Who, Me?

Has it really been over a whole freaking month since my last post? Obviously, I do not live to blog. And I will admit that this post just *might* coincide with finishing the last available Battlestar Gallactica DVD. Damn obsessive personality.

On a not-so-fun note, I've also been having some trouble with carpal tunnel syndrome, or repetitive stress injury. This makes me pretty unwilling to type in the evenings. I'm trying to find some low-key therapeutic approaches to the problem, but I'm still in pain by the end of the day. Knitting has also taken a hit.

So I'm not gone, just resting. I do plan on doing the next 1% Challenge, and I need to finish my final review from last year. Until then, you can find me in the trashy mystery section of the library.

And if I don't get to it, a Joyous Passover and Happy Easter. Or just enjoy the coming Spring.

1% Well-Read: The Inheritance of Loss

Kiran Desai's The Inheritance of Loss was another substitute title of the 1% Well-Read Challenge, found in the last week on the shelf of the local library. To be honest, reading Loss took up the majority of the last week, as I found it to be a more dense and contrary read than I had anticipated.

I was surprised, because normally (and be forewarned, this is a broad statement), I do pretty well with literature from the Indian Diaspora. It probably serves me right then, to get bogged down in my own arrogance and assumptions! Loss was a fine read, but it was not what I expected. Much like the mist that featured prominently in the book, story lines materialized and faded away when I least expected, and I never felt that I had a firm grasp on the plot or the motivations of the characters. In the end, I felt unsatisfied and like the main questions posed by the novel were left unanswered. I think this is more my hang-up than a fault in the novel, however. Probably it comes from reading too many mysteries, and a love of traditional plot and narrative devices. Everything Is Illuminated was hell for me, I tell you. My greatest disappointment was not getting to know Sai, the young heroine, better that I did.

Because I am typing one-handed with a sleeping baby, this will be a short review, Suffice it to say, this was another title that I had been meaning to get to, but may not have without the impetus of the 1% Well-Read Challenge. I'm glad I read it, even if it wasn't my favorite book.

1% Well-Read: The Optimist's Daughter

In my attempt to finish the 2008-09 1% Well-Read Challenge, I made a desperate run to our small local library to see what they might have on the shelves. Normally I rely on inter-library loans through our extended regional system to find specific titles, but with a week or so left in the challenge, I had run out of time for that option. It was a remarkably successful trip, and one that netted me Rabbit Redux, two other titles that shall be discussed later, and an American Library volume of Eudora Welty's complete novels. Of all of Ms. Welty's works, The Optimist's Daughter was the one chosen for the 1% Well-Read Challenge source list (or at least one of them).

Although I enjoyed The Optimist's Daughter, it struck me as an odd choice. It felt much more like a novella, and was the only work I read that felt like something that would have been assigned for an AP English course in high school. I don't mean to be derogatory; East of Eden, a high school assignment many years ago, remains one of my favorite novels. However, The Optimist's Daughter was that sort of fast-paced, clear-eyed observation of society that is so favored in high-school curricula. The characterizations and dialogue, however, were very witty. I understand that Ms. Welty was an acute observer of her milieu, and her perception shows.

One of the things that made this work such an interesting read was that the culture and setting of the main characters, rather than the characters themselves, filled out the story and provided the orientation for the reader. In my read, each character was actually rather one-dimensional, but it was the ambiguity of their interactions and positions in society that gave complexity and depth to the story. It was hard to feel close to Laurel, the protagonist, but it was easy to become engaged in her actions and choices as she navigated her father's death, the social rituals of her home-town, and interactions with her father's wholly inappropriate second wife.

I liked Ms. Welty's style and prose, and would probably enjoy other works even more. She wrote female characters well, even if there was very little mercy at times. I don't think I will carry the story with me for any great length of time, but in my mind, it would make a very acceptable substitute for many standard titles in lit intro classes.

I had not realized that Ms. Welty enjoyed such a long life, and was alive until 2001. Strange that this fact should alter my perception of her, and in my mind render her less bounded by 2oth Century literature, but it does. How little know about American writers; as a reader I read for pleasure, but in doing so, sometimes I miss important bits of context.

1% Well-Read: Rabbit Redux

I will admit to an irrational and totally unfounded (former) dislike of John Updike. As the Hubby is able to testify, (but perhaps is loathe to admit for fear of retaliatory oversteeped green tea the next morning), I can be pretty unreasonable in some of my long-held prejudices, and none die harder in me than skepticism about lauded male writers and whiny male singer-songwriters. I do like to think, however, that I can admit when I'm wrong. It happens often enough, goodness knows I get my practice in. And I was wrong about John Updike.

