We interrupt the Tales of Birthday Revelry series to announce that the big day is here - March 19, 2006, the third anniversary of the Iraq war and occupation.
It's a gloriously sunny day, and in a few short hours, what is predicted to be at least 10,000 Portlanders (though I hope for more!) will hit the streets in protest. The sun and the fact that the rally has a record number of sponsors and endorsers seem to bode well.
Everyone I know has heard about the event ad nauseum, however, in case anyone has forgotten it is at 1:30 today in Waterfront park. For anyone who has never protested before, it really is an empowering feeling it is to be surrounded by thousands of other people who share your beliefs and are trying to do something about them. Hopefully, the energy and sense of community will inspire people to speak up. There's so much that people can do, especially when they work together.
More on today's protest,PPRC and the regular Friday rally later. I'm off to take a shower as I don't want to be blamed for single handedly bringing down the peace movement by clearing the park with my funk.
P.s. If you see the bus named Cool on the streets and listen closely, you'll notice that the ice cream truck music is actually The Marseillaise. I don't know why, but the unexpectedness of that tune in such a chirpy context delights me.
Sunday, March 19, 2006
Saturday, March 18, 2006
Tales of Birthday Revelry - Holbein's Madonna
This just in. Revelers (aka Martina) report that this year's festivities are shaping up to be the best birthday week ever in the history of Martina!
Although my birthday is not until the 20th, festivities began early with a cake and presents at work on Thursday. My boss (who got me a lovely Entertaining at Home cookbook, which features a recipe for a Mixed Berry & Chicken Salad that I cannot wait to try!) is going out of town next week as is another coworker. This meant that I could not have my actual birthday off, so I chose to take St. Patrick's Day off instead.
As it turns out, other people's infernal insistance on taking vacations and going to meetings just to spite me (ok, they didn't really do it to spite me) ended up being a blessing, because it allowed me to go downtown visit the Hesse: A Princely German Collection exhibit which is reaching its last days at the Portland Art Museum. The exhibit features the stunning Holbein Madonna and a number of Winterhalter portraits on loan from Moritz, Landgraf of Hesse and his son, Prince Donatus. With the collection closing on the 19th, I managed to slip in just in time.
It really is awe inspiring to stand in front a painting like Holbein's, not only for its magnificence, but for its history. As was the case with many German art works in World War II, the painting was sent eastward for safe keeping as the fighting advanced, and came very close to being lost, as a HeraldNet article explains:
During World War II, it was transported from Darmstadt east to Silesia to keep it safe. As Russian soldiers advanced through Silesia in February 1945, the painting was again loaded up and transported westward. En route, it narrowly escaped the firebombing of Dresden.
On a snowy night in December 1945, the 19-year-old Moritz of Hesse was sent by his uncle, Prince Ludwig, to retrieve the painting from Coburg Castle, accompanied by an American officer whose job was to find works of art that went missing during the war.
After removing the painting from Coburg Castle's dungeon, Moritz and the American officer packed it into an Army truck and headed for the Hesse family's Schloss Wolfsgarten palace. The truck caught fire. Fire extinguishers on Jeeps that passed by didn't work.
"We finally suffocated the flames with sand and earth, and I was able to bring the family treasure to Schloss Wolfsgarten intact," Moritz, now the Landgrave of Hesse explains.
And lucky it was that the family treasure was restored. The family held onto it for a while until seizing the opportunity to try to sell it to the Getty Museum. Ultimately, however, the fell through when was blocked by the German government due some beaurocracy on its part concerning non-exportable national treasures, so the family was forced hang onto it. Fortunately, Portland has been lucky enough to have the painting here on loan for the past months.
Although my birthday is not until the 20th, festivities began early with a cake and presents at work on Thursday. My boss (who got me a lovely Entertaining at Home cookbook, which features a recipe for a Mixed Berry & Chicken Salad that I cannot wait to try!) is going out of town next week as is another coworker. This meant that I could not have my actual birthday off, so I chose to take St. Patrick's Day off instead.
As it turns out, other people's infernal insistance on taking vacations and going to meetings just to spite me (ok, they didn't really do it to spite me) ended up being a blessing, because it allowed me to go downtown visit the Hesse: A Princely German Collection exhibit which is reaching its last days at the Portland Art Museum. The exhibit features the stunning Holbein Madonna and a number of Winterhalter portraits on loan from Moritz, Landgraf of Hesse and his son, Prince Donatus. With the collection closing on the 19th, I managed to slip in just in time.
It really is awe inspiring to stand in front a painting like Holbein's, not only for its magnificence, but for its history. As was the case with many German art works in World War II, the painting was sent eastward for safe keeping as the fighting advanced, and came very close to being lost, as a HeraldNet article explains:
During World War II, it was transported from Darmstadt east to Silesia to keep it safe. As Russian soldiers advanced through Silesia in February 1945, the painting was again loaded up and transported westward. En route, it narrowly escaped the firebombing of Dresden.
