tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-166674002024-03-17T21:46:53.557-04:00meezly mostly readsIt's been several years and I managed to crack 40 one time, but have yet to read 50 books in a year... meezlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09064532853057054875noreply@blogger.comBlogger349125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16667400.post-15900702610818402512024-03-17T21:45:00.009-04:002024-03-17T21:45:55.223-04:006. Apt PupilBy Stephen King<div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7DhsosXwOsycIrId273im50JikE0vJ3OaZrDQR-KxjiB2Vi9WcG-fNiFjXaxS4lBTShQrKCRfA7HELjz0M6m5thVIzOCsTNjzK43CaRxffM0SIr85TgXc1LFb9TvQKX2td_RXu0mLnH-euUp_BXaBNC-H7p051QYespVswTqPnx0CziiNfW0jmw/s1000/apt_pupil.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="657" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7DhsosXwOsycIrId273im50JikE0vJ3OaZrDQR-KxjiB2Vi9WcG-fNiFjXaxS4lBTShQrKCRfA7HELjz0M6m5thVIzOCsTNjzK43CaRxffM0SIr85TgXc1LFb9TvQKX2td_RXu0mLnH-euUp_BXaBNC-H7p051QYespVswTqPnx0CziiNfW0jmw/s320/apt_pupil.jpg" width="210" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div></div>meezlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09064532853057054875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16667400.post-91805588129205790022024-03-09T16:52:00.001-05:002024-03-09T16:54:10.328-05:005. Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar ChildrenBy Ransom Riggs<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEGHPt7Slhgls0uf_Jguo7Bkj4OJwKuCub1KHIAzw3fz1obQw8KAnNSsz1QVL0DHZ3LlV8Dr3uHcLEi6fnf8UOLJYlJzUC2Uf8_eKHlPD8gpqJsnaVTlx9vT8JlvtfjEbVvRF9wF6pZb7pHf37Hp6qUUAEoYOrS8tSGcuy003DM9Qx7NtoMYzYtw/s1128/Miss_Peregrines_Home.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1128" data-original-width="747" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEGHPt7Slhgls0uf_Jguo7Bkj4OJwKuCub1KHIAzw3fz1obQw8KAnNSsz1QVL0DHZ3LlV8Dr3uHcLEi6fnf8UOLJYlJzUC2Uf8_eKHlPD8gpqJsnaVTlx9vT8JlvtfjEbVvRF9wF6pZb7pHf37Hp6qUUAEoYOrS8tSGcuy003DM9Qx7NtoMYzYtw/s320/Miss_Peregrines_Home.jpg" width="212" /></a></div><br /><div><br /><br /><div><br /></div></div>meezlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09064532853057054875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16667400.post-49482701120284589712024-02-27T19:48:00.003-05:002024-02-27T19:48:40.299-05:004. ZombieBy Joyce Carol Oates<div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ7ajMWWEzBe9pdV8MX3qkACOh72kId2DNufcVYTT3uMA4-InwLnMq5sju1wbPUxnfXk5U9BRkFPdH0Iod-QxpHiV1uYpeHw9Aa3g22ao-cBpAz5pm-J31Jnrd2lluUK4I2CRZM2wH5nttOivoeWe8U2Nb8bbcm5psNNWY2xZNyp7YBVrp3lsskg/s500/zombie_jco.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="344" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ7ajMWWEzBe9pdV8MX3qkACOh72kId2DNufcVYTT3uMA4-InwLnMq5sju1wbPUxnfXk5U9BRkFPdH0Iod-QxpHiV1uYpeHw9Aa3g22ao-cBpAz5pm-J31Jnrd2lluUK4I2CRZM2wH5nttOivoeWe8U2Nb8bbcm5psNNWY2xZNyp7YBVrp3lsskg/s320/zombie_jco.jpg" width="220" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div></div>meezlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09064532853057054875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16667400.post-83794423691855199482024-02-25T16:47:00.002-05:002024-02-25T16:47:12.462-05:003. The Driver's Seat<p>By Muriel Spark</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6HlyW6jvznKWpk2JZYp4H4aELXK07-W4kc_n-L94c-IBLY_yujTw-Np1qfoQG6cy5PQNh4R9Y8pMYzrgOd8oJ8SuxDEonrMcqcgqJFZhHWVGtWxefYnxJJqvKBovOxR4N6rw7PnImVzagnxMNecpAAxQ62eO4Vj2UufGm2DQqcIV3JhznEXFYFg/s500/drivers_seat_murielspark.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="326" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6HlyW6jvznKWpk2JZYp4H4aELXK07-W4kc_n-L94c-IBLY_yujTw-Np1qfoQG6cy5PQNh4R9Y8pMYzrgOd8oJ8SuxDEonrMcqcgqJFZhHWVGtWxefYnxJJqvKBovOxR4N6rw7PnImVzagnxMNecpAAxQ62eO4Vj2UufGm2DQqcIV3JhznEXFYFg/s320/drivers_seat_murielspark.jpg" width="209" /></a></div><p><br /></p>meezlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09064532853057054875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16667400.post-30364692624627007962024-02-04T14:24:00.144-05:002024-02-19T17:51:32.439-05:002. A Haunting On the Hill<p>
<span face=""Aptos",sans-serif" style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">By Elizabeth Hand </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span face=""Aptos",sans-serif" style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit7OKog8egv-UH0z6KsDEY_4cvhlL-WOiNvnMsVM_-eeeoLncSROblt3_avsI-R97xB4sKAJAzvBUYrUIGcRBsUtUR8pR0A7rzV-slVptoXUTZOkygHTvQSy4AXqkNG3MHhtgy4REtzAwN-JBifITMsMcPnd7MLSamTzgYUMkT4xdPoVXPeXuTFg/s2560/a-haunting-on-the-hill.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2560" data-original-width="1676" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit7OKog8egv-UH0z6KsDEY_4cvhlL-WOiNvnMsVM_-eeeoLncSROblt3_avsI-R97xB4sKAJAzvBUYrUIGcRBsUtUR8pR0A7rzV-slVptoXUTZOkygHTvQSy4AXqkNG3MHhtgy4REtzAwN-JBifITMsMcPnd7MLSamTzgYUMkT4xdPoVXPeXuTFg/s320/a-haunting-on-the-hill.jpg" width="210" /></a></span></div><span face=""Aptos",sans-serif">For Christmas, my BIL had given me </span><span face=""Arial",sans-serif"><i>The Bee Sting</i> by Paul
Murray, a Booker Prize shortlister I wasn’t familiar with. He said I was
welcome to exchange it at Mrs Dalloway’s for something that was more in my
wheelhouse. I browsed for a long time before I spotted a single hardbound
copy of <i>A Haunting on the Hill</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had no
idea Elizabeth Hand had written an official sequel to Shirley Jackon’s most
famous novel, <i>The Haunting of Hill House</i>!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It was released only a few months ago in October 2023.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">I
was a big admirer of Hand’s horror mystery thriller <i><a href="https://meezly.blogspot.com/2020/12/17-generation-loss.html" target="_blank">Generation Loss</a></i>, which
first won her the 2008 Shirley Jackson award.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It seemed the planets were aligned for me to read <i>A
Haunting on the Hill: </i>it was the exact same price as <i>The Bee Sting</i>, so the clerk
was able to do a clean exchange for me. I was really looking forward to
starting 2024 with a new release!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
novel begins with Holly and her girlfriend Nisa taking a weekend break away from
NYC. Holly is a struggling playwright who got a lucky break with a $10,000 grant to
produce <i>The Witching Hour --</i> a passion project inspired by Elizabeth Sawyer, who
was accused of witchcraft and executed in 17th c. New England.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nisa, a singer-songwriter obsessed with
murder ballads, will compose the music and perform the songs on stage with the
actors. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">While
out on a drive, Holly discovers Hill House. She had been searching for a
retreat, a place where her performers could rehearse, do read-throughs and
collaborate on the development of the play.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She manages to find the local real estate agent, Ainsley, who happens to
own Hill House.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ainsley is reluctant at
first, but agrees to rent Hill House to Holly for the week.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">Holly
brings on board Stevie, a sound designer who was a former child stage actor,
and Amanda Greer, a lauded theatre actor who was involved in an unfortunate
accident that somewhat rerailed her career. At
first I was a little wary, as the four main characters are self-involved theatre types. What kind of eye-rolling antics would I have to endure with a bunch of </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">clashing egos</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> thrown into a claustrophobic haunted house. Holly has
been frustrated by her stagnant career path and considers the grant her one chance at breaking out as a successful playwright,
so she’s determined to make this work, no matter how her gut keeps screaming out there
is something terribly wrong with Hill House</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">Holly’s
gf Nisa is probably the most annoying character of the four.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Blessed with a beautiful voice, she’s constantly
trying to “test the acoustics" by belting out her compositions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And with an innate talent for penning melancholy folk songs, she has a promising musical career, yet deep-down she’s
suspicious that Holly wants to reign her in. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She’s also narcissistic and having
a secret affair with Stevie.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">Stevie
is one of Holly’s best friends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As a former child
stage actor, he was sexually abused by an older costar, and has grown up
dealing wit his past trauma with drugs and hedonism.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hill House first “reveals” itself to Stevie
by giving him the illusion of a safe space in the form of a secret door that’s
meant just for him.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">Like
Nisa, Amanda also likes to command attention, yet unlike Nisa, she is horribly
insecure. Her being older than the others doesn’t help either. It’s
important to note that all three women are desperate to either revive or
kickstart their respective careers, and this desperation is what binds them to
Hill House.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">Overall, I found
<i>A Haunting on the Hill</i> to be extremely disappointing, almost to the point of being badly written. First, I had no connection with
any of the characters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes, they were
immature, unlikeable theatre people, but writers like Patricia Highsmith had a
way of making unpleasant characters relatable, or at the very least,
fascinating.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hand herself had created one of the
most deeply flawed characters in Cass Neary, yet I could still relate to Cass’
foibles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The four main characters in <i>A
Haunting on the Hill </i>were too self-obsessed to truly care for anyone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Second, the story wasn't even remotely creepy, let alone scary. The black menacing hares of
unusual size did absolutely nothing for me. What made Shirley Jackson’s
novel so effective was, as the reader, you were never sure whether the house was truly
haunted, or whether all the inexplicable occurrences were all in Eleanor’s
mind.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
pacing was also off somehow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There
wasn’t any sense of impending doom that ever got properly built up. The
novel was written in the first person from Holly’s POV, yet equal time was
spent inside the heads of Nisa, Stevie and Amanda. Holly didn’t have a particularly unique perspective,
so I thought it was strange that Hand didn’t use the third person to narrate
(which Jackson did for The Haunting of Hill House). </span><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span></p><blockquote><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span> </span>Now she grew angry. They were supposed to all
be in this together, with the same goal: the play. Yet there was Stevie,
upstaging her in the parlor, pulling out all the stops as that damned dog. Her
voice and her songs were what knit the entire story together, even Holly had
admitted that.</span> <br /></span></blockquote><blockquote><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span> </span>And where was her reward? Nisa had brought
beauty and a sense of ancient mystery to Holly’s words. She’d infused them with
a power and terror that echoed down through centuries unitl Nisa held them, protected
them, <i>shared</i> them with those she thought she could trust with something
so precious.</span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span> </span></span> <br /></span></blockquote><blockquote><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span> </span>But all they could see and hear were their
own voices. <i>Petty. Selfish. Greedy</i>. Deaf to beauty when it rang out.</span></span></blockquote><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-weight: normal;"></span><p></p><h1 style="margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-weight: normal;"></span></h1>
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{page:WordSectio</style><span style="font-family: inherit;">Hand went deeply into everyone’s past issues, and Hill House amplified their destructive neuroses and desires, yet
everyone still felt so two-dimensional, and awful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Holly,