So wrong, in fact, that I could compare my former opinion of Mr. Updike to the year spent in Italy neither dating nor eating meat (Fool!). So maybe not having read any Updike until my mid-thirties doesn't quite rise to the level or skipping prosciutto in Parma or Romans in Rome (what was I thinking?), but it's pretty close. From the first page of Rabbit Redux, I knew that I would love not only the book, but also the author's dialogue, descriptive phrases, and probably even the pacing of the narrative. If Blade Runner is the planner's movie (although I think Pleasantville should be up for a shot at the title), then Updike, like Pratolini and Russo, was a planner's writer. Updike "got" cities, and particularly how to describe different neighborhood and the slow, disintegrating sprawl out to the suburbs. Updike's language is so rich in visual and emotional cues that reading is almost as vivid as walking down the street in a city that you are just getting to know. I'm sure I could get all undergrad lit-crit here and wax on about urban form and the construction of the main characters, but that would really be pushing my credibility. I read because I love to and because it is almost a compulsive need, not because I do the best analysis on the block.

I have to admit that I am glad I started with Rabbit Redux and not Rabbit, Run. Given that the beginning of the Rabbit series features the death of a child, I would have put the book down and never returned, even skipping the sequels. Updike does such a wonderful job of building up and tearing down his characters, however, that I didn't feel as if I had missed any key pieces. Another sign of Updike's mastery was that I also didn't notice clunky "backstory inserted here" passages. Instead, the story was well-paced, readable, inventive without stretching the limits of plausibility, and hinted at myth and archetypes without becoming pedantic. The language fit the characters, even as dated and racist as their notions could be. Rabbit is a figure that I can both loathe and love. I already have Rabbit is Rich waiting on the bookshelf.

So here's to long-held assumptions disproved and discarded. The 1% Challenge got me to read Updike, and I'm so glad that I did.

1% Well-Read: Sister Carrie

Theodore Dreiser had been on my "must read" list for years, and the 1% Well-Read Challenge gave me an excellent opportunity to finally make good on my intention. I'm sorry I waited so long, although I'm very glad that I didn't pair The Grass is Singing with Sister Carrie. If so, I might have been to depressed to breathe.

*Spoiler alert*
I suppose The Grass is Singing came to mind because of the similar themes of financial ruin and the slow, seemingly unavoidable ruin of primary characters in the book. And my desire to shake some sense into both George Hurstwood, which echoed my sentiments about Mary. What a bleak view of human nature Dreiser must have had! Odd, though Carrie left very little impression on me; I didn't dislike her or find her actions to be reprehensible. She was clearly a survivor and adaptable in ways Hurstwood was not, and I certainly got the sense that Dreiser chalked these abilities up to both age and gender. However, Carrie was such a blank slate, for so many around her, that as a reader (and a female reader), I never felt close to her or even all that interested in her decision making. There were a few interminable chapters when I did wish that she would make any decision, or at least the obvious one where Hurstwood was concerned. Rather than a horror, it was a relief when she started to succeed, even though I knew her success would come at the expense of Hurstwood. However, that trade was Dreiser's decision, not an inevitable consequence of Carrie's actions. I suppose Hurstwood was the intended protagonist, and Carrie merely a foil, but that seems so unfair.

Realistically, though, I suppose that I shouldn't be looking to male writers of Dreiser's era to be fair to their female characters. If I had more time in the month to finish the challenge, maybe I'd pick up some Virginia Wolfe to cleanse my palate a bit.

Speaking of the 1% Well-Read Challenge, I also have reviews for Rabbit Redux and The Optimists' Daughter to get written. I've discovered that I own (but have not read) Fugitive Pieces, so I can get another quick read in. However, I am running out of time, and will have to scrap my original list in order to finish. Better pacing next time!

1% Well-Read: Tipping the Velvet

I didn't like it. Well, maybe that's not the full story - I did like it, but not in a "1001 Books to Read Before You Die" sort of way. It was fun and jaunty and sexy, but not challenging or significantly enlightening. I read books of a similar caliber every week; they are the bread-and-butter of my reading habit. I can take a stack back to the library and feel happy to have read each one, but certainly not feel changed or that groping loss that comes with the end of a book you can't put down. So perhaps that's where I should leave it ... I was happy to have read Sarah Waters' Tipping the Velvet, but I did not find it all-consuming. I did begin from a patently unfair starting point - I made the mistake of reading the review blurbs on the cover, and some comparison was made to Jeanette Winterson (After all, one British lesbian novelist is the same as another, no?), and I love Jeanette Winterson. Although Ms. Waters can tell a compelling story, her prose is not lyrical. And although I said I should leave it, I just have to add that I found the theme of salvation through a good woman, working class community and just causes to be tedious. The only stereotype left unjustified was sensible shoes. I liked the heroine, Kitty Butler, more when she was a kept dandy. So there.

With that said if I come across more of Ms. Waters' work, particularly Fingersmith, I would certainly pick it up. Of course, it would feed my crime-novel/mystery habit, but I make no apologies for that now.