On a snowy night in December 1945, the 19-year-old Moritz of Hesse was sent by his uncle, Prince Ludwig, to retrieve the painting from Coburg Castle, accompanied by an American officer whose job was to find works of art that went missing during the war.
After removing the painting from Coburg Castle's dungeon, Moritz and the American officer packed it into an Army truck and headed for the Hesse family's Schloss Wolfsgarten palace. The truck caught fire. Fire extinguishers on Jeeps that passed by didn't work.
"We finally suffocated the flames with sand and earth, and I was able to bring the family treasure to Schloss Wolfsgarten intact," Moritz, now the Landgrave of Hesse explains.
And lucky it was that the family treasure was restored. The family held onto it for a while until seizing the opportunity to try to sell it to the Getty Museum. Ultimately, however, the fell through when was blocked by the German government due some beaurocracy on its part concerning non-exportable national treasures, so the family was forced hang onto it. Fortunately, Portland has been lucky enough to have the painting here on loan for the past months.
Sunday, March 12, 2006
Signs
Today has been a day of highs and lows. On the up side, the day brought the opportunity to master the art of the glue gun making signs and peace sign "puppets" (really large, cardboard costumes that make the wearer look like a peace sign with legs) with PPRC, making me feel crafty AND "activistic" all at the same time. To up the activist angle even more, I was interviewed by the evening news (though perhaps I should hold of on deeming that an "up" until I know a) if they air the interview (they interviewed my mom too, maybe they'll use hers...I hpe they do!), b) if I come of sounding like a total goober or not. Having had an experience being misquoted by a sloppy reporter in the past (albeit on the subject of language acquisition and not war), I do not underestimate the power of media to make anyone sound like a total asshat.
That said, I do hope that I said something worthwhile. I am amazed that, even with the number of reservations I have about the invasion and occupation of Iraq, it was difficult to express them all in a pithy two minute interview. Now, I can think of a million things I should have said. I could have touched more on the loss of human life. I could have talked about how the funding of this war is diverting money that could be going to programs within our own country. I could have talked about how Saddam Hussein had nothing to do with September 11 and how occupying Iraq does nothing to protect us from terrorism. (Is there anything that can be done to protect people 100%? I really don't think so.)
Instead, I just came up with something about how being against the war is too often confused with a lack of support for our troops. I talked about how my dad was a veteran and fought in Vietnam and that we were lucky he came home. A lot of people aren't so lucky, and the best thing we can do to support our troops is pull them back when their lives are being squandered in an unnecessary conflict.
On the down side (though not as down as the tens of thousands of people [I refuse to break the numbers down into Americans versus Iraqis...the waste of human life is the waste of human life regardless of national or religious affiliation] who have died since the start of the war), today would have been my father's birthday, if he were still alive. I woke up feeling kind of grumpy and didn't realize until almost half way through the day that it wasn't really that I was in a bad mood. I was just sad.
On the down (but kind of funny in retrospect) side, it is quite possible that I no longer welcome in the Mennonite community. Although I have no affiliation with the Mennonites, they generously donated the use of their basement for our sign making party. Unfortunately, I created what I suspect was a faux pas when I yelled "God dammit!" after burning myself multiple times with a hot glue gun. My paranoid side thinks there must be a special part of hell for those who take the Lord's name in vain in a church. In my defense, I can only say that it just slipped out and that re-burning skin that already has fresh blisters REALLY hurts!
I like to think that my gaffe is somewhat indicative of the ongoing spiritual crisis I have been experiencing since we started flirting with occasionally going to church. I like some of the "love they neighbor" sorts of ideals, but have a hard time with a lot of the details. If I'm going to be honest, I have difficulty self-identifying as a Christian (I am told by the pastor that this is typical for Progressives), Bible thumpers and evangelism tend to annoy me (I've not been told anything about that, since I have kept that tidbit to myself), as do people with habitual speech patterns like "Well, pray about it and let me know."
Personally, I think God has better things to do than be an enabler to my wishy-washy nature. I like to think that if I really were to ask him for guidance on something that should be self-evident, God's response would be "You know the right thing to do. Do IT* and leave me to the people with some real problems." *Note: "Do it" would be said in God's best Ben Stiller as Starsky voice, but he wouldn't ask me who my wig man is, because being omniscient, he already knows who all of our wigmen are.
My conflicted feelings about religion are a subject another, much longer post. Suffice it to say that I am having a hard time with labels and ascribing to any one religion as the "right and true path". Rather, I feel kinship to the big concepts like compassion, peace, treating others with respect and kindness, etc. That said, I am off to watch the news to see if I, my mom or any of our friends will be featured.