Nisa, Stevie, and Amanda were mostly bickering, bitchy theatre types.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The three women who watched over Hill House -- Ainsely, Melissa, and Evadne -- were even more thinly drawn. They were supposed to be good witches yet their motives or histories were never developed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perhaps Hand wanted to keep them mysterious
or inscrutable, but they did nothing to propel the narrative. They didn't even provide any substantial backstory to Hill House. </span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">There
was also something about a family who had lived in Hill House during 80's and a teenaged son who had disappeared, but this is only briefly
alluded to. </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Ainsley had agreed to rent
out Hill House too easily despite knowing the danger she’d be putting her
renters in. She also never reappeared again. Only Melissa and
Evadne made half-hearted attempts to convince the occupants to leave before the
forecasted October snow storm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When
Melissa mentioned “it was too late”, she just took off!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> <br /></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">It
would’ve made more sense if Ainsley had more of a connection with the house and
was making excuses to rent it out, ie. nothing bad had happened there for a
long time, and she needed the money, when in actual fact, the house wanted to
be “fed” a la Burnt Offerings (which I still need to watch).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There could’ve been interpersonal conflicts
between Ainsely, Melissa and Evadne (which would provide a nice counterpoint to
Holly, Nisa and Amanda).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And Melissa and
Evadne could’ve swooped in at the last minute to extricate Holly, Amanda and
Stevie (because there had to be one sacrificial victim – it’s a horror thriller
after all!).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But this never happened.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></p><blockquote style="text-align: left;"><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;">Though Stevie himself had felt it, too, in the parlor, that
primal thrill as he felt himself fold into someone else. Something else…</span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span> </span>He knew from
Holly’s expression that his performance had already surpassed whatever she’d
hoped for. He still felt it, a flash of the intense charge he got when he’d
nailed a part a shivery current that ran through his entire body, everything
seeming to tremble, on the verge of coming apart. The others had laughed when
Amanda talked about actors being possessed, but he knew that she was right. <br /></span></p></blockquote><blockquote style="text-align: left;"><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span> </span>It had been years
since he’d felt it, like a drug he’d forsaken. Only this wasn’t bad for him,
like drugs. This was what he’d needed, all along. This was what he’d been
secretly praying for, the chance to give himself over to something more
powerful than himself. The muse, an old acting teacher called it.</span></p></blockquote><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><p><style>@font-face
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{page:WordSection1;</style><span style="font-family: inherit;"> I
really liked the idea of having a group of actors unknowingly channelling the latent
power of Hill House during their rehearsals, much like the psychics in
Jackson’s original story. The characters were definitely seeing and
hearing things that didn’t make sense. But the sightings of the menacing big black hare didn’t make much narrative or symbolic sense - it just left me scratching
my head.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And that secret door leading to
a psychedelic passageway just seemed kind of silly.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">Many ideas that had any potential ended up feeling half-baked. I mentioned
the pacing - it took far too long for things to happen. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like Stevie finally opening that damned secret
door near the end. Then the storm came and the strange knocking.
Then Nisa snuck up to the door because she couldn’t stand the fact that
Stevie would keep something like this from her, but like an idiot, ended up
getting trapped inside the bowels of the house. It was all kind of
rushed. Too much time was spent on four annoying characters and their bitchy
interpersonal dynamics, their flaws and insecurities on repeat. Not
enough effort spent creating an effective or marginally scary horror story. <br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">In
the end, it was Nisa who got “eaten” by Hill House, not Holly. A year
later, Holly was still able to produce her play with Amanda Greer as the star
and using recordings of Nisa’s music.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But
it wasn’t clear whether Holly had changed or even learned anything because none
of the survivors really talked about what happened at Hill House. They
just moved on with their lives.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">I
think an important detail that Hand missed was that it was never proven that Hill House was
really haunted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anyone who had
met their fate at the hands of Hill House was mentally unstable in some
way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hill House always knew who the most
vulnerable person was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nisa was too
self-involved and full of herself to be an Eleanor Vance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But as the most annoying character in the
novel, I was nevertheless glad the house took her!</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">It's a shame really, as I really wanted to like this novel. Now I'm going to have to find a way to sell or giveaway this lovely hardcover! </span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p>
<p><style>@font-face
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{page:WordSection1;}</style></p>meezlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09064532853057054875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16667400.post-82742852595756830412024-01-10T14:21:00.008-05:002024-02-19T14:24:24.698-05:001. Our Lady of Mile End<p> By Sarah Gilbert</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY-Sy7CmP0FMfyoSM4uzXj4o2YiMQzuz1wwmz7lbxeB3bJ59If425xeL-iJjt5sadHZrlntzmxg1tf6Qfek740YilPcmuAeYWAE07SZmX8qHoFFUfCIFO9GsJFRlXKPqLMseTsIWjAL8kpaWZX931n4xfhgxmMs6JSb0Ub4wr9VxmgiT7T_uFp-A/s1248/our-lady-of-mile-end.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1248" data-original-width="780" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY-Sy7CmP0FMfyoSM4uzXj4o2YiMQzuz1wwmz7lbxeB3bJ59If425xeL-iJjt5sadHZrlntzmxg1tf6Qfek740YilPcmuAeYWAE07SZmX8qHoFFUfCIFO9GsJFRlXKPqLMseTsIWjAL8kpaWZX931n4xfhgxmMs6JSb0Ub4wr9VxmgiT7T_uFp-A/s320/our-lady-of-mile-end.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>meezlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09064532853057054875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16667400.post-51822588420877790492023-12-31T15:40:00.058-05:002024-02-29T14:13:47.330-05:0022. Beautiful Darkness<p>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">By Fabien Vehlmann<span> </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">
& Kerascoët<span>.<span> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><span>Translated from the French by Helge Dascher.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: black; font-family: inherit; font-size: small; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc_YhUbtPI7zB6Kt71OhqacVSZI0fVKRDF5XA_4srTsAusCn5_hwsmbBcSrCopuAXpN8E-3PFPzEDszUXJ9QpLG81GJiO4K-8k1EuAd9jj-fCSlpRqciPyC5TcUmFrQyaP1h4c62gfn1-2ysFeNmEKCmQtK0l1KnzqcZUxiqJNvzHJVN6Tmesvkg/s1000/beautiful_darkness_cover.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="735" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc_YhUbtPI7zB6Kt71OhqacVSZI0fVKRDF5XA_4srTsAusCn5_hwsmbBcSrCopuAXpN8E-3PFPzEDszUXJ9QpLG81GJiO4K-8k1EuAd9jj-fCSlpRqciPyC5TcUmFrQyaP1h4c62gfn1-2ysFeNmEKCmQtK0l1KnzqcZUxiqJNvzHJVN6Tmesvkg/s320/beautiful_darkness_cover.jpg" width="235" /></a></span></div>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: small;"><i>Drawn
& Quarterly</i> had a Black Friday sale of their books (the second book was half off).<span> </span>I found two graphic novels: <i>Are You Willing
to Die for the Cause? Revolution in 1960s Quebec</i> and <i>Beautiful Darkness</i>,
with the intention of respectively giving them to Olman and my daughter for Christmas.<span> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: small;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: small;"><i>Beautiful
Darkness</i> seemed like it'd be suitable for older kids.<span> </span>The illustrations were so beautiful and
dreamy.<span> </span>I should have read through it
first, but even so, I think my 11 yo daughter would’ve been able to handle the
content. <span></span>For Christmas, she had
requested new clothes for the first time and not a single toy (except for Nintendo
games, obvs), so this book was one of the few non-clothing items I got her. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: small;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: small;">She began reading it shortly after Christmas
and at some point, reproached me with something to the effect of, “Mommy, I can’t believe you got this book for
me!<span> </span>It’s so disturbing!”<span> </span> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: small;">It turned out that the main fairy
girl ends up gouging the eyes out of a mouse!<span> </span>She
told me that she wasn't going to read any more and handed the book back to
me!</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: small;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzJ9ximT0oXoasL7PLpROYsPTmcUWCZSXn5jWGfnpecFe9kmjghmJue1TaSJxrKuj4h1lh_jH1SZw98WMnHL2pyT5S9Gy3S2qj4J_riIGtH6NjOXVuSKdOMFvzp43qTxp1IO5TVKWZiPh4-Rs21_vs6vIcuL17Qk5etG1gLXP3_HPrF4QS5wecxQ/s792/beautifuldarkness2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="792" data-original-width="585" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzJ9ximT0oXoasL7PLpROYsPTmcUWCZSXn5jWGfnpecFe9kmjghmJue1TaSJxrKuj4h1lh_jH1SZw98WMnHL2pyT5S9Gy3S2qj4J_riIGtH6NjOXVuSKdOMFvzp43qTxp1IO5TVKWZiPh4-Rs21_vs6vIcuL17Qk5etG1gLXP3_HPrF4QS5wecxQ/s320/beautifuldarkness2.jpg" width="236" /></a></span></div><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: small;">Well,
I admit I felt a bit bad for not pre-reading <i>Beautiful Darkness</i> before giving
it to the kid.<span> </span>When I flipped through it, I say pages like the one to the right 👉.<span> </span>I did feel she was old enough to handle
some unexpected violence portrayed in comics (as long as it’s not gratuitous nor
sexual), but I understand that animal cruelty is hard to stomach.<span> </span> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: small;">Earlier this month, I had taken
my daughter to see Ellisapie live in concert and the venue (Usine C) was located in a dodgy
area of downtown Montreal.<span> </span>It was sketchy
enough that, as we were leaving, my husband cautioned us to stay alert.<span> </span>Even though we both believe in exposing our kid to the
rougher parts of the city, we won't hesitate to exercise precautions in case of the
unexpected.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: small;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: small;">When the concert ended around 10pm, we walked back to the metro station on
Ste-Catherine East.<span> </span>There was an
ambulance parked by the entrance and as we approached the stairs, an old
homeless-looking man was being carried away in a gurney by EMTs, his head wrapped
in several layers of white gauze with a visible bloody spot seeping through the bandages.<span>
</span>As we passed them going down the other side of the stairs, we encountered the bright pool of blood where he fell
on the muddy steps.<span> </span>We didn’t stop to
gawk, though we may have slowed a little to take in the unexpected scene.<span> </span>When we reached the bottom, I saw that my
daughter looked a little stunned, and I asked if she was ok.<span> </span>She nodded and I reassured her that the man
was getting the help he needed and that he should be ok.<span> </span>That was the most exciting incident during
our one night in the downtown east side!</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: small;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: small;">So
yeah, even though it wasn’t great that my daughter encountered some violence in
a graphic fairy tale, I knew she wasn’t going to be too traumatized by it!</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: small;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: small;"> When