The 1% Well-Read Challenge is almost over, and I honestly do not know if I will finish. So many books to read, and so little time! Regardless, I will probably sign up for the next challenge; at the very least it gives me fodder for posting, and a continued excuse for more reading past my bed-time.

1% Well-Read: The Grass is Singing

Simply take my advice on this one: Doris Lessing is not the best reading choice during the early, heady days of a world-wide economic crisis. The Grass is Singing was a wonderful read, but the story of a couple sinking into financial, emotional, physical and spiritual ruin amidst bleak poverty does not provide much in the way of a welcome distraction.

I'm not sure if there is anything else that can be written about The Grass is Singing that has not already been committed to paper (or the screen, in this case). Lessing's prose is sparse without feeling empty; in this work the language echoed the promise of a hidden richness found in the landscape, but was as inaccessible to the reader as the land was to either Mary or Dick Turner. Mary was at turns pitiable and exasperating, and wholly unlovable. Come to think of it, I have a hard time remembering even one amiable named character in the entire book. I think my favorites may have been the women who came to the Turners' store with their children, but then left when it became clear how unwelcome they were as individuals and a group.

And Moses ... well, I cannot feel that Moses is a fully realised character. Who is he? What drives him to his final acts? What would the story look like from his viewpoint? What a fascinating novel that would be, much like Jean Rhys' Wide Sargasso Sea. The analogy between Moses and Rhodesia seem obvious, but I cannot love the story more for it. That neither the country nor Moses can sustain the Turners is clear, but Moses is his own person, not the land that slowly kills the hopes and abilities of Mary and Dick.

Despite my distaste for the characters, however, I cannot fault the story or the book. What a gift it is, complete and compelling on its own. The technical precision of the storytelling makes the story that much more inexorable and heartbreaking.

I have not chosen my next read for the 1% Well-Read Challenge. I'm trying to finish Sharon Kay Penman's Devil's Brood, which is long, written in a small font, and printed on light paper. It's also as obsessive a read as her earlier works. Speaking of obsessions, I finished the Twilight series, and it was enjoyable. Not perfect, sometimes irritating, but a fun and light story (mostly). Perhaps I can say that Doris made me read it ;o)

I'm a Book Slut

What can I say? Dewey on The Hidden Side of a Leaf is giving away a set of ghoulish books.

Did I mention that I do most of my reading at night?

Maybe I should rethink this giveaway ...

In Which I Have Not Decamped to a Deserted Isle

It's a good thing that I mentioned in my previous post that I might not be posting much, because, well, I haven't been posting much. I have however, given up my beloved twice-monthly cleaning service in lieu of DSL for the home computer connection. At least, I hope we will have DSL; we are still in that bizarre waiting period in which we would love to give our local phone company more money for a service that they have been promoting heavily, but they are not yet sure that they can provide said service. It's almost as if we made it up in our minds and then called them to pitch their service reps on a really cool product that we'd like to sell to them.

So I'm keeping my fingers crossed about that whole DSL, joining-the-modern-world thing, but patience isn't a virtue that I possess in spades. I have not yet taken to following the company's shiny red vans to see if they are going to my house (please!?), but I'm not far off.

October has been a mite better than September, on the home front. No one has been dropping any unauthorized bombs in my domestic sphere, and I think we all know that bomb-dropping is the quickest way to piss-off a Virgo. That and forgetting to sweep or flush. This past weekend involved a lot of unexpected mucking about underneath the kitchen sink to fix a few odd leaks, but there were no catastrophic floods, so we all coped pretty well. We also get to replace more floor tiles, which means perhaps a fourth pattern in our collection of temporary stick-on vinyl tiles. I swear, one day I would like to actually live in a house that we aren't in the process of demolishing and rebuilding.

The flock has seen some changes as of late. We both had and then lost two very sweet ducklings in the first two weeks of the month, but I had prepared The Young Man (and myself) for the inevitable. We tried to support the out-of-season hatching, but it's awfully hard to do without removing the ducklings, and I was not ready for another experience like that of raising 5 chickens in my utility room. So we let Mama Duck do her best, and she was pretty good. Not good enough to raise two ducklings in October, but close enough that I would let her sit on a nest again. However, I would also isolate her from the flock, and try harder to get her to accept some sort of shelter. Miles and I picked up eight two-year old chickens on Saturday morning from some friends who operate a small organic farm, and so far the new ladies look a bit stunned but seem to be integrating well. They are Rhode Island Reds and Black Stars, and are already laying again. They wouldn't lay enough over the winter or next year for the farm to justify feeding them, but for free chickens, I'm willing to give them a go. My previous experience with a more production-type breed (Golden Comets) was mixed ... the hens lay heavily through their third year, and then started to wear out and die off the following winter. I now have one Golden Comet (Blondie) out of the ten I took in. So, they initially scored well for thrift, temperament, and laying, but I would not personally run out and buy them, as I know I tend to keep hens around. The die-off is also pretty depressing. But the good news is eight new chickens, with perhaps more to come.

