Bluestalking

Hodge Podge of Books

 

Busy reading for review and even a bit for optional review. I always manage to squeeze in a little of both. That's what they call "life balance." Others may insist this is actually keeping your house clean, exercising, running errands and reading. But I'm not others. Work and pleasure; pleasure and work. And the occasional meal and bit of sleep.

Here's my current "balance:"

 

Mr. Penumbra's 24-Hour Bookstore by Robin Sloan

Farrar, Straus & Giroux

Release Date: October 2, 2012

[Review copy from publisher.]

 

A gleeful and exhilarating tale of global conspiracy, complex code-breaking, high-tech data visualization, young love, rollicking adventure, and the secret to eternal life—mostly set in a hole-in-the-wall San Francisco bookstore

"The Great Recession has shuffled Clay Jannon out of his life as a San Francisco Web-design drone—and serendipity, sheer curiosity, and the ability to climb a ladder like a monkey has landed him a new gig working the night shift at Mr. Penumbra’s 24-Hour Bookstore. But after just a few days on the job, Clay begins to realize that this store is even more curious than the name suggests. There are only a few customers, but they come in repeatedly and never seem to actually buy anything, instead “checking out” impossibly obscure volumes from strange corners of the store, all according to some elaborate, long-standing arrangement with the gnomic Mr. Penumbra. The store must be a front for something larger, Clay concludes, and soon he’s embarked on a complex analysis of the customers’ behavior and roped his friends into helping to figure out just what’s going on. But once they bring their findings to Mr. Penumbra, it turns out the secrets extend far outside the walls of the bookstore."

I'm afraid you'll have to hang out 'til sometime in Septemberish for more, as well as an interview with author Robin Sloan .

 

There Whereabouts of Eneas McNulty by Sebastian Barry

Penguin Books, (reprint edition, 1999)

[My personal copy, signed by the man himself.]

Me? Reading Sebastian Barry? I know, how unusual.  I've just heard such great things about him. Partly here on my blog but he seems to have caught on quite well in other places, too.

I've been in contact with Mr. Barry again and also reading every bit of interview material I can lay hands on; what I've learned about the man could almost write his autobiography. I'm not sure what he hasn't been asked, ad nauseum, which makes the fact I may have landed an interview with the great man (yes!) an incredibly intimidating experience - though, of course, that's not the only reason it ties my stomach in knots.

As an interviewer, you want to inform your readers about some of the basics but as an interviewer who's read what others have asked, I want to delve into uncharted waters, digging out questions that surprise him. In this case it's so terribly difficult, since so many have gotten there before me. So, if I do get the chance to query Mr. Barry don't expect the same old stuff. For that you can check out the dozens of previous interrogaters.

As for the actual book I'm currently reading, The Whereabouts of Eneas McNulty, like the rest of his novels, is based on family history and the period of The Troubles in Ireland. Eneas, after having serve in World War I, joins "the British-led police force, the Royal Irish Constabulatory." That doesn't sound exceptional until you think about the time period. The Irish uprising is ripping the country apart in a brother-against-brother virtual civil war with England and amongst themselves. The Irish for the Republic have turned into a mafia. Anyone perceived as having helped support the English, no matter how inadvertantly, is - with few exceptions - slaughtered, cut down wherever they're found. And if a man tries to leave Ireland he's followed, to the ends of the earth, and executed, "justice" exacted for the love of country.

Eneas himself falls into the trap, having been witness to things beyond his control. Simply by being where he was and also refusing to participate in more violence, he's forced to flee, leaving behind his family and his beloved, Vivienne. Not that he doesn't fight for his right to stay. He's defiant and bold, leaving it 'ti lthe last minute before he sees there is really no recourse but to submit.

I could find a passage of unsurpassed beauty on any page, so I randomly turned to this expression of the ache for home:

 

"He sees the little bathing places of south Dublin, Sandycove, the Baths, the Forty Foot, places he barely knows, maybe visited the once in the old days when his mother would bring him to the capital... But his chest heaves with love, with peace, with pure need. It's the tobacco, the opium, of returning home. There might be angels standing on the rocky shores throwing out one after another bright ropes with grappling hooks to dig into and find purchase on his heart. One after another the arms rise like fishermen in the ancient like fishermen in the ancient days. Shortly he goes down riveted by his love, with the bolts of this love fastened into his skin..."