I finally read <i>Beautiful Darkness</i> myself, I was absolutely entranced by t</span><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlxufP5_dfoXFaL2Chv0_0ClYFIb2yamZRn1VvY5ZoZqRkTL5HnGcYuY6Kma5z9Bg02s-UNcY2aY_6VObgR5kqf1LJdKJiUKeR0jknTkbf3SfSUAhzUT5DYBgoiD3LELtqSlFkkfRjkRmsTn7bzcolcrsXnx0ZT5Z9BTlJxIOk81GuPLDxrfRcBQ/s1391/beautiful_darkness3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1391" data-original-width="1000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlxufP5_dfoXFaL2Chv0_0ClYFIb2yamZRn1VvY5ZoZqRkTL5HnGcYuY6Kma5z9Bg02s-UNcY2aY_6VObgR5kqf1LJdKJiUKeR0jknTkbf3SfSUAhzUT5DYBgoiD3LELtqSlFkkfRjkRmsTn7bzcolcrsXnx0ZT5Z9BTlJxIOk81GuPLDxrfRcBQ/s320/beautiful_darkness3.jpg" width="230" /></a></span>his wonderfully subversive fairy tale and the dark, horrifying evil lurking
beneath the gorgeously illustrated surface. The aesthetics and content was </span><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: small;">right in my
wheelhouse!<span> </span></span><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: small;"><i>Beautiful Darkness</i> </span><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: small;"> has been described as "<i>Thumbelina
</i>meets <i>Lord of the Flies</i>" and an anti-fairy tale.<span> </span>Somehow I missed this when I initially flipped through the pages,
but in the prologue, there were little people having tea inside the decomposing
body of a young girl deep in the forest.<span> Setting a very creepy tone, it did.<br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: small;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: small;">I
recently rewatched <i>The Mist</i> (2007) and thought how very similar it was to <i>Beautiful
Darkness</i> (2009). Both Zelie and Mrs Carmody embodied
the narcissistic psychopath who preys on the weaknesses of their followers and delights in inflicting pain upon the innocent.<span> </span>Zelie’s unchecked bullying finally sent the sweet and trusting Aurora into a terrifying rage and her dear mouse friend suffered because he had betrayed her.<span> </span>This was the horrible act of violence that upset my daughter so much.<span> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: small;"><span> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: small;">Like
<i>The Mist</i>, <i>Beautiful Darkness</i> made me question, who are the real monsters?<span> </span>Are they the strange beasts outside our door,
or have they always been lurking inside every one of us, needing only a trigger
or two to unleash the beast within?<span> </span>What is more horrifying?<span> </span>The faceless man who may have murdered the young
girl?<span> </span>Or Zelie, the beautiful yet
sadistic fairy who plucks butterfly wings for her dress and buries misfits alive
for fun?<span> </span>Or the followers, who represent the moral abyss devoid of empathy and reasoning?<span> </span>Perhaps the real tragedy is Aurora, who once radiated light
and hope, has now finally succumbed to the darkness.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: small;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: small;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBjcD6Zl_f3sItCXv7_Yj71VCD_ikP8ja49QeKaButJz_xwBIqBmOih5-cSyMVSZEI1i-ucxxtjLGav1oYQgXn7tPHu0HuAG-4f1rNL0KNZ9iQ_4MP4aLYVDmxnAiG5regj_9RTRadcU5R5NYbNJObJ0jLh7um5fUGda27GtyrZsQ66u37v4p11Q/s519/beautiful_darkness4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="229" data-original-width="519" height="141" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBjcD6Zl_f3sItCXv7_Yj71VCD_ikP8ja49QeKaButJz_xwBIqBmOih5-cSyMVSZEI1i-ucxxtjLGav1oYQgXn7tPHu0HuAG-4f1rNL0KNZ9iQ_4MP4aLYVDmxnAiG5regj_9RTRadcU5R5NYbNJObJ0jLh7um5fUGda27GtyrZsQ66u37v4p11Q/s320/beautiful_darkness4.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: small;"><br /> </span><p></p>
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{page:WordSection1;}</style><p></p>meezlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09064532853057054875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16667400.post-8792614571217968582023-12-28T17:49:00.004-05:002023-12-28T17:56:10.588-05:0021. A Visit<p>By Shirley Jackson</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgY3DoBfcACY8jQcKMMeQUQBSCNWfnqQF6P144SQhNijo8yKEuodXNRX78z4jtiK46oF4jVNBrrHswI5U4_5BrjFMDwn337r8Wzai-Z3K9nz9u-ANqOiPfVk1_QAMK5dZtalRQvFDPm2SXsFmgpgVaKUkVWVrJLwlrQuFJ91m4ZkKOPfnSmkiRmA/s1000/A_Visit.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="664" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgY3DoBfcACY8jQcKMMeQUQBSCNWfnqQF6P144SQhNijo8yKEuodXNRX78z4jtiK46oF4jVNBrrHswI5U4_5BrjFMDwn337r8Wzai-Z3K9nz9u-ANqOiPfVk1_QAMK5dZtalRQvFDPm2SXsFmgpgVaKUkVWVrJLwlrQuFJ91m4ZkKOPfnSmkiRmA/s320/A_Visit.jpg" width="212" /></a></div><div>First published as "The Lovely House" in 1950 and later reprinted under the title "A Visit." While a short story, Biblioasis reprinted it as a cute little book that's part of a series known as, <i>A Ghost Story for Christmas</i>, all of them designed and illustrated by Seth. It's an attempt to revive a Victorian tradition of reading ghost stories on Christmas Eve.</div><div><br /></div><div>So this technically counts as a book, right? I might as well end the year with a holiday book, though the actual story doesn't have anything to do with Christmas, nor winter, for that matter.</div><div><br /></div><div>Margaret is invited to stay at her friend's estate for the summer holidays. Carla and her parents, Mr and Mrs Rhodes, seem normal and welcoming enough, though Margaret is clearly not from money, but this difference is barely mentioned. The house is filled with beautiful tapestries with at least one in every room, all embroidered by Carla's mother and the past generations of Rhodes women who have lived in that house.</div><div><br /></div><div>Carla keeps talking wistfully and/or excitedly about her brother's impending visit, and he finally arrives one day with a friend. Carla's brother is known only as "the captain", while Margaret finds it peculiar that no one calls the captain's friend by his name, so she asks him and he tells her that his name is Paul. Margaret also later discovers an old eccentric aunt who keeps to herself (and her cat) high up in the tower. There are hints that one or more of the characters are merely an apparition as the story goes on. </div><div><br /></div><div>The story is very sparsely written, and yet, even though every word is accounted for, it's what's left out that evokes a feeling of oddness and mystery, as befits a Jackson narrative. But I wouldn't say that "A Visit" was very creepy nor unsettling, not at all like Jackson's other stories. However, what I found most odd was that in the book, Carla's family name is Rhodes, while the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Lovely_House">Wikipedia</a> keeps calling Carla's family as the Montagues.</div>meezlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09064532853057054875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16667400.post-69128024124585817392023-11-29T19:23:00.006-05:002023-11-29T19:23:58.071-05:0020. PersuasionBy Jane Austen<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9ACWCdcHKstJ58SkqmpX0yRPah3YqHa2vZ1uhyRiFa-nIkJssSpfkyBaX39Cx8krB80nsXZZ5t1Gfry5wVBvvY5yOA5zFDI3jB6kPOhk4XtXkVcP_pBvpfFtY7caabTLckE1V18A8lEwFDG4uc_j-oN89fr0ESx-YVJ7mhfEu7zkibt_DeKvKJw/s1000/persuasion_janeausten.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="666" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9ACWCdcHKstJ58SkqmpX0yRPah3YqHa2vZ1uhyRiFa-nIkJssSpfkyBaX39Cx8krB80nsXZZ5t1Gfry5wVBvvY5yOA5zFDI3jB6kPOhk4XtXkVcP_pBvpfFtY7caabTLckE1V18A8lEwFDG4uc_j-oN89fr0ESx-YVJ7mhfEu7zkibt_DeKvKJw/s320/persuasion_janeausten.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div>meezlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09064532853057054875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16667400.post-41469946618872174952023-11-23T18:58:00.004-05:002023-11-29T19:16:54.303-05:0019. Ducks: Two Years in the Oil Sands<p>By Kate Beaton</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk94UwfMQgruGax61sM0fj7WKO5MpyAn8j9wcUfPneval8g3SDsSvSkYPQkDiD53Q5DxlvxM6yfG9GuYr7QgrASASvGU7-V-qS5G46opZKy8f9rjJ8Zf0ekr9WBwY0jEAq48TsCv2mTXMmgAxvqfbxX7OmjNcdyuHI6Z8IKJmW4Lmy4pcpxwMaTQ/s799/ducks_memoir.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="799" data-original-width="597" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk94UwfMQgruGax61sM0fj7WKO5MpyAn8j9wcUfPneval8g3SDsSvSkYPQkDiD53Q5DxlvxM6yfG9GuYr7QgrASASvGU7-V-qS5G46opZKy8f9rjJ8Zf0ekr9WBwY0jEAq48TsCv2mTXMmgAxvqfbxX7OmjNcdyuHI6Z8IKJmW4Lmy4pcpxwMaTQ/s320/ducks_memoir.png" width="239" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>meezlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09064532853057054875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16667400.post-38119793940174964242023-11-19T19:51:00.002-05:002023-11-19T19:51:30.793-05:0018. Women Talking<p>By Miriam Toews</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf_Pcq01ijhNtstDqqCN_RJoAotWHnJQEAm3qp1E4eB2NWK2cRLaBv_AwqeIGHSJNQBpmHWHjc5RLSZkXBHqg6-pITSln0Z-AMQgYnUVi9BUaCjU6yxdD5_AAa4XLPkIrYM5l8-q5XvR8EcfbAY8tS6JLkZpHvyYHppnf3P8LVCl6wsJsfQgoOUA/s1128/women_talking.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1128" data-original-width="792" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf_Pcq01ijhNtstDqqCN_RJoAotWHnJQEAm3qp1E4eB2NWK2cRLaBv_AwqeIGHSJNQBpmHWHjc5RLSZkXBHqg6-pITSln0Z-AMQgYnUVi9BUaCjU6yxdD5_AAa4XLPkIrYM5l8-q5XvR8EcfbAY8tS6JLkZpHvyYHppnf3P8LVCl6wsJsfQgoOUA/s320/women_talking.jpg" width="225" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>meezlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09064532853057054875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16667400.post-45415168437139726022023-11-13T19:40:00.003-05:002023-11-13T19:40:27.022-05:0017. Revenge of the Librarians<p>By Tom Gauld</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN8L0OLNjAxDty5bYR4nki2dp68wpujW39uNNE0_MIq5M9oRpj_HDscEnTBOK8ZNFJgw5n9Of3dhBtlIhejWH-pNBBoUHXZL7vgtWaau__mqxytVyog_zesMFCLR3yuWwjT5QZ4po-uS5kw-15BCFh9ZetzcjpEpso-C2GogV5_P3O3fIRZY5H8Q/s994/revenge_of_the_librarians.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="563" data-original-width="994" height="181" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN8L0OLNjAxDty5bYR4nki2dp68wpujW39uNNE0_MIq5M9oRpj_HDscEnTBOK8ZNFJgw5n9Of3dhBtlIhejWH-pNBBoUHXZL7vgtWaau__mqxytVyog_zesMFCLR3yuWwjT5QZ4po-uS5kw-15BCFh9ZetzcjpEpso-C2GogV5_P3O3fIRZY5H8Q/s320/revenge_of_the_librarians.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>meezlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09064532853057054875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16667400.post-70149843796632218982023-10-15T13:59:00.003-04:002023-10-15T13:59:24.957-04:0016. The Hot Spot By Charles Williams<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL37abcLsxdlBXlWj2XOL65QeX1oYCXDWRL4ZguSduHB9W1tIZpOiYzJ3ZN2sFi3agRDfY9qoGLN25cc_ar9EdlIWZox7Nm71CJV-X5F15bvYPAHfsksfKAZ4qn2OcOSFGt8zKCwGPd9JIfWDSjDg52xDPUdYjj3ltUDTVYZvN3q2_kOpiY0oZRw/s475/hotspot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="475" data-original-width="317" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL37abcLsxdlBXlWj2XOL65QeX1oYCXDWRL4ZguSduHB9W1tIZpOiYzJ3ZN2sFi3agRDfY9qoGLN25cc_ar9EdlIWZox7Nm71CJV-X5F15bvYPAHfsksfKAZ4qn2OcOSFGt8zKCwGPd9JIfWDSjDg52xDPUdYjj3ltUDTVYZvN3q2_kOpiY0oZRw/s320/hotspot.jpg" width="214" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div>meezlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09064532853057054875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16667400.post-17866490840553487512023-10-03T18:33:00.003-04:002023-10-03T18:33:25.214-04:0015. Son of a Trickster<p>By Eden Robinson</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEalepfmYRhJac_weuMf0lM1ghP449LlwVYpjs6bt2b9_OVmUK-NE-Nra9QtEKWjAS1YxpLZUJR6rgQQqCstqKpZg14sE-3rY5PPSKaVdZP6TTasor20Ugg7sIOACmLztWlh6Nf7mIhF1XOL9Z6_LtTan94i7fJceacTCk-iqrvl38kb2TcHxV1A/s450/son_of_trickster.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="292" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEalepfmYRhJac_weuMf0lM1ghP449LlwVYpjs6bt2b9_OVmUK-NE-Nra9QtEKWjAS1YxpLZUJR6rgQQqCstqKpZg14sE-3rY5PPSKaVdZP6TTasor20Ugg7sIOACmLztWlh6Nf7mIhF1XOL9Z6_LtTan94i7fJceacTCk-iqrvl38kb2TcHxV1A/s320/son_of_trickster.jpeg" width="208" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>meezlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09064532853057054875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16667400.post-20507285362272997552023-09-13T18:49:00.006-04:002023-09-13T18:50:02.831-04:0014. The Starlight Barking<p>By Dodie Smith</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHZ62nZkycUI5ju-NDu58z6vozdhNE95ZmIqjnAjznrwrdxq8SnQ50dZULvFc_2WZL2vBa-665dcGag9walOA2cIUqv6WkGgz9iBiALUsm4KsH11nZi2yxbR5nroQKdguhDEmBcbrRONie0LwAYd0WdQWeOY7LMwawBdvb2bpuNiqh3NE3j9dHGw/s1024/starlight_barking.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="729" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHZ62nZkycUI5ju-NDu58z6vozdhNE95ZmIqjnAjznrwrdxq8SnQ50dZULvFc_2WZL2vBa-665dcGag9walOA2cIUqv6WkGgz9iBiALUsm4KsH11nZi2yxbR5nroQKdguhDEmBcbrRONie0LwAYd0WdQWeOY7LMwawBdvb2bpuNiqh3NE3j9dHGw/s320/starlight_barking.jpg" width="228" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p><br /></p>meezlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09064532853057054875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16667400.post-28303609586685496522023-09-07T22:19:00.049-04:002024-02-04T14:51:25.974-05:0013. Affinity<p>By Sarah Waters</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB-0lS7teU6-s0FBcP1iWtWZW8YMDHR2W73M6Fkn0BCiQzSL_N0GJHPOV-8Zg3VhkuK_KFqGUT5203X5I6-YGI6rsPUfgNigeC5_Wp4riWaqd842HEwU4StD4TtqdqIvfPg7V5QJaXBTZRl_QfGmAIM698zU1yB30WhNfWNbzZYbSSpuNlPHJr2g/s475/affinity_sarahwaters.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="475" data-original-width="305" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB-0lS7teU6-s0FBcP1iWtWZW8YMDHR2W73M6Fkn0BCiQzSL_N0GJHPOV-8Zg3VhkuK_KFqGUT5203X5I6-YGI6rsPUfgNigeC5_Wp4riWaqd842HEwU4StD4TtqdqIvfPg7V5QJaXBTZRl_QfGmAIM698zU1yB30WhNfWNbzZYbSSpuNlPHJr2g/s320/affinity_sarahwaters.jpg" width="205" /></a></div><p>Sarah Waters’ first three novels explored the lives of lesbians in the criminal underworld during the Victorian era. Two I’ve already read some time ago, and finally, Affinity when I spotted this used hardcopy at the People’s Coop Bookstore in