I've chosen my next read in the 1% Well-Read challenge, although I have not started it. I'll be reading Doris Lessing's The Grass is Singing, which I have a sneaking suspicion I may have already read. If not, I may go for The Golden Notebook, even if it isn't on the list. In the meantime, an evil work-friend has introduced me to the Twilight series, and I may just have to stop eating or sleeping until I finish all four books. It's like I'm reading Harry Potter, only with less whining from male characters. I've heard that the third and fourth books are not as good, but I don't want to know. Lalalalala ... I cannot hear you because my fingers are in my ears.

While on (or at least near) the topic of challenges, I am contemplating signing on for Stash and Burn's Socktober. I think there's a board on Ravelry that I could keep up with ... I have mentioned previously how I hate knitting socks, but that isn't quite accurate. I actually like knitting one sock ... it's the second sock that does me in every time. So, with a gift card to Borders I purchased Two-At-A-Time Socks by Melissa Morga-Oakes. Rebbecca first mentioned this technique to me, and since then I've been very, very curious. So we'll see. By the time I make up my mind, Socktober may be passed.

The garden is in the last stages of producing ... I harvested a stroller-full (what? you don't measure produce in terms of strollers, sand buckets and the carrying capacity of your T-shirt?) of Roma tomatoes yesterday, and the mint, nasturtiums and husk-tomatoes seem to be doing well. Pears are winding down but still pretty prolific, and I'd like to do more with the chestnuts this year. The perennial garden also need care, but I seem to be deaf to its pleas.

Miss T has learned how to say "No!" and "Mine!" and uses both words to great effect. She is also working on sentences, but so far only if one word of two is "Mine!"

We are still working on Miles' tantrums, but with a bit more compassion and a lot better planning for hunger, exhaustion and difficult transition times, we are all treating one another a bit better. With assistance from his beloved Uncle Conor, Miles learned how to ride his bike without training wheels last week. There is no stopping him now, and yesterday we went to a recreational trail for a family outing and he pedaled for about 3 miles. Pics to come, when I get them off the camera, and it hopefully doesn't take me three hours to upload. Look, there goes a shiny red van now ...

1% Well-Read Challenge: An Artist of the Floating World

Although I had to fit it in between all sorts of extra-curricular reading (think mysteries), I really enjoyed Kazuo Ishiguro's An Artist of the Floating World. It didn't hurt that I've been interested in the past in the use of art and architecture in the service of political ideology. Indeed, my undergraduate honors thesis was on the ways in which architecture and the movements of the early twentieth century were variously co-opted or derided in Italy during the fascist regime. Fun times, let me tell you, fun times. So Ishiguro's exploration of a similar topic through the musings of Japanese artist after WWII was, in a way, familiar territory.

It was also refreshing, to be quite honest, to read a work that didn't go on long past any reasonable point of stopping. This was a shorter read, and a perfect length for the story being told. It was not an epic, with deep character exploration of even peripheral figures and multiple complex plot lines. As befits the topic, the tale was told through the almost myopic view of the narrator. I am not a political scientist, but at the end of the day, don't all dictators really work from a world-view that cannot accommodate other viewpoints or experiences? That the narrator is starting to confess that he may hold some responsibility for what befalls him, his country, and his fellow artists helps to lighten what could otherwise be an oppressive and stifling atmosphere. All the while, Ishiguro manages to maintain his vulnerability and essential human appeal. In that sense, the book is truly remarkable.

I don't know what my next choice for the challenge will be. I'm avoiding Sostiene Peiriera for now, with the excuse that I'll need time to read during daylight hours and without a baby latched on and draped over one of my arms. I will need to consult my dictionary; this much is clear. If I have to pull out my old grammar textbook, so be it.

On an unrelated note, my iPod may be dying. I am in denial. Who knew I could become so attached to that which I mocked so completely? If it turns out to be true, I might just have to, as Miles puts it, "sob just a little bit."

1% Challenge: Cider with Rosie, by Laurie Lee

If my first read in my 1% Well-Read Challenge was not the experience I had hoped it would be, my second read made up for it. Cider with Rosie, by Laurie Lee, was exactly what I was looking for. There is something so satisfying about finding the right read at the right time. I was looking for something with a touch of nostalgia, but nothing cloying or deeply sentimental. Laurie Lee’s description of growing up in a small village in England immediately after the First World War struck the right chord with me. Although the trappings of traditional village life are very different from what I experience in my immediate surroundings, living and working in a rural community still allows for some observation of the workings of small, close-knit communities. Activities, transportation and community norms may change, but the reliance on belonging, family, neighbors and the regularity of the immediate and known sphere have not.