That said, I do hope that I said something worthwhile. I am amazed that, even with the number of reservations I have about the invasion and occupation of Iraq, it was difficult to express them all in a pithy two minute interview. Now, I can think of a million things I should have said. I could have touched more on the loss of human life. I could have talked about how the funding of this war is diverting money that could be going to programs within our own country. I could have talked about how Saddam Hussein had nothing to do with September 11 and how occupying Iraq does nothing to protect us from terrorism. (Is there anything that can be done to protect people 100%? I really don't think so.)
Instead, I just came up with something about how being against the war is too often confused with a lack of support for our troops. I talked about how my dad was a veteran and fought in Vietnam and that we were lucky he came home. A lot of people aren't so lucky, and the best thing we can do to support our troops is pull them back when their lives are being squandered in an unnecessary conflict.
On the down side (though not as down as the tens of thousands of people [I refuse to break the numbers down into Americans versus Iraqis...the waste of human life is the waste of human life regardless of national or religious affiliation] who have died since the start of the war), today would have been my father's birthday, if he were still alive. I woke up feeling kind of grumpy and didn't realize until almost half way through the day that it wasn't really that I was in a bad mood. I was just sad.
On the down (but kind of funny in retrospect) side, it is quite possible that I no longer welcome in the Mennonite community. Although I have no affiliation with the Mennonites, they generously donated the use of their basement for our sign making party. Unfortunately, I created what I suspect was a faux pas when I yelled "God dammit!" after burning myself multiple times with a hot glue gun. My paranoid side thinks there must be a special part of hell for those who take the Lord's name in vain in a church. In my defense, I can only say that it just slipped out and that re-burning skin that already has fresh blisters REALLY hurts!
I like to think that my gaffe is somewhat indicative of the ongoing spiritual crisis I have been experiencing since we started flirting with occasionally going to church. I like some of the "love they neighbor" sorts of ideals, but have a hard time with a lot of the details. If I'm going to be honest, I have difficulty self-identifying as a Christian (I am told by the pastor that this is typical for Progressives), Bible thumpers and evangelism tend to annoy me (I've not been told anything about that, since I have kept that tidbit to myself), as do people with habitual speech patterns like "Well, pray about it and let me know."
Personally, I think God has better things to do than be an enabler to my wishy-washy nature. I like to think that if I really were to ask him for guidance on something that should be self-evident, God's response would be "You know the right thing to do. Do IT* and leave me to the people with some real problems." *Note: "Do it" would be said in God's best Ben Stiller as Starsky voice, but he wouldn't ask me who my wig man is, because being omniscient, he already knows who all of our wigmen are.
My conflicted feelings about religion are a subject another, much longer post. Suffice it to say that I am having a hard time with labels and ascribing to any one religion as the "right and true path". Rather, I feel kinship to the big concepts like compassion, peace, treating others with respect and kindness, etc. That said, I am off to watch the news to see if I, my mom or any of our friends will be featured.
Sunday, February 12, 2006
The OC
As it turns out, I recently did have the opportunity to lay my head on a bed of California stars (or at least on a hotel bed with foam pillows and the ugliest synthetic seashell motif bedspread ever created in the history of man). This year my office was asked to assist with the coordination of our company's national training. As a result we were invited to attend meetings in Los Angeles to make sure everything ran smoothly. At least that is how they put it, my assessment of things is that we were sent there to act as meeting lackeys.
Nonetheless, as anyone who has been here knows, January in Oregon generally holds the promise of rain and more rain, only interrupted by intermittant bouts of rain, so when some coworkers and I learned we could fly down early at no extra cost, we jumped at the chance to leave on Saturday to visit the Orange County coastline and enjoy the sun. Despite some substantial differences in our interests, politics and approaches to travel, the weekend turned out to be fun.
I was even more glad that I went after a couple of them told me that they would never have gone, if I hadn't already known the area and hadn't agreed to come along to play tour guide. It makes me happy I was able to do that for them, because the area really is beautiful. Also, the idea of not going somewhere because it is unfamiliar is completely foreign to my way of thinking. I like the excitement and freshness of seeing a place for the first time. Besides, we are talking about the OC, not Baghdad.
Ultimately, it baffles me that I am apparently the adventurous one in my office. When all is said and done, I am pretty boring. Still, I think that everyone had fun, so I'm glad we went. I'll talk more specifically about the trip next time, but for now, I have to go.
Nonetheless, as anyone who has been here knows, January in Oregon generally holds the promise of rain and more rain, only interrupted by intermittant bouts of rain, so when some coworkers and I learned we could fly down early at no extra cost, we jumped at the chance to leave on Saturday to visit the Orange County coastline and enjoy the sun. Despite some substantial differences in our interests, politics and approaches to travel, the weekend turned out to be fun.
I was even more glad that I went after a couple of them told me that they would never have gone, if I hadn't already known the area and hadn't agreed to come along to play tour guide. It makes me happy I was able to do that for them, because the area really is beautiful. Also, the idea of not going somewhere because it is unfamiliar is completely foreign to my way of thinking. I like the excitement and freshness of seeing a place for the first time. Besides, we are talking about the OC, not Baghdad.