<span face=""Calibri",sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><a href="" target="_blank">Vancouver</a><span style="color: black;"> </span></span><style>@font-face
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{page:WordSection1;}</style> this summer.<br /><br />
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{page:WordSection1;}</style> remains my favourite, with <i>Affinity</i> a close second and<i> </i><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><a href="" target="_blank"><i>Tipping the Velvet</i></a><span style="color: black;"> </span></span><style>@font-face
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{page:WordSection1;}</style> dead last. <i>Affinity</i> (1999) shared many similarities with Fingersmith (2002). It's my belief that after Affinity's success, Waters sharpened her writing skills even further to create the masterpiece that was <i>Fingersmith</i>.<br /> <br />Both novels featured a long, deliberate con game involving two women who have passionate feelings for each other and a terrible betrayal. I admit I fell for the deceptive twist in <i>Affinity</i> (thus launching into major spoiler territory), mainly because Waters did such an excellent job deliberately misleading and/or withholding information from the reader. </p><p>While <i>Fingersmith</i> ended with a hopeful future for our anti-heroines Sue and Maud, <i>Affinity</i> ended tragically with an utterly devastated Margaret Prior, with no hope for forgiveness or redemption. Poor, poor Margaret! Even though I didn't much like her as a character due to her failings and weaknesses, yet Waters managed to make her a sympathetic figure somehow.</p><p>Of the three Prior siblings (Stephen, Margaret, Priscilla), Margaret was closest to her father. We learned via brief “flashbacks” that Margaret lead a fulfilling, intellectual life assisting her father’s scholarly studies. It was accompanying her father to a lecture where she met the brilliant Helen, who was soon employed by Mr Prior as a second assistant. Margaret and Helen fell in love, and under the guise of a close friendship, were able to carry on a secret affair. It was also possible that Mr. Prior encouraged their relationship. In fact, the trio were planning a trip to Italy to further their scholarly pursuits when Mr Prior became ill and died. Helen lost the courage to continue her relationship with Margaret and at some point, accepted Stephen’s proposal of marriage, breaking Margaret’s heart even further, as she was still mourning the loss of her father. Soon after, Margaret tried to kill herself by overdosing in chloral.</p><p><i>Affinity</i> began Margaret’s storyline about a year after her suicide attempt. Margaret had been granted permission to visit Millbank, a rather bleak, Dickensian prison for women. Since suicide was punishable by law (if one was unlucky enough to survive), Margaret was spared the penitentiary as she belonged to the upper-class. Margaret’s motive for becoming a 'lady visitor' of Millbank was never clear; she could’ve been looking for a purpose after recovering from her self-poisoning, and an excuse to get away from her over-bearing mother and self-centred sister, Priscilla. There could’ve been guilt and curiosity mixed in there too, and it’s possible she also wanted to see how miserable the prisoners were to make herself feel better (as Selina so bluntly pointed out to her later).<br /><br />Margaret was also dealing with unresolved feelings for her ex-lover. Helen was an example of a closet lesbian who could adapt by passing as straight and thus, find some measure of happiness within the confines of patriarchal Victorian society. Her marriage to Stephen was a way of staying close to Margaret, not realizing how painful it would be for Margaret to interact with her ex-lover as a sister-in-law. Helen later admitted to Margaret how cowardly it was of her to leave her. In contrast, Margaret was more of a romantic idealist; quiet yet full of passion beneath her meek exterior. She was incapable of faking it by role-playing an upper class normie. Since Margaret failed at taking her own life, she remained trapped in her situation. This
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{page:WordSection1;}</style> explains Margaret's predicament perfectly:<br /></p><blockquote><i>At this stage, Margaret is not yet, technically speaking, a spinster. She becomes so only when her younger sister Priscilla marries a dreamlike suitor, only one day after the official two years of mourning for her father. This marriage was doubly painful for Margaret, firstly because the couple chose Italy for their honeymoon and secondly because, as Margaret reflects, while her social status did not change after her brother married Helen, Priscilla’s wedding completely changed her position within the familial and social structure, transforming her from her ‘mother’s burden’ to ‘her consolation’ (Waters 199), that is, from still marriageable woman past her prime to spinster.</i></blockquote>As a spinster, Margaret was doomed to live alone as a closeted lesbian with her disappointed and domineering mother, watching from the sidelines as Priscilla, Stephen and Helen get on with their conventional lives in Victorian society. However, Margaret was not completely dependent, as she learned from Stephen that their father left her a sizable fortune that would allow her to live out the rest of her life comfortably—as long as she doesn’t marry. Even Selina and Ruth were not able to swindle Margaret’s entire fortune. But what was wealth, really, when you’ve been utterly betrayed, broken-hearted, and emotionally bereft with suicidal tendencies?<br /><p></p><p>What made Margaret somewhat pathetic was how she made the perfect victim for Selina and Ruth's endgame. Selina quickly deduced what her target most longed for and exploited that to her advantage. So much so that Margaret (and Mrs Jelf) became convinced that Selina could make miracles happen, if only she could believe! The part where Margaret was crying out to Selina from her window at night was rather heart-wrenching. </p><p>Now that I think about it, there was usually a rational explanation for all the supposedly supernatural things that occurred around Selina. Like the little violet that Selina was holding when Margeret first saw her. We can assume that Selina already had Mrs Jelf under her influence, and Mrs Jelf was already relaying messages from Ruth to Selina, so Ruth must have gave the violet to Selina via Mrs J as a little gift to keep her spirits up. It was a lucky coincidence that Margaret happened to see Selina with it – a coincidence that savvy Selina was able to exploit to her advantage.<br /><br />I did go back some chapters to check the timing of events. Soon after the Margaret’s initial meeting with the prisoner, Selina Dawes, Selina must have passed a message on to Ruth to look into Margaret to see if she’d make a worthy target. Ruth promptly found out where Margaret lived (and that she was obvs wealthy) and bribed the maid Boyd to give her notice to the Prior family. Before leaving, Boyd mentioned a ‘friend’ named Vigers who was willing to take up the post. Vigers only condition was to be given a small room of her own (to be near her ‘friend’ who lived near the river – a very tiny clue!). Vigers was soon hired into the household and all the author had to do was to never mention the first name of the new maid!<br /><br />That was exactly how Selina was able to “sense” the source of Margret's sadness, as Vigers had been regularly passing intel to Selina via Mrs Jelf! Even if Selina did not possess ANY abilities as a spiritualist-medium, she was cunning and keenly observant (like keying in on the notebook that was peeking out of Margaret’s pocket). She was also a talented method actress – convincingly spooking her prison inmates by mimicking the voices of ghosts. Waters seemed to support the argument that spiritualists being mere tricksters and con artists!</p><p>Another factor that made the twist so successful (for me, at least) was using Selina Dawes as an unreliable narrator, which helped to deliberately mislead the reader. Selina’s journal entries alternated with the chapters containing Margaret’s POV. It was not until the final chapter that we learn how Selina’s accounting of events leading up to that fateful night had been completely falsified. When they were back in Mrs Brinks house, Ruth asked Selina what she was writing, and Selina only responded, rather mysteriously, that she’s writing for her “Guardian’s eyes”. ‘Him’, Ruth said. <br /><br />That was the only clue given. And I have a few theories: Selina may believe in a higher power and/or she has a modicum of conscience, and writing her journal was a way of justifying her deception. However, it was mostly likely that Selina was thinking ahead in terms of the law. If she was ever caught, her journal entries could be used as proof of her ‘innocence’, as she truly believed in her abilities as a spiritualist.</p><p>The only thing I wasn’t sure about was how Selina could've deceived Mrs Brinks when they were alone inside her room each night. It was clear Ruth had access to Mrs Brinks' personal items and could feed intel to Selina. Perhaps Mrs Brinks longed so much to see her departed mother it didn't much for Selina to convince Mrs Brinks that she could summon the spirit of her mother. It was also possible that Ruth drugged Mrs Brinks’ tea so she’d have mild hallucinations. When Margaret came under the spell of Selina, her imagination was heightened by her nightly doses of chloral hydrate and later, laudanum (pushed by her own mother).</p><p>As this
<span face=""Calibri",sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><a href="" target="_blank">reviewer</a></span><style>@font-face
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{page:WordSection1;}</style> wrote: <i>Waters’ captured some of the same Gothic tone of dread and unreality [associated] with Wilkie Collins. As I read it, I had almost as hard a time as the protagonist did figuring out what was real, what was supernatural, and what was skillful con.</i><br /><br />Some further insight on
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{page:WordSection1;}</style>: <br /></p><blockquote>The big one: Ruth was Peter Quick. I didn’t get this the first time, but re-reading it, it was so obvious. Disguised as Peter Quick, Ruth could flirt with the ladies, sidle up close and touch them while Selina was tied up. When the attendants of the seance were helping Selina recover, Ruth would take off her costume and dress in her maid's uniform again. Mrs. Brink never attended the large seances so when she walked in on one and saw Ruth dressed up as Peter, she went into shock, unable to say anything to out Selina as a charlatan before dying of a heart attack.</blockquote><blockquote>Margaret’s ending was even more subtle but we decided from the end of her narrative that she had decided to commit suicide. The line is “Selina…[y]our twisting is done- you have the last thread of my heart. I wonder; when the thread grows slack, will you feel it?” (351). We took the thread going slack as Margaret no longer being alive to hold it up.</blockquote>And finally, from <span style="font-size: 11pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><a href="" target="_blank"><i><span lang="EN" style="font-weight: normal; mso-ansi-language: EN;">Lesbian Invisibility and the Politics of Representation