Lee’s use of language is beautiful. While he utilizes a certain romanticism found in memoirs of the period, his metaphors and descriptions seem to always throw the reader slightly off-guard. Images and adjectives were not always what I expected. These choices, as well as some of the storyline, rescue the reminiscences from being trite or ordinary. As an example, one of my favorite images in the book comes from Lee describing his mother and older sisters, as viewed by his very young self:

My Mother and sisters sailed past me like galleons in their busy dresses … How magnificent they appeared, full-rigged, those towering girls, with their flying hair and billowing blouses, their white-mast arms stripped for work or washing. At any moment one was boarded by them, bussed and buttoned, or swung up high like a wriggling fish to be hooked and held in their lacy linen.

I don’t know if I’ve read a better description of that mix of love and terror a young child feels in the presence of adored and overwhelming older relatives. I could feel the tug between wanting the grounding affection of his family, and the growing realization of and need for independence. I remember the same emotions from my childhood, in relation to my aunts and uncles as they moved through young adulthood. Lee captured not only the strength he found in his sisters and mother, but also the threatening awe they inspired.

Lee’s memoir continues, up to the point of his household disintegrating as sisters married and he left the confines of the primary school. He presents memorable and well-realized characters along the way, and many times I could image acquaintances stepping in for village residents (with some updates). Small minds, large dreams, endless summers and frigid winters all collide with familiar tensions.

Although the village Lee described reminded me forcefully of one I know well, there was at least one glaring difference that troubled me, Lee and his contemporaries knew their surrounding landscape with the same intimacy as we might know our own backyards. What have we lost, I wonder, in reducing our scale so? How many of us could find our way across even a few fields, through a small wood, or over a hill to reach our destination? Do we have any idea what we would find along the way? I think our disconnection diminishes us, and makes commonplace surroundings seem difficult to understand. Perhaps our personal and community lives would be richer if we experienced a similar connection to our environs. Perhaps we’d also make different choices.

Cider with Rosie is the first book in a trilogy, and I will probably read at least one more book. I don’t know about the third, as he gets older. I’m not a huge fan of young male coming-of-age stories (for Salinger, give me Franny & Zooey over Catcher in the Rye any day), but too often I make up my mind before I should. My next assignment, however is to get cracking in my 1% list. Up next: An Artist of the Floating World, by Kazuo Ishiguro.

It's All About the Books

The weather has been uncooperative for the past week, so my hobby time has been dedicated to reading (which is really no surprise, since my reading time is before bed and I'm almost always willing to sacrifice sleep to read into the wee hours). Rain and frequent thunderstorms, combined with a bunny infestation of Watership Down-like proportions has me so far behind in my gardening that I'm now looking at tomatoes and whatever I can get out of a fall cool-weather planting as my only real home-grown produce this year. I have seriously considered learning how to make rabbit snares after everything but the tomatoes was consumed by those damn rabbits. I am frustrated and disappointed by the small scale of my vegetable garden, but I have to remind myself that it is an increase from the total production of absolutely nil from last season. Still, when you start to consider purslane and lamb's quarters from the flower garden as legitimate "veggie" crops, you know you are desperate. Even then, I have to find ways to sneak the wild greens (a.k.a weeds) into my suspicious family. The dogs are not as discriminating, and since we've started making their food again, I've been feeling quite satisfied by my ability to make use of a free and abundant food source.

So what have I been reading, to keep myself sane? I finished the first installment of Jasper Fforde's Nursery Crime series last week, and I have to say I was surprised to find I found the second book in the series to be much better. I've often found that mystery/genre series can suffer from a sophomore slump, but I think the second airing of Jack Spratt et al was much more successful.

I've also moved on to my second 1% Well-Read Challenge choice, Cider with Rosie, by Laurie Lee. So far I love it, and I look forward to curling up with it tonight. I've also been sequestering my local library's copy of A Grave in Gaza, the second of Matt Beynon Rees' Omar Yussef series. I really should return it, since I don't think I'm going to get to it before it is due, but I can't quite give up hope yet. I loved The Collaborator of Bethlehem, and can't wait to devour the sequel. I may try to also find Cain's Field (you know, for that light summer reading).

Speaking of summer reading, we'll be heading to Maine in the not-so-distant future, and I will have to amass my collection of books to take with me. We'll be visiting my in-laws, and they always have a wonderful collection of books I've been meaning to read. Invariably I haul along 3-4 books, and then read none of them, having spent every spare moment trying to make it through 1-2 of their books before we have to leave. I will also bring more knitting projects than I could possibly finish. I accept this, and hope it will fit in just one bag. I have made no progress on the second half of the Clementine Shawlette, though, and I really should finish that project before moving on to anything more interesting than a dishrag.

So I have my choice of good intentions to follow up on. Different varieties, but all quite tempting. What I have not found time for is sewing, but until Miss T can really walk on her own, I may be out of luck. Either that or the snow needs to fly to get me inside and away from the garden.