 

 

Other books in progress:

Fifty Shames of Earl Grey: A Parody by Fanny Merkin (a.k.a. Andrew Shaffer)

Be on the lookout for short review/author interview coming soon.

 

The Moronic Inferno and Other Visits to America by Martin Amis

Yes, my country takes a few slams but it's also clear there are a few compliments behind some of the blather. Amis amuses me no end; I can take the digs. In fact, I've made a few myself. If you read this, keep in mind he's married to an American and now lives in this country.

 

The Age of Miracles by Karen Thompson Walker

This must be one of the biggest books of the summer. I'm around 1/3 of the way in and finding the blurbs are overblown. I'm not sure what it is about some books, why writers and reviewers rally around them when they're nothing special, then ignore little gems that pass right under the radar. I'm so frustrated; it's so unjust.

 

A Land More Kind Than Home by Wiley Cash

Wonderful, wonderful so far.

 

The End of Your Life Book Club by Will Schwalbe (Nonfiction)

Got this ARC at Booktopia, Oxford, MS.:

"Mary Anne Schwalbe is waiting for her chemotherapy treatments when Will casually asks her what she’s reading. The conversation they have grows into tradition: soon they are reading the same books so they can have something to talk about in the hospital waiting room. The ones they choose range from classic to popular, from fantastic to spiritual, and we hear their passion for reading and their love for each other in their intimate and searching discussions.

A profoundly moving testament to the power of love between a child and parent, and the power of reading in our lives."

I'm in the midst of trying to connect with Will Schwalbe, to interview him but the book won't be published 'til October so that won't run for a couple of months or so.

 

 

In addition, still re-reading Pride and Prejudice - as my Guardian Top 1,000 Novels List read - as well as plugging away, slowly, at Ulysses. But this weekend won't see much reading getting done; my brother and his wife are coming a-visiting, which also means I need to get off this computer and "balance" my life by cleaning the place.

'Til next time.

Sebastian Barry! Another award!

 

h, how my heart does soar when he's honored. It's had the opportunity twice in as many weeks, too.

 

First, the Walter Scott Prize for historical fiction for his most recent novel 'On Canaan's Side,' and now an Honorary Doctorate in Literature from the National University of Ireland at Galway "for his unmatched contribution to the field of literature."

Unmatched! Contribution!

 

 

How happy it does make my heart, I cannot express. There's no one more deserving and I know I talk about the poor man ad nauseum, still he hasn't seemed to mind so far. I do get the odd note from him so he doesn't seem too frightened of me. Nothing asking me to run away with him or anything but rather humbly expressing  his thanks.

If you haven't read his work you must. If you read only one of his books make it A Long Long Way. It will move you to tears, I guarantee it.

 

 

I'm very partial but I absolutely believe this is one of the top ten finest novels of the 21st century, already a classic novel of WWI. It's one of the reasons I'm very, very partial.

Unmatched! Contributon!

Tears of joy. How it does swell my heart with pride.

Friday Web Trawl:Literature and Sundry

 

Sebastian Barry wins Walter Scott Prize!!!

Sebastian Barry!

How much data is created every minute?

Alice Walker refuses to publish The Color Purple in Hebrew

IL prosecutors refuse to defend gay marriage ban

 

Buzzzzzzz book of the fall:

The Yellow Birds by Kevin Powers

September 11, 2012

"With profound emotional insight, especially into the effects of a hidden war on mothers and families at home, THE YELLOW BIRDS is a groundbreaking novel about the costs of war that is destined to become a classic."

 

 Skin cancer: how to identify this avoidable killer

 

For book groups:

The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry by Rachel Joyce

July 24, 2012

"Meet Harold Fry, recently retired. He lives in a small English village with his wife, Maureen, who seems irritated by almost everything he does, even down to how he butters his toast. Little differentiates one day from the next. Then one morning the mail arrives, and within the stack of quotidian minutiae is a letter addressed to Harold in a shaky scrawl from a woman he hasn’t seen or heard from in twenty years. Queenie Hennessy is in hospice and is writing to say goodbye.

...

A novel of unsentimental charm, humor, and profound insight into the thoughts and feelings we all bury deep within our hearts, The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry introduces Rachel Joyce as a wise—and utterly irresistible—storyteller."