of the Lady and the Humble Servant in Sarah Waters’s <i><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif" style="mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Affinity</span></i></span></i></a><span style="color: black;"></span></span><p></p>
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{page:WordSection1</style></p><blockquote>Miss Prior’s incapacity to break out of the immaterial prison house of familial and social conventions while Selina and Ruth initiate a new life of freedom, sexual fulfilment, and social ascent, points to class as the decisive blocking element in Margaret’s quest for individuation. However, although her impending suicide provides a chilling picture of the physical and psychical traumas affecting upper-class lesbian women in the Victorian period, it should not be forgotten that Selina is the only convict who manages to break out of Millbank, a tenebrous Gothic prison, designed after Jeremy Bentham’s panopticon so as to keep all inmates potentially under constant surveillance by an unseen official.28 This awe-inspiring picture of the disciplinary mechanisms reserved for poor women in the Victorian era provides the counterpoint to the portrait of the Lady Visitor’s tragic fate. When both pictures are set against each other, it becomes evident that the difference in the punitive and disciplinary treatment of transgressive working-class and upper-class Victorian women was more apparent than real, a simple difference in the materiality or immateriality of the cell they were respectively condemned to inhabit. In the last reading, therefore, Ruth’s double invisibility as a humble lady’s maid and as an apparitional lesbian may be seen as representative of the general condition of late nineteenth-century working-class women forced to fend for themselves in a thoroughly hostile and pitiless patriarchal word. It is against this oppressive background that the ethicality of Selina and Ruth’s self-humbling tactics as a means to accomplish their picaresque quest for freedom and social ascent should be measured.</blockquote><p></p><span style="color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-weight: normal;"></span><span style="color: black; font-size: 11pt;"></span>
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{page:WordSecti</style>All in all, it was a very satisfying, if rather depressing, read. And it more than made up for the dissatisfaction with <i><a href="http://meezly.blogspot.com/2023/08/12-little-women.html" target="_blank">Little Women</a></i>, which I found even more depressing.<br /></p><p></p><p>
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<p><style>@font-face
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{page:WordSection1;}</style></p>meezlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09064532853057054875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16667400.post-39625738412422634232023-08-19T12:51:00.054-04:002023-09-27T09:57:07.774-04:0012. Little WomenBy Louisa May Alcott<div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAgAYR8UFd-vR3tHI_yOhK5aCZojxbxhC8Y6VJLmfiEZh8u8jE8ejfedo5iIXcgHH9V_rtX6_aRuIBBFh6XCUh4IL8EJ7_UAXhAh6ALiF5D3XNuefjP1GhzhorPmvXwPBI7fjsqPzlbnLx-OxUzQNGVW8ESNmTGtwW8l3WsQCfmXqG5k-CfgDI7A/s1340/little_women_penguin_classics.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1340" data-original-width="882" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAgAYR8UFd-vR3tHI_yOhK5aCZojxbxhC8Y6VJLmfiEZh8u8jE8ejfedo5iIXcgHH9V_rtX6_aRuIBBFh6XCUh4IL8EJ7_UAXhAh6ALiF5D3XNuefjP1GhzhorPmvXwPBI7fjsqPzlbnLx-OxUzQNGVW8ESNmTGtwW8l3WsQCfmXqG5k-CfgDI7A/s320/little_women_penguin_classics.jpg" width="211" /></a></div>
<p class="MsoPlainText"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Oh
boy, lemme tell you about <i>Little Women</i>.</span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I
innocently picked it up at Chainon based solely on my limited knowledge that
it’s an enduring and beloved American classic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I’ve watched both Gillian Armstrong + Greta Gerwig’s respective film
adaptations and was completely ignorant of the fact that they had been totally secularized,
as befitting liberal-minded Hollywood. Both films had stripped away any
Christian moralizing that was prevalent in Alcott’s novel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I
was also very much expecting <i>Little Women</i> to be a warm, fuzzy, feel-good read,
but was wholly unprepared for how earnestly wholesome it would be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Gee whiz, I now get why Americans
regard <i>Little Women</i> as a beloved classic – it’s a novel that reflected how
great America once was!</span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Despite the wholesomeness, I was enjoying <i>Little Women</i> for the most part, at least until Chapter 11 when I caught
on that the storylines of the March sisters were merely delivery mechanisms for
preachy morality tales.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> At this point</span>, my interest began to wane and my progress slowed way down.</span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">It
was during this time that I came across <a href="http://meezly.blogspot.com/2023/07/8-ill-be-gone-in-dark.html" target="_blank"><i>I’ll Be Gone in the Dark</i></a> at Chainon. I
would’ve dropped whatever I was reading to embark on this lucky discovery anyway,
but immersing myself in Michelle McNamara’s dogged search for the Golden State
Killer was a welcome break from the gushy, goody-goody-godliness I was being
subjected to with Alcott’s writing. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
didn’t realize how much I longed for “</span><span style="color: #cccccc;"><span lang="EN-US">the darker side of life</span></span><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #595959; mso-themecolor: text1; mso-themetint: 166;">”</span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> until I cracked open McNamara’s book, may she RIP.</span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Once
I finished <a href="http://meezly.blogspot.com/2023/07/8-ill-be-gone-in-dark.html" target="_blank"><i>I’ll Be Gone in the Dark</i></a>, I made a concerted effort to plow through
the rest of LW.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It wasn’t all bad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I realized the film adaptations did a great
job including all the important plot points, ie. how Laurie became part of
the March family, the trials and tribulations of each March sibling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like Austen, Alcott was a keen observer
of societal class differences in 19th c. Massachusetts, especially through the eyes
of the sheltered and naive March sisters. Take Meg, for example. She was so
excited to be invited to a fancy party hosted by an upper-class family, but was
ill-prepared for handling all the gossip directed at her:</span></p><p class="MsoPlainText"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #7f7f7f; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: text1; mso-themetint: 128;"></span></p><blockquote>Those foolish, yet well-meant words, had opened a new world
to Meg, and much disturbed the peace of the old one in which till now she had
lived as happily as a child. Her innocent friendship with Laurie was spoiled by the
silly speeches she had overheard. Her faith in her mother was a little shaken
by the worldly plans attributed to her by Mrs. Moffat, who judged others by
herself, and the sensible resolution to be contented with the simple wardrobe
which suited a poor man’s daughter was weakened by the unnecessary pity of
girls who thought a shabby dress one of the greatest calamities under heaven.</blockquote><p></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Alcott
loved using Meg as an example for various “little lessons” throughout the novel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As the eldest, she was the first to leave the
March household when she married Laurie’s tutor, John.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></p>
<h1 style="margin: 0cm;">
</h1><p class="MsoPlainText"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></p><blockquote><p class="MsoPlainText"><span style="color: #cccccc;"> <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like most other young matrons, Meg began her
married life with the determination to be a model housekeeper. John should find
home a paradise, he should always see a smiling face, should fare sumptuously
every day, and never know the loss of a button. She brought so much love,
energy, and cheerfulness to the work that she could not but succeed, in spite
of some obstacles. Her paradise was not a tranquil one, for the little woman
fussed, was over-anxious to please, and bustled about like a true Martha, cumbered
with many cares….</span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText"><span style="color: #cccccc;"> They were very
happy, even after they discovered that they couldn’t live on love alone. John
did not find Meg’s beauty diminished, though she beamed at him from behind the
familiar coffee pot.</span></p></blockquote><p class="MsoPlainText"></p>
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<h1>
</h1><p class="MsoPlainText">Having married a tutor, Meg was doomed to a penny-pinching life, yet she had a weakness for finery.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When practically cajoled by her wealthy
friend, Meg caved and bought herself an expensive bolt of fabric.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Alcott couldn’t help but use Old Testament
metaphors to drive home her point.</p>
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<h1 style="margin: 0cm;"><span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-size: 11pt; font-weight: normal; mso-themecolor: text1; mso-themetint: 128;"><blockquote><span style="color: #cccccc;">Till now she had done well, been
prudent and exact, kept her little account books neatly, and showed them to him
monthly without fear. But that autumn the serpent got into Meg’s paradise, and
tempted her like many a modern Eve, not with apples, but with dress. Meg didn’t like to be pitied and made
to feel poor. It irritated her, but she was ashamed to confess it, and now and then
she tried to console herself by buying something pretty, so that Sallie needn’t
think she had to economize.</span></blockquote></span></h1>
<p class="MsoPlainText">Because of Meg's greediness, her husband John had to give up on getting a new coat. Meg felt so guilty and realized the error of her ways,
etc.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even before Meg was married, Alcott used Mama March as the primary lesson doler:</p>
<p class="MsoPlainText"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></p><blockquote><p class="MsoPlainText"><span style="color: #cccccc;"> So I thought,
as a little lesson, I would show you what happens when everyone thinks only of
herself. Don’t you feel that it is pleasanter to help one another, to have
daily duties which make leisure sweet when it comes, and to bear and forbear,
that home may be comfortable and lovely to us all?’</span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText"><span style="color: #cccccc;"> ‘We do, Mother
we do!’ cried the girls.</span> <br /></p></blockquote>
<p class="MsoPlainText">Good Lord, even Austen didn’t write with such
earnestness!</p><p class="MsoPlainText"> </p>
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<p class="MsoPlainText">I think most everyone’s favourite character was Jo.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As the tomboy of the family, Jo was the one
with a promising future as a spinster (Beth being doomed to a life of illness and death).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She didn’t even have any romantic feelings for Laurie, which was
refreshing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When Laurie’s obsession with
Jo was getting too intense, she moved to the city to work as a governess.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She lived in a rooming house ran by a
respectable family friend, and it was there that she befriended the older Mr
Bhaer, who used to be a professor in Germany and was now making a living as a tutor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What was cool about Jo was that unlike her
sisters, she had a talent and passion - she loved writing and became a
“sensational writer” to supplement her income.</p>
<p class="MsoPlainText"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText">Unfortunately, Alcott had plans for Jo and her adventures
as a genre writer would soon come to an end.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></p>
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{page:WordSection1;}</style><h1 style="margin: 0cm;"><span style="color: #595959; font-size: 11pt; font-weight: normal; mso-themecolor: text1; mso-themetint: 166;"></span></h1>
<blockquote><p class="MsoPlainText"><span style="color: #cccccc;">Following Mr.