1% Well-Read: Spring Flowers, Spring Frost

I’ve put off writing this review for so long, it’s almost shameful. My reticence stems in part, no doubt, from the fact that I didn’t really enjoy Spring Flowers, Spring Frost, my first choice of the 1% Well-Read Challenge. I’m not disappointed, per-se, but what does it say about me that I couldn’t really get into one of my few recent attempts at “real literature,” whatever that might be? Should I just stick to genre fiction? As an inveterate reader of just about anything I can get my hands on and that strikes my fancy, does this mean I am doomed to a constant search for new mystery series or whole sub-genre? Really, the dragon-nautical-fiction, sci-fi, historical-fiction of the Temeraire series is a show-stopper, but how often is that going to happen? And there are only so many “mysteries-set-in-an-Austen-novel” I can read.

But on to Spring Flowers, Spring Frost, by Ismail Kadare. I didn’t like it, but maybe that’s not the point. I can face my failure to appreciate great literature with a little help from wasabi peanuts and a splash of Makers’ Mark. (Yum). In this specific case, I don’t think I can even blame my dislike on the experience of reading in translation. The English-language version of the book reads well, without many awkward moments or areas of oddly imprecise language. The basic elements of my aversion come down to the simplest ones of all for any reader. I didn’t connect with the protagonist, and the story failed to engage me. Oh, there were moments of pure farce and enjoyable lunacy, and in a few of the middle chapters, I started to appreciate Kadare’s very dry wit. One get the sense that this is a man very well acquainted with the absurdities of human nature. Although I risk a rush to judgment based on only this one read of a book I had to make myself finish, I felt Kadare harbors a certain warmth of feeling towards the mostly harmless varieties of our failings. The failures of the State, however, are treated with the cold and damning logic that I suppose they deserve.

I mentioned in a mid-read posting that the structure of the novel was intriguing, with chapters and counter-chapters. I was disappointed that this symmetry didn’t carry through. I will have to read the book again to get a better sense of why the counter-chapters were inserted where they were, and to do that means suffering through the protagonist again, which I’m not sure I’m ready to do. To another reader he may be an everyman, but to me he was tedious. His girlfriend was intriguing, but she was not as fully developed. Perhaps if my main reading time didn’t come between evening household chores and sleep, I might have more patience for a character that irritates me.

Even though I was not swept away by Spring Flowers, Spring Frost, I would like to read more of Kadare’s work. I may try Three Elegies for Kosovo or Agamemnon’s Daughter (or maybe not, I'm not good with angst and men). There’s an interesting article on “retranslation” and Kadare’s work on the complete review. I admit to a fascination with Albania, and I do hope to travel there someday. The references to Albanian folk culture and traditional cultural norms within Spring Flowers, Spring Frost were intriguing. As an aside, when I was reading this book, the New York Times ran a quirky story on the “honorary men” of Albania. In reading Spring Flowers, Spring Frost, I felt I missed important cues, and didn’t know enough about the culture from whence the story sprang to appreciate some of the interplay between past and present, dream and reality. This is my failing as a reader, and not that of the author or the book.

So, my first excursion into the 1% Well-Read Challenge was not an unmitigated success. However, it did give me more to think about than my average reading these days, and I appreciate the value in that. It’s not called a “challenge” for nothing.

iPod Convert: Storynory!

My latest podcast recommendation comes from the search for non-commercial and kid-friendly listening for the driving I do with the urchins. Now, most of my frequent listening is already pretty safe (what can I say, it is my lot in life), but I would also like to have content specifically created for kids. We've had great luck with audio books for The Young Man, and his interest in Geek.Farm.Life made me feel pretty secure in his ability to follow along without any visual aids. (Such a funny child ... he is always asking for more "Farm Phone Rocks" as he calls GFL. I'd love to know what he gets out of the podcasts.The Hubby fears it is more fuel for the pig obsession.)

But back to the topic at hand. My latest find is Storynory, and it is a hit. I actually didn't get to listen to the trial run of a Storynory podcast with Miles and Miss T, but I certainly heard about it after the fact. We came in to the series with an episode of an ongoing Robin Hood storyline. Now, Miles' retelling of the episode leads me to believe he didn't get all of the subtleties of the Sheriff of Nottingham's visit to Robin's forest hide-a-way, but that certainly didn't stop him from enjoying the story. I was quickly tasked with finding more of the same, and stocking up for our upcoming trek to Maine. Direct from the Storynory site: "Our stories have bought harmony in place of strife on the back seats of cars all over the world. Next time you go away, take Storynory with you."

I'll be sure to, although our strife is blissfully limited, and the savage beast that is a pissed-off Teija isn't likely to be soothed by Jack and the Beanstalk. (Perhaps she prefers the Jasper FForde version? That's my little hard-boiled sweetie-pie.)