Ultimately, it baffles me that I am apparently the adventurous one in my office. When all is said and done, I am pretty boring. Still, I think that everyone had fun, so I'm glad we went. I'll talk more specifically about the trip next time, but for now, I have to go.
Thursday, February 09, 2006
California Stars
One song that always fills me with a sort of wistfulness for my younger years, is Wilco and Billy Bragg's setting of Woody Guthrie's California Stars lyrics to music. It's funny, when I first moved to California, I was convinced that I would not last there for six months. On my first night there, sleeping on the floor of my new apartment, I remember having a midnight epiphany that said "I will not linger here". In the end, I lingered for four years, and probably would have stayed a lot longer, had my father not passed away.
So, in my memory, California has come to symbolize those early days of freedom after getting out of college. The world was bursting with possibilities. The sun was shining, and I was finally an adult with an apartment, a job, two cats and my own newspaper subscription. I remember times coming off the freeway when I'd see a particular cluster of palm trees, with ocean in the distance and think, "Man, I live here! This is my home!"
Then, everything changed. My dad died, duty kicked in, and I found myself planning a move back to Oregon, because I didn't want my mom to be here all lone. Even though I enjoyed my California life, the thought of her mourning and alone filled me with such guilt that I ultimately decided it would be better to move back to my real home - Oregon. I've lived other places since then, but somehow I keep finding my way back here to where the air is clean(er).
Still, despite its abundance of smog, there is a party of me that sees my California days as a kind of idyll. If I were Al Bundy, I suppose California would be high school football. Rationally, I know that it would never be the same now. Like me, most of my old friends have moved away. Things have changed; I have changed. I like where I am now. It is in those nostalgic moments when I miss the relative simplicity of being young enough to believe that misfortunes are things that happen to other people that I find myself missing the sunshine there. In those moments reminiscing about that time becomes an escape, and I find myself harboring a wistful appreciation for Woody Guthrie's lyrics to California Stars. I suppose that is why I've always been fond of the song.
I'd like to rest my heavy head tonight
On a bed of California stars
I'd like to lay my weary bones tonight
On a bed of California stars
I'd love to feel your hand touching mine
And tell me why I must keep working on
Yes, I'd give my life to lay my head tonight
On a bed of California stars
I'd like to dream my troubles all away
On a bed of California stars
Jump up from my starbed and make another day
Underneath my California stars
They hang like grapes on vines that shine
And warm the lovers glass like friendly wine
So, I'd give this world
just to dream a dream with you
On our bed of California stars
- Woody Guthrie
So, in my memory, California has come to symbolize those early days of freedom after getting out of college. The world was bursting with possibilities. The sun was shining, and I was finally an adult with an apartment, a job, two cats and my own newspaper subscription. I remember times coming off the freeway when I'd see a particular cluster of palm trees, with ocean in the distance and think, "Man, I live here! This is my home!"
Then, everything changed. My dad died, duty kicked in, and I found myself planning a move back to Oregon, because I didn't want my mom to be here all lone. Even though I enjoyed my California life, the thought of her mourning and alone filled me with such guilt that I ultimately decided it would be better to move back to my real home - Oregon. I've lived other places since then, but somehow I keep finding my way back here to where the air is clean(er).
Still, despite its abundance of smog, there is a party of me that sees my California days as a kind of idyll. If I were Al Bundy, I suppose California would be high school football. Rationally, I know that it would never be the same now. Like me, most of my old friends have moved away. Things have changed; I have changed. I like where I am now. It is in those nostalgic moments when I miss the relative simplicity of being young enough to believe that misfortunes are things that happen to other people that I find myself missing the sunshine there. In those moments reminiscing about that time becomes an escape, and I find myself harboring a wistful appreciation for Woody Guthrie's lyrics to California Stars. I suppose that is why I've always been fond of the song.
I'd like to rest my heavy head tonight
On a bed of California stars
I'd like to lay my weary bones tonight
On a bed of California stars
I'd love to feel your hand touching mine
And tell me why I must keep working on
Yes, I'd give my life to lay my head tonight
On a bed of California stars
I'd like to dream my troubles all away
On a bed of California stars
Jump up from my starbed and make another day
Underneath my California stars
They hang like grapes on vines that shine
And warm the lovers glass like friendly wine
So, I'd give this world
just to dream a dream with you
On our bed of California stars
- Woody Guthrie
Wednesday, February 08, 2006
January
Here we are over a month into 2006, which seems like a good time to reflect on how things are going. First, the good news. While I may have my eccentricities, I am clearly not as crazy as this guy, though I guess you have to the guy his due for creating a blog that is mentioned in The Bible. Even if the shout out is in a code only he understands, having a holy blog has to go a long way toward getting you the a-ok from Saint Peter. I wonder if my blog and I are mentioned, or does God give props on a paid advertising basis only?Anyway, even if my blog isn't exactly holy, the first month of 2006 turned out to be a full one for Martinaland. So, to all (a.k.a both of you) who said "Update your blog", I say "Bitch, please. I've been busy!" Now that is out of the way, I can tell you that with the new year came a flurry of activity - a trip to California, job opportunities, cool new hair, a number of new projects, and a final(ish) plan for the roomening. If the month of January is any indication, the year to come will not be a boring one (though I make no promises for this post, which could quite easily become long and rambly, shambling on like a movie that goes on for a half an hour too long).