Dashwood’s directions… Jo rashly took a plunge into the frothy sea of
sensational literature… Like most young scribblers, she went abroad for her
characters and scenery, and banditti, counts, gypsies, nuns, and duchesses
appeared upon her stage, and played their parts with as much accuracy and
spirit as could be expected. Her readers were not particular about such trifles
as grammar, punctuation, and probability, and Mr. Dashwood graciously permitted
her to fill his columns at the lowest prices, not thinking it necessary to tell
her that the real cause of his hospitality was the fact that one of his hacks,
on being offered higher wages, had basely left him in the lurch. </span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText"><span style="color: #cccccc;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText"><span style="color: #cccccc;"> She soon became
interested in her work, for her emaciated purse grew stout, and the little
hoard she was making to take Beth to the mountains next summer grew slowly but
surely as the weeks passed. One thing disturbed her satisfaction, and that was
that she did not tell them at home. She had a feeling that Father and Mother
would not approve, and preferred to have her own way first, and beg pardon
afterward. It was easy to keep her secret, for no name appeared with her
stories… </span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText"><span style="color: #cccccc;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText"><span style="color: #cccccc;"> She thought it
would do her no harm, for she sincerely meant to write nothing of which she
would be ashamed, and quieted all pricks of conscience by anticipations of the
happy minute when she should show her earnings and laugh over her well-kept
secret.</span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText"><span style="color: #cccccc;"> But Mr.
Dashwood rejected any but thrilling tales, and as thrills could not be produced
except by harrowing up the souls of the readers, history and romance, land and
sea, science and art, police records and lunatic asylums, had to be ransacked
for the purpose. </span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText"><span style="color: #cccccc;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText"><span style="color: #cccccc;"> Jo soon found
that her innocent experience had given her but few glimpses of the tragic world
which underlies society, so regarding it in a business light, she set about
supplying her deficiencies with characteristic energy. Eager to find material
for stories, and bent on making them original in plot, if not masterly in
execution, she searched newspapers for accidents, incidents, and crimes. She
excited the suspicions of public librarians by asking for works on poisons. She
studied faces in the street, and characters, good, bad, and indifferent, all
about her. She delved in the dust of ancient times for facts or fictions so old
that they were as good as new, and introduced herself to folly, sin, and
misery, as well as her limited opportunities allowed. She thought she was
prospering finely, but unconsciously she was beginning to desecrate some of the
womanliest attributes of a woman’s character. She was living in bad society,
and imaginary though it was, its influence affected her, for she was feeding
heart and fancy on dangerous and unsubstantial food, and was fast brushing the
innocent bloom from her nature by a premature acquaintance with the darker side
of life, which comes soon enough to all of us.</span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText"><span style="color: #cccccc;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText"><span style="color: #cccccc;"> She was
beginning to feel rather than see this, for much describing of other people’s
passions and feelings set her to studying and speculating about her own, --a
morbid amusement in which healthy young minds do not voluntarily indulge.
Wrongdoing always brings its own punishment, and when Jo most needed hers, she
got it.</span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText"><span style="color: #cccccc;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText"><span style="color: #cccccc;"> I don’t know
whether the study of Shakespeare helped her to read character, or the natural
instinct of a woman for what was honest, brave, and strong, but while endowing
her imaginary heroes with every perfection under the sun, Jo was discovering a
live hero, who interested her in spite of many human imperfections. Mr. Bhaer,
in one of their conversations, had advised her to study simple, true, and
lovely characters, wherever she found them, as good training for a writer. Jo
took him at his word, for she coolly turned round and studied him—a proceeding
which would have much surprised him, had he know it, for the worthy Professor
was very humble in his own conceit.</span></p></blockquote><p class="MsoPlainText"></p>
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<span face=""Calibri", sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; font-weight: normal;">YAWN.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So
much for </span>
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{page:WordSection1;}</style><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-weight: normal;"> Jo's <a href="https://meezly.blogspot.com/2008/08/book-7-my-brilliant-career.html" target="_blank">brilliant career</a>. </span><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-weight: normal;">According
to this <a href="https://www.vox.com/culture/2019/12/27/21037870/little-women-greta-gerwig-ending-jo-laurie-amy-bhaer" target="_blank">article</a>,</span><span style="color: #4f81bd; mso-themecolor: accent1;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></h1><blockquote><p style="margin: 0cm; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #4f81bd; mso-themecolor: accent1;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-weight: normal;">Alcott originally intended for her story to
end with Jo as a “literary spinster,” much like Alcott herself. But Alcott’s
publishers insisted that Jo had to marry someone, that the book would be
unsaleable otherwise. And so, although “much afflicted” by their demands,
Alcott wrote to her friend, she had concocted a solution “out of perversity.”
She invented dour and dictatorial Friedrich Bhaer as a “funny match” for Jo.
Laurie she disposed of by marrying him off to Amy. </span></span></span></p>
<p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><span style="color: #4f81bd; mso-themecolor: accent1;">“Girls write to ask who
the little women will marry, as if that was the only end and aim of a woman’s
life,” </span><a href="https://books.google.com/books?id=HfJwBgAAQBAJ&pg=PT21&lpg=PT21&dq=%22I+won%E2%80%99t+marry+Jo+to+Laurie+to+please+anyone.%E2%80%9D&source=bl&ots=KA21sGi1Il&sig=ACfU3U2Ry8rF5Gg6K4pcCPPm8NPg-x9hIA&hl=en&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwjVmLXwxtPmAhUrWN8KHRKODxg4ChDoATACegQICBAB#v=onepage&q=%22I%20won%E2%80%99t%20marry%20Jo%20to%20Laurie%20to%20please%20anyone.%E2%80%9D&f=false"><span style="color: #4f81bd; mso-themecolor: accent1;">she wrote in a letter to a friend</span></a><span style="color: #4f81bd; mso-themecolor: accent1;"> in 1869. But: “I won’t marry Jo
to Laurie to please anyone.” </span></span></p>
<p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><span style="color: #4f81bd; mso-themecolor: accent1;">Alcott was intentionally
being perverse in her invention of Bhaer, but it’s unlikely that any ending she
wrote that involved marrying off Jo would ever be truly satisfying. </span></span></p></blockquote><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><span style="color: #4f81bd; mso-themecolor: accent1;"></span></span></p>
<p>Ok, that's very interesting. So Jo was meant to be a spinster.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Even so, if Alcott was pressured by her publishers to marry off Jo, Alcott
still had some very conservative ideology she was perpetuating via Jo.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jo willingly gave up a lucrative writing career and
whatever intellectual potential she had was quashed by her Christian
values.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<h1>
</h1><p class="MsoPlainText">Once when I was a naïve youth, I went to church and
studied the bible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I eventually became
an atheist after reading Carl Sagan and allowing my mind to open up to new ideas, even uncomfortable ones that can result in existential angst.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It wasn’t something that happened overnight,
but over time, I came to realize how much I was using Christianity as a
crutch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Reading <i>Little Women</i> really
cemented these feelings for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
following section was PRECISELY the reason why I became an atheist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Religion is a barrier to true knowledge, and
prevents us from learning about our true selves and the world around us.</p><blockquote>
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<h1 style="margin: 0cm;"><span style="color: #595959; font-size: 11pt; font-weight: normal; mso-themecolor: text1; mso-themetint: 166;"></span></h1>
<p class="MsoPlainText"><span style="color: #cccccc;"> Before the
evening was half over, Jo felt so completely disillusioned, that she sat down
in a corner to recover herself. Mr. Bhaer soon joined her, looking rather out
of his element, and presently several of the philosophers, each mounted on his
hobby, came ambling up to hold an intellectual tournament in the recess. The
conversations were miles beyond Jo’s comprehension, but she enjoyed it, though
Kant and Hegel were unknown gods, the Subjective and Objective unintelligible
terms, and the only thing ‘evolved from her inner consciousness’ was a bad
headache after it was all over. It dawned upon her gradually that the world was
being picked to pieces, and put together on new and, according to the talkers,
on infinitely better principles than before, that religion was in a fair way to
be reasoned into nothingness, and intellect was to be the only God. Jo knew
nothing about philosophy or metaphysics of any sort, but a curious excitement,
half pleasurable, half painful, came over her as she listened with a sense of
being turned adrift into time and space, like a young balloon out on a holiday.</span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText"><span style="color: #cccccc;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText"><span style="color: #cccccc;"> She looked
round to see how the Professor liked it, and found him looking at her with the
grimmest expression she had ever seen him wear. He shook his head and beckoned
her to come away, but she was fascinated just then by the freedom of
Speculative Philosophy, and kept her seat, trying to find out what the wise
gentlemen intended to rely upon after they had annihilated all the old beliefs.</span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText"><span style="color: #cccccc;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText"><span style="color: #cccccc;"> Now, Mr. Bhaer
was a diffident man and slow to offer his own opinions, not because they were
unsettled, but too sincere and earnest to be lightly spoken. As he glanced from
Jo to several other young people, attracted by the brilliancy of the
philosophic pyrotechnics, he knit his brows and longed to speak, fearing that
some inflammable young soul would be led astray by the rockets, to find when
the display was over that they had only an empty stick or a scorched hand.</span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText"><span style="color: #cccccc;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText"><span style="color: #cccccc;"> He bore it as
long as he could, but when he was appealed to for an opinion, he blazed up with
honest indignation and defended religion with all the eloquence of truth—an
eloquence which made his broken English musical and his plain face beautiful.
