal, and the New York Times Book Review of 21 October 2012.  She was going to blog about the books reviewed in the Wall Street Journal, but she happened to leave the WSJ in the living room, and now she’s posting from her desk, and the New York Times Book Review is conveniently already next to her MacMini, so she might as well go ahead with that.  Luckily, there are many interesting reviews in this issue.

Now then!  Self will just go ahead and list ALL the books she’d like to read, never mind who or what review prompted the decision, OK?  Time is of the essence!  It takes self an hour just to get The Ancient One from the front door to her car!  Plus another hour for the way back!  And she still hasn’t decided what to cook for dinner!

Okay, okay, self will concede that a bunch of the following books are from the “By the Book” interview with David Mitchell (who self has never even read:  She’ll get to Cloud Atlas in maybe 10 years –  if she’s still alive)

  • Silence, by Shusako Endo (Self read this in college, but this is a book that is certainly worth re-visiting)
  • The Makioka Sisters, by Junichiro Tanizaki (There is a fabulous film adaptation)
  • One Man’s Justice, by Akira Yoshimura
  • Grass for My Pillow, by Saiichi Maruya
  • The Doctor’s Wife, by Sawako Ariyoshi
  • all the novels of Simon Lelic
  • Wind-Up Bird Chronicle, by Haruki Murakami (which self remembers reading, and feeling lukewarm about.  She will give the book another go)
  • The Handmaid’s Tale, by Margaret Atwood (Another book she wants to re-visit)
  • The Road, by Cormac McCarthy (She saw the movie, with Viggo Mortensen.  Accch!  Super-dark.  But self is not afraid)
  • Purpose, a memoir by Wyclef Jean with Anthony Bozza (A memoir by Wyclef Jean???  Need one say more?  The reviewer believes in tackling this memoir as a first, he calls it “a gem.” Self, run, don’t walk, to your nearest bookstore!)
  • No Easy Day:  The Autobiography of a Navy SEAL, by Mark Owen (whose real name is Matt Bissonnette –  Self is not giving anything away here.  His real name is used in the review, as well as in reviews she’s read elsewhere, including in the Wall Street Journal)
  • Tibet Wild:  A Naturalist’s Journeys on the Roof of the World, by George Schaller (Just as self would read anything written by Wyclef Jean, she would read anything written by George Schaller.  But to dear blog readers who may not know who George Schaller is –  never mind the explanation, take self’s word for it, he is one of the last great scientist-adventurer-writers.  No dilettante he, he has spent “months almost every year” for the past 30 years in the Chang Tang Highlands of the Tibetan plateau, a place where, as reviewer Constance Casey reminds us, “Getting your boots muddy here can mean frozen toes.”)
  • Phantom, Jo Nesbo’s latest crime novel
  • Salvation of a Saint, by Keigo Higashino, in a translation by Alexander O. Smith with Elye Alexander
  • Goodbye for Now, Laurie Frankel’s second novel
  • Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, Frankel’s first
  • Some Kind of Fairy Tale, by Graham Joyce
  • Self-Made Man:  One Woman’s Year Disguised as a Man, by Norah Vincent
  • Infrared, the latest novel by Nancy Huston

Gadzooks!  So many books, so little time!

Stay tuned, dear blog readers.  Stay tuned.

NYTBR: 2 September 2012 (Pile of Unread Magazines Growing Again, Aaargh!)

Here’s the short list of most interesting reviews (or, reviews that made self most excited to read the books being reviewed):

  1. Dominique Browning’s review of Tan Twan Eng’s novel, The Garden of Evening Mists.  Very smart of Ms. Browning to begin her review with a description of “the mesmerizing allure of a classic Japanese garden” –  such is self’s addiction to all things Japanese, and to all things having to do with gardening, that the mere mention of “classic Japanese garden” has self all agog with excitement.
  2. Alexander Rose’s review of Ben MacIntyre’s latest book, Double Cross:  The True Story of the D-Day Spies (Self has a confession to make:  all a reviewer has to do is mention Ben MacIntyre, and self is sooo there.  She’s read three of his books, and even taught one in Foothill English 1B, for heaven’s sake!)
  3. Randy Boyagoda’s review of Crusoe: Daniel Defoe, Robert Knox and the Creation of a Myth, by Katherine Frank.  He writes self’s favorite kind of review:  the one that begins with quotes from the author whose book is being reviewed.  Self appreciates the generosity of the reviewer to a fellow writer.  So, in the first paragraph of his review, Boyagoda uses not one, not two, but three quotes from the esteemed Ms. Frank.  And each one is pretty good, though this is self’s favorite:  “That’s his secret:  Crusoe is Anyone and Everyone.  He is you and he is me.”
  4. Judith Martin’s review of The Age of Desire, by Jennie Fields.  First of all, it has self feeling so much empathy for the book’s subject, the author Edith Wharton.  In a classic paragraph, Ms. Martin writes:  “There could hardly be a more apt theme for a novel of manners than the struggle of a prominent and respectable lady to disguise her inflamed feelings in order to meet the conventions of society.  It is not only her frantic yearning for her lover that is portrayed here, but the fallout expressed in her irritation with her husband and her editorial assistant for unknowingly getting in the way.”  Very well-written review.
  5. Marilyn Stasio’s column:  Stasio always makes self want to read the mysteries she reviews, and in this case self is particularly excited to read these two:  Ruth Rendell’s latest, The St. Zita Society (Self never knew, until she read Stasio’s column this afternoon, that Ms. Rendell was a “responsible member of Parliament”!), and Anne Perry’s latest, A Sunless Sea (Great title, Ms. Perry!)
  6. And finally, bravo to Martin Amis, for making self remember that her first encounter with Anthony Burgess was a film review in Newsweek of A Clockwork Orange.  There was a picture accompanying the review, which showed Malcolm McDowell in his fiendish operatic make-up, and wearing a top hat.  And she couldn’t wait to see the movie, though she was much too young to gain admittance.  Years later, when she saw it, she was scarred.  And also elated.  Both those feelings at once.  Well, perhaps she was more elated.  For years afterward, she couldn’t get the voice of Malcolm McDowell, turning rhapsodic over “good old Ludwig van,” out of her head.  She nearly named Sole Fruit of Her Loins Ludwig van.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers.  Stay tuned.