Perhaps the best discovery of late December/all of January was Kate Ross' Julian Kestrel series. I know I touched upon Cut to the Quick and the fact that I was developing a book crush in my year end reading wrap up, but that was before I had read the whole series. I can tell you now that I still have a book crush not seen since the 70's heyday of Aragorn, Joe Hardy and Jim Rockford (though Rockford is, of course, technically a t.v. crush). I don't know what possessed me to let Ross' books sit around on a shelf for over a year before getting around to reading them. Here love was right under my nose, and I didn't even notice it. I guess I was looking for love in all the wrong bookshelves.
As it turns out, the Kestrel series are perfect light reading of the sort that can be devoured in a weekend. But don't let "light" fool you, the stories are so good with all all their twists, turns, and detail about 19th century society. I have to think that the detail is inspired by Ross' own background as a lawyer. What I love so much about the books is that Ross managed to develope a real, believable personality for her gentleman dandy crime solver and the other characters in the series. Through the course of the series, not only the individual mysteries are revealed, but also Kestrel's life and background, through a series of teasing revelations in each story. Additionally, each book includes references to past mysteries he's solved, which makes reading each new volume like reminiscing over shared experiences with an old friend.
It is such a shame Kate Ross died after writing only four volumes. While there are those series that definitely go on for too long and then become progressively more ridiculous (Laurell K. Hamilton, I'm looking at you!), it is always sad to see a good, non-ridiculous one cut off, especially when it's because the author died too young.
Tuesday, January 03, 2006
Top 10
A person of my acquaintance recently told me, "You know, I gave up buying books for you years ago." My immediate reaction to this proclamation was "I'm sorry, but have you met me? I am the one who wanted a Ph.D. in literature. I am that person who, when she lived alone, had stacks of books in every corner, because the shelves were bursting with them. I am the person who cannot leave a book shop empty handed. To me, Powell's is more than just a bookstore, it is Mecca. How can you seriously stand here and tell me that you don't think a book makes an appropriate gift for me?" Once my literary outrage had subsided, the friend in me kicked in and I became concerned that he had perhaps been hit in the head with a blunt object -- say maybe a BOOK.So, as you might imagine, it is no understatement to say that I loves me some books. Paperback, hardback, old, new, literature, trash. It doesn't matter to me. It's all like crack to a junkie, and I guess you could say the Multnomah County Library is my dealer. Books are, however, one addiction that is okay. I'm going to have to come clean and admit that it was a kind of slow reading year for me. Nonetheless, there are a number that stood out for me. So, in no particular order beyond that in which they were read, here are my Top 10 favorite reads of the past year.
Edward Marston, The Queen's Head.
The Queen's Head is the first book in Marston's venerable Nicholas Bracewell series, which is centered on the theater in Elizabethan London. While I read a number of books from the series this year, I chose The Queen's Head, because it is the first. Marston is delightfully deft at blending humor and suspense, while managing to keep the surroundings era appropriate. Recurring characters, like Barnaby Gill (the fussy clown), Lawrence Firethorn (melodramatic leader of Westfield's men) and Edmund Hoode (the forever lovelorn playwright) lend the series not only comedic relief, but thread of familiarity that runs through it. The funny thing about the Marston books is that even though I already owned two of them (.75 Title Wave purchases!), it took a trip to the library for me to actually discover and read the series!
Chuck Palahniuk, Fugitives & Refugees: A Walk Through Portland Oregon.
Chuck Palahniuk is probably most widely known (at least to me) for Fight Club. While I'm sure it's a good book and a good movie, I never really thought it would be my thing, so I have to admit to not paying much attention to Palahniuk until looking at someone else's copy of Fugitives & Refugees during a break while on jury duty last January. As it turns out, I love his tribute to city that "the most cracked of the crackpots" call home. It's a thin volume, but highly entertaining (especially if you live in, have visited or intend to visit Portland). If you don't believe me, you can read an excerpt here. I liked it enough that I'd even be willing to revisit the possibility of reading some of his other work. As an example, I believe based on reading an interview with Palahniuk on Powell's website that I could like Choke just based on the following description from the interview: "It tells the story of Victor Mancini, a recovering sex-addict whose resolve to overcome his illness is less than convincing. In fact, he continues to attend his recovery meetings only because they are such a great place to pick up chicks." You have to like anyone who can come up with a premise like that.
James Reese, The Book of Shadows.