Please don't be put off by the somewhat basic website. It isn't fancy, and I found I had to navigate a bit to get to what I wanted. It is so worth it. The focus at Storynory is the storytelling. The narrator Natasha's timing is excellent, (Goodness! She's a looker!), and her interpretations of the different characters avoid the saccharine over-simplification of so much storytelling for children. I appreciate that at five Miles will have to reach to understand some of the motivations of main characters, or that the language is challenging and the fairy tales retain a bit of their Brothers Grimm darkness. I think it is the complexity of these classic tales and the foibles of their characters that enthralls him. I kid-you-not, I didn't hear a peep from him during his second listening of the Sheriff Who Came to Dinner episode, and he can ask questions from sun-up to sundown when the mood strikes him. The stories are also well-paced and not overly long, which shows that the producers know more than a thing or two about kids.

I can't wait to delve into the classic fairytales page, and appreciate that the stories are broken down by primary source, including the aforementioned Brothers Grimm, Charles Perrault, Hans Christian Anderson and others. There is even a category of tales for younger listeners. The Oscar Wilde story is one I am completely unfamiliar with (I.Love.Oscar.Wilde.).

Some parents may be struck by a certain Euro-centric quality to the story selections. The founders are based in London, so this isn't a complete surprise. This is my initial impression, and I may yet be proven wrong, particularly when it comes to the original stories. I did not realize the extent to which I personally expect to see selections from all over the world until I started to review the archives. I mention this mostly as an encouragement to try to find other sources for folk tales and stories from around the word, and not to detract in any way from the ones offered by Storynory. If you find other sources to expand your family's array of children's stories, please post a comment! Storynory does have a Japanese site, so perhaps some selections for that audience will migrate over to the English-language site as well? I can hope.

I could go on, but I think I've hit the highlights. I'm so enamored I might even add a page widget. For the most part, though, I'll enjoy listening.

Where *Is* My Crockpot?

All I can say is, "Wow!"
(Does anyone else own Lilly's Purple Plastic Purse? No? Ah, well ... it's a great read).

A Year of CrockPotting

I am simply floored. Using my crockpot is akin to crochet for me ... I have the best of intentions, but no real follow-through. Oddly enough, the very thought of either also made my morning sickness while pregnant with Miss T much worse.

I found this link via Barren Mare, and simply had to share.

Scratch That Thought

Since I can't seem to get Small Remedies through my regional library system, and I'm on a book (and yarn & fabric & cookbook) diet, I guess I'll move on to a new selection for the 1% Well-Read Challenge. I'll come back to Small Remedies, but for now, I've placed a hold on Cider with Rosie, by Laurie Lee. Sounds folksy, and I could use folksy right now. Can you tell I often pick a book by its cover? We'll see if my faith in the folksy integrity of anything having to do with "cider" is misplaced.

A summer cold is slowly turning my brain to mush. Hopefully I can lie down at home, and just have the kids crawl on me.

Starting at the Beginning

On my way home tonight I need to stop by our local library (to which I could compose an ode, if I had any poetic talent whatsoever), and pick up Spring Flowers, Spring Frost, by Ismail Kadare. It is the first book on my 1% Well-Read Challenge list, and I thought that I might as well just jump in and start at the top. For those linear-thinkers amongst us, perhaps my blog post title is inaccurate, since starting at the beginning would probably be Sister Carrie, but I'm just not feeling like embarking on a bit of Dreiser right now. I'm finishing Ursula LeGuin's Lavinia, and gave up hope last week on My Name is Red, by Orhan Pamuk. I almost never give up on a book already started, but I couldn't do this one, and I'm pretty sure I'd already attempted it once. I think it was the narrative in the first person that did me in (a rich comment coming from a blogger!). I didn't dislike it ... I just couldn't keep up with the changes in narrator. I'll put it on the "try again" list, where hopefully the third time is the charm. Perhaps when my brain isn't already taxed by wrangling two young children.

At the other end of the spectrum, for the second time I am facing a wrapping up, an ending of sorts. As a working and breastfeeding mom, I've become very good friends with my pump, an Avent Isis Iq Duo this time around. Oh, the many times I have cursed its existence! However, now that Miss T is over a year old, I can stop. But oddly enough ... I can't stop. I have a very hard time dropping the pumping, and not just for the restful breaks in my cave of an office with the soothing "whoosh-whoosh" of a breast pump as background noise. (I actually had a dairy farmer ask me if I was near a milking machine when I was using a hands-free pump and speaking on the telephone the last time around. I told him that indeed, I was. Surprise!) Breastfeeding is something my body has actually done well, and while I never try to rub that in, I do take a certain small amount of pride in sticking with it. But Miss T really needs to move on to other sources of nutrition, and I need every extra minute in my work day. So I'm trying to cut back to just once a day, and some day, I will drop that session as well. Perhaps its harder this time because I am so conflicted about stopping at two children. That decision isn't tied to this one, but it is one more step away from the baby stage in my life. Ah well, nothing lasts forever.