 

Air Guitar Championships. Must be seen to be believed:

 

 

 

Back to Blood by Tom Wolfe

October 23, 2012

"As a police launch speeds across Miami's Biscayne Bay-with officer Nestor Camacho on board-Tom Wolfe is off and running. Into the feverous landscape of the city, he introduces the Cuban mayor, the black police chief, a wanna-go-muckraking young journalist and his Yale-marinated editor; an Anglo sex-addiction psychiatrist and his Latina nurse by day, loin lock by night-until lately, the love of Nestor's life; a refined, and oh-so-light-skinned young woman from Haiti and her Creole-spouting, black-gang-banger-stylin' little brother; a billionaire porn addict, crack dealers in the 'hoods, "de-skilled" conceptual artists at the Miami Art Basel Fair, "spectators" at the annual Biscayne Bay regatta looking only for that night's orgy, yenta-heavy ex-New Yorkers at an "Active Adult" condo, and a nest of shady Russians. Based on the same sort of detailed, on-scene, high-energy reporting that powered Tom Wolfe's previous bestselling novels, BACK TO BLOOD is another brilliant, spot-on, scrupulous, and often hilarious reckoning with our times."

 

Sweet Tooth by Ian McEwan (Official Cover Not Released Yet)

November 13, 2012

"Cambridge student Serena Frome’s beauty and intelligence make her the ideal recruit for MI5. The year is 1972. The Cold War is far from over. England’s legendary intelligence agency is determined to manipulate the cultural conversation by funding writers whose politics align with those of the government. The operation is code named “Sweet Tooth.”
 
Serena, a compulsive reader of novels, is the perfect candidate to infiltrate the literary circle of a promising young writer named Tom Haley. At first, she loves his stories. Then she begins to love the man. How long can she conceal her undercover life? To answer that question, Serena must abandon the first rule of espionage: trust no one.
 
Once again, Ian McEwan’s mastery dazzles us in this superbly deft and witty story of betrayal and intrigue, love and the invented self."

Also:

This is How You Lose Her by Junot Díaz    (September 11, 2012)

Telegraph Avenue by Michael Chabon         (September 11, 2012)

NW by Zadie Smith     (September 4, 2012)

Another nutty week on the internets.

 

Bloody Hell. Sorry about that. And Joyce. And Sebastian Barry.

I released my first Joyce post prematurely. I meant to hit "DRAFT" and hit "PUBLISH," instead. So, if you've read it already please try to erase it from your mind so it seems original when you see it again on the eve of Bloomsday.

Is my face ever red.

[Answer: yes. Usually. I'm Northern European in origin, like a fair percentage of Americans.]

Anyway. I listened to Frank Delaney's Intro to Ulysses podcast today and really did order that bio of Joyce from Amazon, as well. Tell me you don't fall a little bit in love with him after hearing his accent:

 

 

On the topic of his accent, when my iPhone disappeared two weeks ago my heart broke, and not for the stupid technology or status of the actual phone. On that iPhone was stored bits of all the authors whose signings I've attended over the past year: Ian Rankin, Daniel Handler/Lemony Snickett, Chris Bohjalian, Rebecca Skloot, Elizabeth Berg, Michael Cunningham, etc. But what makes me have to fight back tears is the loss of the most brilliant author event I've ever attended: Sebastian Barry's.

Now, I know I throw his name around a bit on the blog and a lot of it is stuff and fluff, but he truly does own a bit of my heart, in a little corner where I've put a desk for him to sit and write should he ever come visit. But that signing. That amazing evening. It was pure magic, more so than I can express. And it's gone. I can't go back to it anymore. It's wherever my phone wound up, because I never thought to download or upload or sideload it into my computer.

It's not as though I can't pull him up on YouTube to virtually attend one of his readings. Sure, I could do that. But that particular evening was essentially one of the highlights of my life. The drama of his reading, the lilt of his voice, the fact an actor who'd acted in one of his plays previously - when it played in Chicago - came and read a part from his original script!

None of that can ever be replaced. I am desolate.

But what's to be done? Nothing. And will he ever come to the States again? He came for On Canaan's Side because the setting was Chicago and he hadn't been in the U.S. for ages before that. More than likely I've seen and met him for the only time I ever will.

That's a crap note to end on. Sorry about that.

But.. soldier on.

Joyce. Ulysses. It's coming up, and very soon, too. Not today, as my stupid leaked post said but soon.

In the meantime, over to General Nonsense.

 

Review: A Long Long Way by Sebastian Barry

 

 It had to happen eventually. Though I was determined to read it slowly, once I hit the last quarter there was no putting it down.