James Reese's Book of Shadows appeared to mixed reviews in December of 2002. Fashionably late as usual, I didn't get around to hearing about (or reading it) until over two years later. If it weren't for Powell's Daily Dose, I might never have heard of it at all. The book is not flawless. It is very long (which is not a flaw in itself) and sometimes not unjustly criticized as being too unfocused. There were also some sections that just weren't my cup of tea (but perhaps that is unavoidable in a novel of this length). That said, Reese has also created a multilayered Gothic story that is generally engaging while at the same time playing with deeper themes like Good and Evil, gender (a particular interest of mine), sexuality, religion and history. While I am not a huge Anne Rice fan, his writing reminds me of some of the aspects I do like about her writing. I've read a lot of reviews from readers who were put off by the complexity of Reese's novel, all in all, I found it to be a fun read -- more so than, say Rice's Interview with a Vampire, which was recommended to me by many people, but just left me cold. It's one of the handful of books that I've started in my lifetime and abandoned without finishing. But back to Reese. The level of historical detail and obvious research entailed in cultivating the mood and atmosphere of the story, speak to my own sensibilities. I can see in this writer someone who gets excited about his project and delves head first into all that surrounds creating an ambiance. I like that. In fact, I get the feeling that I like Reese himself. In interviews and on his website, he gives off the vibe of someone who is amiable and very willing to talk about his writing and the process behind it.
Marc Acito, How I Paid for College.
Speaking of amiable authors, Marc Acito has to be one of the nicest ones I have ever met. A few months ago, I requested a signed book plate via his website. Not only did he quickly mail me the book plate I'd requested for Jen's birthday, but he also included one for me. In addition to that, he took the time to e-mail me to thank ME and let me know when it had been sent. He was also very gracious, encouraging and open with advice when I took the opportunity to ask him some writing questions. But it's not all about being a nice guy. He happens to be a nice guy who wrote a very funny book. His publisher describes it as "a farcical coming-of-age story, as if Catcher in the Rye were performed by the kids from Fame." That sums it up about as well as anything. Interestingly enough, Acito cites Joe Keenan (who wrote the side splittingly funny Blue Heaven in addition to being a writer for Frasier) as not only one of his favorite authors, but also the person whose work inspired him to write his own novel. Although I've never read any comparisons of Acito to Keenan (but maybe I am just too sheltered), I've always thought that there was a similarity in the sense of humor.
Wilbur Smith, The Seventh Scroll.
I picked up this book at Goodwill a number of months ago. As is not atypical, I got it home and put it on my bookshelf, where it was promptly lost in a sea of other books. After allowing it to acclimate to its surroundings (most immediately a Barbara Michaels and Harry Mulisch), I finally picked it up after almost a year. As it turns out, it was one of the most entertaining novels I've read in a long time. It has everything to recommend it as a vacation read -- travel through Egypt, Ethiopia, England, antiquities, archeology and intrigue. The best I can describe the novel is Elizabeth Peters meets Indiana Jones meets Dan Brown meets Arturo Perez-Reverte. While I could have lived without one or two of the bad guy torture scenes, over all, the book was great fun, and I'll definitely read it again one day.
Truman Capote, In Cold Blood.
What does one say about an American classic? Despite being considered Capote's masterpiece, I don't think I would have ever read the book, if it weren't for a coworker. While I knew that Capote's foray into the nonfiction novel was more than just some cheap true crime offering, I never thought it would be the sort of book I would enjoy. As it turns out, it kept me riveted. Part of this is due to Capote's voice, which flows so effortlessly. It was only after reading it, that I realized that Perry Smith and Dick Hickock were featured in a book on the death penalty in the U.S. that was part of the required reading for a German literature course I once took on Literary Executions. Interestingly enough, I finished In Cold Blood just a few days before another hotly debated execution -- that of Stanley Tookie Williams in California just before Christmas. Funny how short our attention spans are. For days Tookie was all over the news, then, as soon as he had been killed, nothing. But that has nothing to do with books (at least not the ones I'm talking about here), and today is not the day I want to get into my views about the death penalty.
Neil Gaiman, Ananzi Boys.
Over the years, Neil Gaiman has emerged as one of my favorite modern authors. Everything about his humor and his love of language appeals to me. So it is no surprise to me that Ananzi Boys was an absolute delight to read. If I had to pick the one book that I enjoyed the most this year, this would have to be it. While it's tough to pick, I think this may be my favorite of Gaiman's novels (though that is perhaps due to having read it most recently). Either way, I highly recommend it!
Cornelia Funke, The Thief Lord.
There are times when it can be a lovely escape to read a kid's book. Books like The Thief Lord are just perfect for such times. It's the sort of book I would have loved as a child, and I very much enjoyed it now. Set in Venice, The Thief Lord is the story of Prosper and Bo, two orphans who run away to Italy rather than be separated by their evil aunt, who wants to keep the young Bo for herself and send Prosper off to boarding school. In it, Funke has written a sweet, endearing story of loyalty between brothers, while at the same time creating a world that sweeps the reader away into a Venice of fantasy, filling them with a burning desire to make carnival masks and go for gondola rides. Best of all, it provides the purely escapist kind of pleasure that only a good book can give.