Not Dead, Just Crazy

I've been out of commission over the past weekend (and then some) on account of a national professional exam I had to study for, obsess over, and then take (yesterday). So, I've been a bad blogger for virtuous reasons, and I feel oh-so-much-better now that I took my exam. I think I passed, but I can't be sure, and won't know for about three months. So I'm trying, with moderate success, not to get myself all worked up about the results.

With this milestone (hopefully) passed, though, I can move on to gardening! and knitting! and cooking! and sewing! and reading! and doing yoga again! and ... remembering that I have two young children and work mostly full time. So while I feel free and invigorated, like a bird ready to soar (or something), I have to caution myself to be more realistic. I am famous for setting myself up with unreasonable expectations, and then getting all grumpy when I fall short. The Hubby, he would probably prefer if I manage to avoid the grumpy part.

Tonight I hope to aim low (literally) and do some gardening with The Young Man. I'll try to take the camera, so I can illustrate any progress. I am not great friends with our digital camera, but I am trying to get to know it better.

On the reading front, now I can commence with the 1% Well-Read Challenge! So, I'll have to pick the first book of the ten soon.

Also, I just purchased a new cookbook, 660 Curries by Raghavan Iyer. I originally picked up the book at the library, simply because I was floored by (and curious about) the very idea of 660 curries. What I honestly thought would be a gimmick is clearly a very well-researched and lovingly-presented intro to Indian cooking. Already it reminds me of Deborah Madison's Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone and Mark Bittman's How to Cook Everything, both of which are standard references in my kitchen (his NYT blog Bitten, is wonderful). There's even a 660 Curries blog! The proof, of course, is in the cooking, and I'll be sure to report back on the first experiment.

Pics, reviews and a decision on "which book first?" to come.

A List of Ten

So, in no particular order, here are my ten choices from the 1% Well-Read Challenge. I won't be able to start reading until after early June. Until then, I guess I'll just gather books and wait impatiently.

What I'll be reading:
1. Spring Flowers, Spring Frost, Ismail Kadare
2. Small Remedies, Shashi Deshpande
3. Tipping the Velvet, Sarah Waters (and then I get to rent the min-series!)
4. Pereira Declares: A Testimony, Antonio Tabucchi (I may have read this one already. If not, I have it in Italian, and the challenge will be to read it in the original language.)
5. An Artist of the Floating World, Kazuo Ishiguro
6. The River Between, Ngugi wa Thlong'o
7. Cider with Rosie, Laurie Lee
8. The Grass is Singing, Doris Lessing
9. In Sicily, Elio Vittorini
10. Sister Carrie, Theodore Dreiser

Bonus Prizes (if I get this far):
11. Far from the Madding Crowd, Thomas Hardy
12. Castle Rackrent, Maria Edgeworth
13. Metamorphoses, Ovid (this, I admit, intimidates me.)

My choices are pretty haphazard, guided often more by the sound of a title than any knowledge of the author or the book itself. I wanted to be sure of a mix of male and female authors, with some geographic and chronological diversity. I also wanted to include some lighter fare (please!), and avoid violence involving children (since giving birth, I literally cannot get some disturbing images out of my head if I read or hear about them, which can cause the occasional sleepless night. I have decided that I simply don't need some things in my life at this point). Of the original list of 1001, I have read 93 books. There are many more that I would like to add to this list, and if I get through these, I may do that. However, a few of these have defeated me before (well, maybe just Metamorphoses), and the choice to include one book read in the original (non-English) language is not as pretentious as it might first seem. Given my bachelor's major in Italian Language and Literature, one book, in modern Italian at that, should not be as challenging as Sostiene Periera may end up being. If I have read it already, I may substitute Il Leopardo, by Lampedusa.

I've been meaning to get to this list all weekend. Weekend time is at such a premium, however, that here it is, Sunday night, and I'm keeping my hubby up to finish my blog post. We had family over today, which is always lovely, but sends me into a tizzy of cleaning and worrying over the state of our house. With my family, I really should know better. But I do it anyway, and then they get here and offer to help me clear the laundry off the couch and set the table and entertain the urchins. There are times when I think that living elsewhere might be nice, or that my general wanderlust gets the better of my and I just want to pick up and experience a different place. And then we have family over, and I see the faces I've know all my life, different now, and experience the joy, belonging and sweet frustration of family. Now is not the time for elsewhere; it is the time for making the effort to be here.

Happy Mothers' Day.

1% Well-Read

This challenge practically screams "dilettante!" (in only the best of ways, of course). I am so in on this one. For more info, or to sign up:

1% Well-Read Challenge

I'm so excited! Do I get credit for books already read? Hmmm ... I guess not. At 10 out of 1001, however, I can certainly avoid Virgina Wolf, and maybe get to that Dreiser I've been meaning to read for 10 years or so.

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Edited to add: Bad blogger! I did not give credit where credit is due. Thanks to Inciteful Mama for the heads-up on the challenge. Now all I need is a knit-along.