He had a hard fight, for the wise men argued well, but he didn’t know when he
was beaten and stood to his colors like a man.</span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText"><span style="color: #cccccc;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText"><span style="color: #cccccc;"> Somehow, as he
talked, the world got right again to Jo. The old beliefs, that had lasted so
long, seemed better than the new. God was not a blind force, and immortality
was not a pretty fable, but a blessed fact. She felt as if she had solid ground
under her feet again, and when Mr. Bhaer paused, outtalked but not one whit
convinced, Jo wanted to clap her hands and thank him.</span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText"><span style="color: #cccccc;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText"><span style="color: #cccccc;"> She did
neither, but she remembered the scene, and gave the Professor her heartiest
respect, for she knew it cost him an effort to speak out then and there,
because his conscience would not let him be silent. She began to see that
character is a better possession than money, rank, intellect, or beauty, and to
feel that if greatness is what a wise man has defined it to be, ‘truth,
reverence, and good will’, then her friend Friedrich Bhaer was not only good,
but great.</span> <br /></p></blockquote>
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{page:WordSection1;</style><h1 style="margin: 0cm;"><span style="color: #595959; font-size: 11pt; font-weight: normal; mso-themecolor: text1; mso-themetint: 166;"></span></h1>
<p class="MsoPlainText">Excuse me while I barf in my mouth. </p><p class="MsoPlainText"> </p>
<p class="MsoPlainText">So Alcott was basically saying that whenever a good
Christian’s comfort zone gets shaken by new ideas, or if they’re forced to
think so much that it hurts their head, then one must cling to our comforting
beliefs even more!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Any flicker of
intellectual curiosity Jo had (and was admired for) was quickly
extinguished by Bhaer’s heroic speech to adhere to the old ways.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Friedrich Bhaer may be a solid and kindly old
coot, but he was certainly no thinker.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>For Jo to revere such a conservative traditionalist was really quite stomach
churning (and I love horror fiction).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even if Alcott was being
perverse in pairing Jo with Friedrich, it was such an odd way to go about
it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anyone who was already God-fearing
certainly wouldn’t read it that way and would take their relationship at face
value. Alcott may have been perverse, but she was by no means subversive.<br /></p><p class="MsoPlainText"> </p>
<p class="MsoPlainText">At this point, I still had another 150 pages to go in
this almost 500-page tome. I wanted so much to get <i>Little Women</i> out of the way, but not before being subjected to one final lesson involving Meg, this time in her role as a young mother.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Turned out Meg had been spoiling her toddler
by giving him a sweet as a kind of bribe so that he’d fall asleep in bed
instead of coming down and demanding treats. So her husband had to step in and
intervene with some tough, fatherly love.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></p>
<p>
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</p><p class="MsoPlainText"></p><blockquote><p class="MsoPlainText"><span style="color: #cccccc;">It was not all Paradise by any means, but everyone was
better for the division of labor system. The children throve under the paternal
rule, for accurate, steadfast John brought order and obedience into Babydom,
while Meg recovered her spirits and composed her nerves by plenty of wholesome
exercise, a little pleasure, and much confidential conversation with her
sensible husband…</span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText"><span style="color: #cccccc;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText"><span style="color: #cccccc;"> This household
happiness did not come all at once, but John and Meg had found the key to it,
and each year of Married life taught them how to use it, unlocking the
treasuries of real home love and mutual helpfulness, which the poorest may
possess, and the richest cannot buy.</span></p></blockquote><p class="MsoPlainText"></p>
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<p class="MsoPlainText">Once again, silly Meg.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Sensible John.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Good God.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were indeed some great lessons there –
if one was struggling to live as a white woman in patriarchal Christian
society.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText">When I finally finished LW, I was curious what
conservative fans of Alcott’s classic thought about Gerwig’s adaptation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To my surprise, I found fairly measured
reviews from a couple of conservative rags:</p>
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{page:WordSection1;}</style><p class="MsoPlainText"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #7f7f7f; mso-themecolor: text1; mso-themetint: 128;"></span></p><blockquote><span style="font-size: small;">Ms. Gerwig’s retelling of <a href="https://bradbirzer.com/2020/06/09/the-economics-of-marriage-in-greta-gerwigs-little-women-the-imaginative-conservative/" target="_blank"><i>Little Women</i></a> maintains the
major aspects of Alcott’s beloved novel, but rearranges them to serve as a
commentary on the very real lack of economic opportunities available to middle-
and upper-class women (really, the genteel poor) in nineteenth-century America.</span></blockquote><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;">Gerwig’s rendition of <i><a href=" https://www.theamericanconservative.com/little-women-2019-another-feckless-feminist-rendering/" target="_blank">Little Women</a> </i>intimates that
women were, by and large, unhappy in their roles as wives and mothers, and that
women were domestic because people at that time thought that homemaking was
simply “all a woman (was) fit for.” </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;">Alcott’s own words, however, suggest that women took on the
work of rearing a family by consent, and that they chose to do so out of
conviction, not oppression. Though she herself never married, Alcott called
being a wife and mother a woman’s “highest honor” and the home a woman’s
“happiest kingdom.” </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;">Alcott’s characters exemplify this positive view of
marriage and sacrifice again and again, not because they are oppressed, but as
an expression of love. In the novel, Amy’s love for Laurie motivates her to
give up vain habits and pursuits. In Alcott’s words, “she didn’t care to be a
queen of society now half as much as she did to be a lovable woman.” </span></p>
<h1>
</h1><p class="MsoPlainText"> </p><p class="MsoPlainText">Even though I didn’t exactly enjoy <i>Little Women</i> as much as I
thought I would due to my prior misconceptions, I did learn some things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, had I known what I was really
getting myself into, I would’ve avoided <i>Little Women</i> altogether.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For the time it took me to read it, I
could’ve read two thought-provoking books instead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is why I’m noting all my thoughts down,
to make the most of all that time spent reading such offensive material!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Right now, I just want to watch the most
graphically depraved horror movie I can find to cleanse myself of all this
wretched wholesomeness!!</p>
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{page:WordSection1;}</style><div><br /></div>meezlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09064532853057054875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16667400.post-4723248815237224532023-08-12T19:10:00.269-04:002023-08-18T13:06:08.266-04:00Book Hunting in Vancouver <p><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">Our annual summer visit in Vancouver is almost at an end. Olman and I found quite a few books on our respective lists, mostly due to Olman’s perpetual need to hunt for used books.</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;"> </span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">I found a modest seven while Olman acquired 27!</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;"> </span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">Guess it makes sense since he tends to consume at least 4X more books than I do each year.</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;"> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCzebn7YaMEE-t4d9_JDHUWYbjfdk9ne9psCtmlBd_GKLOQ5AvtV_kYeZCkgmluB6ntdb30O9TRuVa02JBR-5RPiBzei3qwN3BMpIQcSnarpruY0LucKyGcmWqXe31YwQRdmaMM63DxTxX2ajAyVGrG1qpIQ_X3fIBnMFleJX7miyf_U1G5Vx6xw/s800/Book_finds_Vanc2023.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="646" data-original-width="800" height="258" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCzebn7YaMEE-t4d9_JDHUWYbjfdk9ne9psCtmlBd_GKLOQ5AvtV_kYeZCkgmluB6ntdb30O9TRuVa02JBR-5RPiBzei3qwN3BMpIQcSnarpruY0LucKyGcmWqXe31YwQRdmaMM63DxTxX2ajAyVGrG1qpIQ_X3fIBnMFleJX7miyf_U1G5Vx6xw/s320/Book_finds_Vanc2023.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">My own hunt began at Kestrel Books on 4th Ave and Dunbar.</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;"> </span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">We made a stop there on our way to see the feral rabbits of Locarno Beach.</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;"> </span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">First, we had lunch at Mr Red Cafe, a Vietnamese restaurant on West Broadway.</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;"> </span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">Olman and the kid walked while I drove.</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;"> </span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">Olman already found a book or two at a freebie sidewalk book nook on their way to meet me.</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;"> </span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">Then I drove to park near Kestrel Books while O & kid walked over there to meet me (the idea was to walk to Locarno Beach from there).</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;"> </span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">There was a yard sale on Dunbar & 8th, but it wasn't your typical run-of-the-mill one</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">.</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;"> </span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">The seller was </span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">a middle-aged woman</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;"> dressed in elegant-casual attire and her wares were all vintage or designer pieces.</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;"> </span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">Everything was tasteful, and I spent some time admiring her wares, but nothing was less than $15!!</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;"> </span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">The exception were two Christmas ornaments that were 5 bucks each.</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;"> </span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">There was a very cute bracelet with the beads making an unusual colour-block pattern, but the price tag was 15 clams.</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;"> </span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">The elastic was a bit stretched out, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to haggle and then restring the bracelet myself.</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;"> </span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">But sheesh!</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;"> </span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">Imagine being priced out of a damn yard sale in tony Kitsilano!</span><div><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: 12px;"><br /></span></span>
<p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">But I digress. I found Katherena Vermette’s <i>The Break</i> at Kestrel Books. Then at the last minute, I spotted Helen MacDonald's <i>H is for Hawk</i> in the Nature shelf by the cash register, and got that too. My friend Heejune hD highly recommended <i>The Break</i>, after I mentioned I wanted to read more indigenous authors, and <i>H is for Hawk</i> was part of my long-term interest to read books that involve falconry-related themes, as the author was influenced by TS White's <i>The Goshawk</i>.</p>
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<p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">One positive outcome during this trip was the voracious speed at which our kid was reading. Before our trip, she was primarily interested in comics and graphic novels, deigning to open a non-picture book only if it was super appealing to her. I borrowed <i>Amari & the Night Brothers</i> from the Mordecai Richler library, thinking that she’ll read a few pages here and there, and then we’ll find her more stuff to read after we arrive in Vancouver. Last summer, we found a bunch of graphic novels for her at Tanglewood on West Broadway.</p>