Kate Ross, Cut to the Quick.
It has been a long time since I have developed a book crush, but I think I have one on amateur sleuth, Julian Kestrel. This was one of those mysteries that I just couldn't put down. It filled me with a desire for more that I haven't known since first discovering Barbara Michaels/Elizabeth Peters. It's the sort of thing that I love to read to escape from the stress of the every day. It's light (but not stupid) and is well written enough that a person is just drawn into the story without thinking of much else. My introduction to Kate Ross' series is, alas, somewhat bittersweet. While it is exciting to know that I have three more books to look forward to, it's saddening to think that Ross died so young. I'm sure she would have had a long, successful career ahead of her. Well, at least no one can say she did not make the most of her talent in the time she
had.
Honorable mention:
Suzie McKee Charnas - Short Stories (honorable, because I already wrote about it back in January of '05)
Elizabeth Peters - Summer of the Dragon (honorable, because it is not the first time I've read it)
Lydia Millet - George Bush*, Dark Prince of Love (honorable, because there wasn't quite room for it on the Top 10, but was still really funny and well worth the .75 cents I shelled out, because the cover cracked me up. As it turns out the content [ex-con becomes smitten with GB during his inaugural address, and embarks on a zany campaign to attract his attention and woo him away from his wife] was just as witty.
*George Bush I, not George II
Edward Marston, The Queen's Head.
The Queen's Head is the first book in Marston's venerable Nicholas Bracewell series, which is centered on the theater in Elizabethan London. While I read a number of books from the series this year, I chose The Queen's Head, because it is the first. Marston is delightfully deft at blending humor and suspense, while managing to keep the surroundings era appropriate. Recurring characters, like Barnaby Gill (the fussy clown), Lawrence Firethorn (melodramatic leader of Westfield's men) and Edmund Hoode (the forever lovelorn playwright) lend the series not only comedic relief, but thread of familiarity that runs through it. The funny thing about the Marston books is that even though I already owned two of them (.75 Title Wave purchases!), it took a trip to the library for me to actually discover and read the series!
Chuck Palahniuk, Fugitives & Refugees: A Walk Through Portland Oregon.
Chuck Palahniuk is probably most widely known (at least to me) for Fight Club. While I'm sure it's a good book and a good movie, I never really thought it would be my thing, so I have to admit to not paying much attention to Palahniuk until looking at someone else's copy of Fugitives & Refugees during a break while on jury duty last January. As it turns out, I love his tribute to city that "the most cracked of the crackpots" call home. It's a thin volume, but highly entertaining (especially if you live in, have visited or intend to visit Portland). If you don't believe me, you can read an excerpt here. I liked it enough that I'd even be willing to revisit the possibility of reading some of his other work. As an example, I believe based on reading an interview with Palahniuk on Powell's website that I could like Choke just based on the following description from the interview: "It tells the story of Victor Mancini, a recovering sex-addict whose resolve to overcome his illness is less than convincing. In fact, he continues to attend his recovery meetings only because they are such a great place to pick up chicks." You have to like anyone who can come up with a premise like that.
James Reese, The Book of Shadows.
James Reese's Book of Shadows appeared to mixed reviews in December of 2002. Fashionably late as usual, I didn't get around to hearing about (or reading it) until over two years later. If it weren't for Powell's Daily Dose, I might never have heard of it at all. The book is not flawless. It is very long (which is not a flaw in itself) and sometimes not unjustly criticized as being too unfocused. There were also some sections that just weren't my cup of tea (but perhaps that is unavoidable in a novel of this length). That said, Reese has also created a multilayered Gothic story that is generally engaging while at the same time playing with deeper themes like Good and Evil, gender (a particular interest of mine), sexuality, religion and history. While I am not a huge Anne Rice fan, his writing reminds me of some of the aspects I do like about her writing. I've read a lot of reviews from readers who were put off by the complexity of Reese's novel, all in all, I found it to be a fun read -- more so than, say Rice's Interview with a Vampire, which was recommended to me by many people, but just left me cold. It's one of the handful of books that I've started in my lifetime and abandoned without finishing. But back to Reese. The level of historical detail and obvious research entailed in cultivating the mood and atmosphere of the story, speak to my own sensibilities. I can see in this writer someone who gets excited about his project and delves head first into all that surrounds creating an ambiance. I like that. In fact, I get the feeling that I like Reese himself. In interviews and on his website, he gives off the vibe of someone who is amiable and very willing to talk about his writing and the process behind it.
Marc Acito, How I Paid for College.