A Long Long Way is slowly paced. Not as in oh my God when will this thing get going, as I found opined on another blog written by a reader struck, initially, by an unfortunate episode of dubious taste.

Think of lying back in a boat, reaching over the side trailing a finger in the water, wearing Edwardian dress and holding a parasol to protect  milky white skin. Of course, if you're male you may wish to make substitutions. You'll be rowing the boat so the lady may laze, reposing comfortably upon cushions downy soft. Because a lady neither breaks a sweat nor exerts. She is better suited to daydreaming, occasionally sighing gently.

Now that we have that settled.

I've mentioned already how easy it is to sympathize with Willie Dunne, the sweet young man sent off to fight in the fields of Belgium while his heart is back in Ireland with his love, Gretta of the green eyes. It's wrenching witnessing horrors through Willie's eyes and difficult knowing such a large part of his motivation for serving is the need to impress his father, because his son is not manly enough for his taste. Doesn't make one feel inclined to sympathize much with the man, even after his speech about having been a loyal policeman putting his life on the line as Ireland's beginning to split apart at the seams. But dear God things shift so cruelly by the end.

Though the plot is certainly attractive and keeps a due amount of tension it was for me far more about absorbing the language. I swear, this man's tax returns must be more romantic and poetic than the average love letter. Each time I open the book I tell myself I'm going to figure out the formula for how he does this but each time I'm so pulled in by his magic I forget I'd even had an agenda.

I know he does it by use of long, lulling sentences and keeping that slow pace mentioned above. But there is action and that's when any idea of analysis slips away. It's a time of war. Men are alternately being blown to bits and desperately seeking solace, living for weeks in filthy, sometimes flooded trenches with no food or water for days. And through it all Sebastian Barry manages that incredible flowing prose I'd know anywhere. I believe I may admire him for it, too.

I don't believe I need tell you the plot because really it's all here. Willie Dunne does his duty with a mixture of bravery and raw fear. There are friendships and losses, misery followed by brief furloughs. Back home are his sisters, his policeman father and his love, Gretta. And he misses them terribly when allowed the luxury of thinking beyond basic survival. Ireland is on the brink of civil war before WW I interrupts but the rifts have started and there is violence in the streets, part of which Willie's father finds himself in the midst of, his life and those of his comrades on the line. All the time Willie is away he awaits word from Gretta, and yes I assumed she must be a horrible person when the letters are from his sisters, instead. There's nothing more I can say, really, without giving away too much.

For this book Sebastian Barry was nominated for the Man Booker Prize. You may recall how I felt when his On Canaan's Side didn't make it to the Shortlist in 2011 and I would rather not go into my feelings on the Booker in general, thanks very much, though many congratulations to Julian Barnes. However, the stars did align for The Secret Scripture (the first of his books I read), winning him both the Costa and James Tait Black Memorial Prize, which are proof some judges on this earth know their business quite well. And did I mention A Long Long Way was chosen for Dublin's One Book One City read in 2007? Because it was.

Overall I guess what I'd like to say I've already said. I love many styles of writing from the florid prose of Dickens to the stripped down minimalism of much contemporary fiction but Sebastian Barry is on an entirely different plane. And you may not agree, that's fine. Though I'd rather not speak to you if that's the case.

Next, I'm not sure if I'm supposed to go backward to Annie Dunne or re-read The Secret Scripture and then Annie. But I'll figure that out. I found an affordable copy of his first novel, Macker's Garden, which I believe has no relation to these about the Dunnes but I won't read that 'til I've read through to On Canaan's Side again. However, neither love nor a reasonable amount of money will get me a copy of The Engine of Owl-Light, as of the last time I nosed around. This was his second novel and I've had no luck at all adding it to my collection. If I have to I'll fork over more money than I was comfortable with before but I'll deal with that when it's time. Mayhaps  a miracle will happen in the interim and I'll luck upon it in a used bookshop.

Speaking of time, his novels take quite a bit of that and being a playwright as well there's his tendency to write those when I'd rather he worked on a novel. Far be it from me to dictate to a genius but, well...

Let's face it. I'm going to be forced to start on the plays,  now, won't I. I may have a wait between novels and I'm not sure I can sway or hurry him with stories of my tears falling upon the keyboard, my wails splitting the ears of my family as I wallow in abject misery. Being a gentleman he'd pat me gently on the head and express his regret, which would not be a bad happening, mind, but in the meantime it's read and re-read and hope.

Sigh.