New in Crime, NYTBR 19 August 2012

You see how self has caught up with her “pile of stuff,” dear blog readers?  She’s now only two weeks behind in her reading of the NYTBR.

Most of the 19 August 2012 issue is boring stuff (like Martin Amis’ new novel, which is about a lout, what else is new).  But self takes heart from the fact that Marilyn Stasio reviews a new thriller by Norwegian crime writer Karin Fossum.

Last year, or was it two years ago, self’s life seems on such a hectic trajectory lately that she loses track, she read Fossum’s The Indian Bride and was transfixed (to know just how transfixed, read self’s Amazon.com review of same).

Fossum’s new book is about a creepy teen-age sadist who thinks of ever more inventive and dangerous ways to torture other children.  Oyy, self knows that sounds exceedingly dark.  But you should see what Stasio has to say about Fossum’s other thrillers:  The Water’s Edge is about “a sympathetic pedophile” (!!) and When the Devil Holds the Candle is about monstrous “old people.”

Another mystery Stasio reviews is Michael Koryta’s The Prophet, and although self is irritated by the fact that the book has the same title as the other book by Khalil Gibran, she wants to read Koryta’s because it is “about two estranged brothers,” one of whom is “a practiced bail bondsman but an inept private investigator” who “unintentionally delivered” a teenage girl “into the hands of her homicidal stalker.”  Yikes!  Dark to the nth power!  Just self’s cup of tea.

(Of further interest in this NYTBR is a review of a book that sounds like “Hurt Locker” circa London 1940:  The Long Walk: A Story of War and the Life That Follows, by Brian Castner.  And a slashing attack by a male reviewer of a young, female writer, an attack that lays her out, a killing blow.  Self will leave reviewer and reviewed un-named.  Suffice it to say, the publisher will not be long in responding, self is sure)

Stay tuned, dear blog readers.  Stay tuned.

Recommended by Joan Rivers, and Other Choice Bits From The NYTBR of July 22, 2012

Joan Rivers is one of self’s favorite people: Self is NOT, absolutely NOT kidding.

And guess what? She is the interviewee in this issue’s “By the Book” feature. And her book recommendations are — hold on to your hats, dear blog readers! — as follows:

  • The Passage of Power:  The Years of Lyndon Johnson, by Robert A. Caro
  • a “four-volume history of English kings” by Thomas B. Costain:  The Conquering Family, The Three Edwards, The Magnificent Century, and The Last Plantagenets
  • Enter Talking, by Joan herself (her first book)
  • The Day of the Locust, by Nathanael West
  • Adventures in the Screen Trade, by William Goldman
  • Life Itself, Roger Ebert’s memoir
  • The Chaperone, by Laura Moriarty
  • Unbroken, by Laura Hillenbrand

The Fiction Chronicle (this week’s reviewer:  Tom LeClair) contains two entertaining reviews:  The first is a review of An Uncommon Education, by Elizabeth Percer, which is about a young girl who “endures a secretive and lonely childhood until a boy named Teddy moves into the neighborhood.”  The second is a review of Drowned, by Therese Bohman, and even though the reviewer does not really like the book (He describes it as having an “aura of artifice”), self can never resist a book that sounds very much like that movie Elizabeth Olsen was in, the one where she sleeps with her older sister’s handsome Significant Other (played by Hugh Dancy) after escaping from a cult ?!!!  The movie was called Martha Marcy May Marlene and self totally missed it when it was showing in theaters, but that is definitely something she is adding to her Netflix queue.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers.  Stay tuned.

Summer, 2012: Reading

A particularly single-minded raccoon got into the garbage last night, spreading the remains of several days’ dinners across the front lawn.  The Man either:  a) was too sleepy to notice as he left for work this morning; or b) assumed self would have plenty of time to clean it up.

Self is currently reading –  and going ever so slowly through — The Miracle at Speedy Motors, by Alexander McCall Smith (The recently concluded Connoisseur’s Marketplace in Menlo Park was a huge distraction.  Huge)

On the night table:

  • The Silver Swan, by Benjamin Black (recommended by Marilyn Stasio, NYTBR)
  • A Death in Vienna, by Frank Tallis (recommended by The Economist)
  • The Bin Ladens:  An Arabian Family in the American Century, by Stephen Coll (recommended by The NYTBR)
  • Ghost Wars, by Stephen Coll

(On TV –  self includes this just because — a re-cap of the Tour de France)

*     *     *     *

In addition, today self has set herself to write a story about vivisection.

*   *     *    *

A second rejection for a story she sent out before Hawthornden has arrived in her “in” box.  The first rejection was semi-nice (Editor made note of the story’s “sprightliness” — !!!)

This second one, self can’t decide whether it’s nice, semi-nice, or boilerplate.  So she includes it below, in its entirety:

Dear M,

Thank you for your submission THE ________  and your interest in ________ .  We read your story with interest.  Unfortunately, despite the evident merit of this piece, it didn’t feel quite right for us.  We wish you the best of luck placing this elsewhere.

Please do try us again.

Best,

The Editors

Which means, you know, that –  at least with regards this particular story –  self is close.  Very, very close.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers.  Stay tuned.

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