Speaking of amiable authors, Marc Acito has to be one of the nicest ones I have ever met. A few months ago, I requested a signed book plate via his website. Not only did he quickly mail me the book plate I'd requested for Jen's birthday, but he also included one for me. In addition to that, he took the time to e-mail me to thank ME and let me know when it had been sent. He was also very gracious, encouraging and open with advice when I took the opportunity to ask him some writing questions. But it's not all about being a nice guy. He happens to be a nice guy who wrote a very funny book. His publisher describes it as "a farcical coming-of-age story, as if Catcher in the Rye were performed by the kids from Fame." That sums it up about as well as anything. Interestingly enough, Acito cites Joe Keenan (who wrote the side splittingly funny Blue Heaven in addition to being a writer for Frasier) as not only one of his favorite authors, but also the person whose work inspired him to write his own novel. Although I've never read any comparisons of Acito to Keenan (but maybe I am just too sheltered), I've always thought that there was a similarity in the sense of humor.
Wilbur Smith, The Seventh Scroll.
I picked up this book at Goodwill a number of months ago. As is not atypical, I got it home and put it on my bookshelf, where it was promptly lost in a sea of other books. After allowing it to acclimate to its surroundings (most immediately a Barbara Michaels and Harry Mulisch), I finally picked it up after almost a year. As it turns out, it was one of the most entertaining novels I've read in a long time. It has everything to recommend it as a vacation read -- travel through Egypt, Ethiopia, England, antiquities, archeology and intrigue. The best I can describe the novel is Elizabeth Peters meets Indiana Jones meets Dan Brown meets Arturo Perez-Reverte. While I could have lived without one or two of the bad guy torture scenes, over all, the book was great fun, and I'll definitely read it again one day.
Truman Capote, In Cold Blood.
What does one say about an American classic? Despite being considered Capote's masterpiece, I don't think I would have ever read the book, if it weren't for a coworker. While I knew that Capote's foray into the nonfiction novel was more than just some cheap true crime offering, I never thought it would be the sort of book I would enjoy. As it turns out, it kept me riveted. Part of this is due to Capote's voice, which flows so effortlessly. It was only after reading it, that I realized that Perry Smith and Dick Hickock were featured in a book on the death penalty in the U.S. that was part of the required reading for a German literature course I once took on Literary Executions. Interestingly enough, I finished In Cold Blood just a few days before another hotly debated execution -- that of Stanley Tookie Williams in California just before Christmas. Funny how short our attention spans are. For days Tookie was all over the news, then, as soon as he had been killed, nothing. But that has nothing to do with books (at least not the ones I'm talking about here), and today is not the day I want to get into my views about the death penalty.
Neil Gaiman, Ananzi Boys.
Over the years, Neil Gaiman has emerged as one of my favorite modern authors. Everything about his humor and his love of language appeals to me. So it is no surprise to me that Ananzi Boys was an absolute delight to read. If I had to pick the one book that I enjoyed the most this year, this would have to be it. While it's tough to pick, I think this may be my favorite of Gaiman's novels (though that is perhaps due to having read it most recently). Either way, I highly recommend it!
Cornelia Funke, The Thief Lord.
There are times when it can be a lovely escape to read a kid's book. Books like The Thief Lord are just perfect for such times. It's the sort of book I would have loved as a child, and I very much enjoyed it now. Set in Venice, The Thief Lord is the story of Prosper and Bo, two orphans who run away to Italy rather than be separated by their evil aunt, who wants to keep the young Bo for herself and send Prosper off to boarding school. In it, Funke has written a sweet, endearing story of loyalty between brothers, while at the same time creating a world that sweeps the reader away into a Venice of fantasy, filling them with a burning desire to make carnival masks and go for gondola rides. Best of all, it provides the purely escapist kind of pleasure that only a good book can give.
Kate Ross, Cut to the Quick.
It has been a long time since I have developed a book crush, but I think I have one on amateur sleuth, Julian Kestrel. This was one of those mysteries that I just couldn't put down. It filled me with a desire for more that I haven't known since first discovering Barbara Michaels/Elizabeth Peters. It's the sort of thing that I love to read to escape from the stress of the every day. It's light (but not stupid) and is well written enough that a person is just drawn into the story without thinking of much else. My introduction to Kate Ross' series is, alas, somewhat bittersweet. While it is exciting to know that I have three more books to look forward to, it's saddening to think that Ross died so young. I'm sure she would have had a long, successful career ahead of her. Well, at least no one can say she did not make the most of her talent in the time she
had.
Honorable mention:
Suzie McKee Charnas - Short Stories (honorable, because I already wrote about it back in January of '05)
Elizabeth Peters - Summer of the Dragon (honorable, because it is not the first time I've read it)
Lydia Millet - George Bush*, Dark Prince of Love (honorable, because there wasn't quite room for it on the Top 10, but was still really funny and well worth the .75 cents I shelled out, because the cover cracked me up. As it turns out the content [ex-con becomes smitten with GB during his inaugural address, and embarks on a zany campaign to attract his attention and woo him away from his wife] was just as witty.
*George Bush I, not George II
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