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<p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Surprisingly, the kid finished <i>Amari</i> within a few days. While Olman was off doing the Grouse Grind with a friend from Nanaimo, I drove over to Tanglewood to see if they had any YA books. Google said they opened at 10 am on Monday, so I naively showed up a few minutes after 10. When 10:15 approached, I started to get a little nervous as I also had to feed the kid lunch before her first afternoon at pony camp in Southlands. There was a bustling cafe next door and a man in a wheelchair sitting out front with a coffee who mentioned he regularly sold his books at Tanglewood, so I asked him what time the store usually opens? He responded with something like don’t worry, he’ll be there soon.</p>
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<p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Sure enough, I looked across Broadway and knew immediately that the rumpled guy with a plastic bag full of books waiting for the light to cross was the Tanglewood guy. He walked past me and wheelchair man, unlocked the door and entered without a word. By this time, it was 10:20am. While he was bringing a shelf out, I asked, “Am I allowed to go inside?”. He replied, “Yes of course!”. I now realize people who work at used book shops are a peculiar sort. I recalled how earlier this summer the university aged assistant at The Word shortchanged me a dollar for my two Shirley Jackson trade paperbacks, even after using a calculator! The total came to $14, I gave him a twenty, and he only gave me back $5. After a pause, I asked, shouldn’t I get $6 back? He went no, I think that’s right. I punched it in the calculator. Then the bespectacled manager approached and asked if everything was ok, and I summarized our transaction. He paused for a second to mentally calculate and went, no, five sounds right. He was really nice about it, saying, that booksellers aren’t usually great at math, so counting change isn’t their strong suit. By now, I’m feeling a bit unsure of myself, so I didn’t press it by making the young guy re-enter the amounts into the calculator. But after I left and got on my bike, I thought about it, and realized I had been right the whole damn time! I even stopped to whip out my phone to do the calculation. I felt rather disappointed in myself for letting two grown educated men think they were erroneously right, so I immediately called The Word to let the young guy know that he was WRONG ALL ALONG. He apologized and said that I could come back and he'd give me my dollar. I replied that I was too far away now, but I just wanted to let him know (it was the principle of it!) in case he shortchanged another poor sod.</p>
<p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: 12px;">Anyways, I digress with my bemusement at slacker booksellers. The YA selection in Tanglewood was disappointing, but my anxious wait for Tanglewood to open turned out to be a mixed blessing as it gave me an opportunity to study their window display. I spotted a copy of </span></span><i style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">Vancouver Vice: Crime and Spectacle </i><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: 12px;"><i>in the City's West End</i> and knew that I had to read it. Author Aaron Chapman was a year ahead of me at UBC film school. I didn’t know him, but my classmate Chris was friends with him. I remember going to a couple of The Real McKenzie shows back in the day (Aaron played bass in a kilt and leather jacket). The copy of </span></span><i style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">Vancouver Vice</i><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: 12px;"> was actually brand new, as Tanglewood featured a small selection of new books, but I didn’t mind paying retail price.</span></span></p>
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<p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Of course, Olman couldn’t help but start reading <i>Vancouver Vice</i> shortly after I brought it back to the apartment. I told him that I have first dibs reading that book, but I needn’t have worried, as he <a href="http://olmansfifty.blogspot.com/2023/08/62-vancouver-vice-crime-and-spectacle.html" target="_blank">finished it within two days</a> before I even started on the first chapter! He really enjoyed it and found it very fascinating. Sure enough, <i><a href="https://meezly.blogspot.com/2023/08/10-vancouver-vice-crime-and-spectacle.html" target="_blank">Vancouver Vice</a></i> proved to be a great vacation book to read during our stay.</p>
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<p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">We ended up cramming most of our social visits within the first week of our two week visit, as most of our friends and family were commencing their vacations during our second week in Vancouver. Before meeting friends for dinner @ Cozen on Commercial Drive, we visited the People’s Coop Bookstore. Olman found a big haul, while I found a hardback of Sarah Water’s <i>Affinity</i> (yay, finally! It’s the last of the 3 <a href="https://meezly.blogspot.com/2016/02/1-tipping-velvet.html" target="_blank">Victorian era Waters books</a> that I have yet to read). I had also found <i>The Last Story of Mina Lee</i>, but decided against it, as it was a large format paperback. The best find was from the kid: the first 3 volumes of <i>The Land of Stories</i> series by Chris Colfer. Her classmate Olivia had read them and really liked them, so she thought she’d give ‘em a go. There were also volumes 5 & 6, but 4 was missing, but we thought that the 3 volumes would be enough to keep her occupied for the rest of the trip (boy were we wrong).</p>
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<p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Sure enough, the kid tore through first 2 books within a few days, and was a good chunk into the 3rd when I decided to call nearby shops to see if they had the 4th one. No luck at Tanglewood, but miraculously, Kestrel had the 4th volume! We made a detour so I could pick it up on our way to either drop off the kid at Pony Camp. Btw, Southlands Heritage Farm was such a very special place. They offer half day camps doing farming and pony/horse care, and it only occurred to me this year to sign the kid up for the pony camp as she loves riding horses. The only catch is that it’s aimed for beginners, so she was always led by someone when she was riding, but I think she had a nice experience overall. </p>
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<p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Fast forward to our second and last week in Vancouver. We drove out to Aldergrove to experience the Otter Coop Waterpark, which had been recommended by my friend Heather. We would not normally make the 1 hour and 20 min drive for a water park, but Aldergrove is only a 15 min drive for my brother, who’s been living in Abbotsford with his wife and dog for the past few years. So I thought we’d make it a day - do the water park for the afternoon, and then see my brother for dinner at a nearby restaurant. His wife stayed home as their precious dog has abandonment anxiety, and an invite to their home was never offered. My mom’s opinion of her DIL has dropped significantly in recent years but I won’t go into detail. It helped that the water park admission was very affordable, and my bro offered to pay for dinner. We had about 45 minutes to kill between the end of our water park session and the 5:30 reservation at Hizame, but luckily we found a Salvation Army thrift store nearby. It was there that I spotted a pristine hardcover of Miriam Toews' <i>Women Talking</i> - pristine in that it was a library book that still had labels stuck to it and the plastic cover, but had never been checked out. And according to the pricing, it was only 25 cents! What made that copy particularly intriguing was that it once belonged to the Middle and High Library of the Langley Christian School. I thought, how interesting that a Christian school would acquire <i>Women Talking</i>, as the subject matter deals with rape/sexual assault within a remote Mennonite community! I wonder if someone caught on and banned the book since how did this apparently unread copy end up at a thrift store?</p><p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">On top of the fact that the price was dirt cheap, another reason I decided to get <i>Women Talking</i> (actually Olman purchased it along with a few books that he found) was because I had an enjoyable time with John & Christine during their last Montreal visit. A bunch of their friends gathered at the Pelican Bar terrasse and were having a laugh at a funny anecdote. A number of them were at a premiere screening of Sarah Polley's adaptation of <i>Women Talking</i>, and Dave had brought along his parents, who seemed to be the only ones who weren't enjoying the film at all, and were particularly vocal about it. At some point, our drinks arrived and we all cheered to this and that, and I went, "To parents talking!" which got some smiles. A rare moment of wit from yours truly!</p>
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<p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">The following day was Friday, our second last day in Vancouver. The plan was to have dim sum with Olman’s cousin and his wife at Dynasty on Broadway and Willow, then drive out to Commercial Drive to visit the People’s Coop again cuz guess what, the kid had finished V4 of <i>The Land of Stories</i>. Fortunately, they still had volumes 5 & 6 in stock! Even better, we were able to give them V1-4 (they didn't do trades but the nice woman gave a 30% discount on the purchase). But not having a book to read for the kid proved to be bad timing during dim sum. Olman's cousin's kids weren't able to attend so poor Rambo was so bored while the grownups kept talking and talking! Thankfully, when it came time to meet my Mom and her friend Margaret for dinner in Richmond, the kid delved into volume 5. I gotta say, the food at Kirin Restaurant was quite disappointing compared to the excellent Sun Siu Wah the week before. I'm gonna have to note that next time I order a Fu Tuan meal delivery for the parents.</p><p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">And since we were heading back to Kits and had the afternoon to kill, Olman wanted to check out Pulp Fiction on Main St, cuz god knows, he wasn’t satisfied with the 20+ books he'd already accumulated during his visit. This suited the kid fine as she had V5 to occupy herself with while Olman and I perused. This was where I finally found Eden Robinson’s <i>Son of a Trickster</i>. There was also <i>Trickster Drift</i>, but <i>Return of the Trickster</i> was hardbound, which I didn’t want. The trade paperbacks of the first two Trickster books were in excellent condition and kinda pricey ($12 and $10). Olman couldn’t help but feel a bit miffed that the cashier exclaimed “Eden Robinson!” In an approving way after I placed the books on the counter (she didn’t show any enthusiasm for <i>his</i> books when he paid for them). When we were driving back home, Olman made a comment about how he found Pulp Fiction rather soulless, but I think it was a result of his widdle ego being slightly bruised. I guess he had a point, but it’s more like Pulp Fiction is more hipster and self-conscious than the typically shabby used bookshop.</p>
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<p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">He probably prefers the drab mustiness of First Books located just one street over on Kingsway, manned by an eccentric old guy who’s about to retire, mostly due to rent increase. We were there the previous week - I think we made a stop on our way to Heather’s son’s birthday party after picking up the kid from pony camp. We had meant to go to Pulp Fiction but Olman wanted to check out First Books first and ended up with several good finds. That was the only shop where I didn’t find anything on my list. It was also the most depressing as we felt a bit bad for the old bookseller as his situation reminded me of SW Welch - all too familiar. But afterward, we had a lovely time at Heather’s place, staying much later than we anticipated. According to her son (who’s just a little older than the kid), it was the best birthday ever! The highlight for the kids was when they (I think there were 8 of them in total including two 13 yos) walked several blocks to get a treat at the Starbucks on East Hastings at 9:30pm. Rambo came back with a Frappuccino without the coffee! This was before they had brought out the ice cream cake. This might be the only time I can remember where the kid was not able to finish her portion of birthday cake!</p>
<p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;">When it came to packing time, Olman was naturally the most anxious as he had 27 books to contend with. Fortunately he had elite Aeroplan status and he was allowed two free checked luggage. He decided to get a box to split up the weight of the books, as well as the two boxes of Richmond blueberries that he wanted to smuggle back. I had no problem packing my newly acquired books into my mid-sized suitcase.</p><p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">All in all, I feel that our life is centered enough around books that writing about them is almost semi-autobiographical!</p><div><br /></div></div>meezlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09064532853057054875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16667400.post-15520719314847951352023-08-09T20:04:00.003-04:002023-08-18T12:31:23.724-04:0011. Vancouver Vice: Crime and Spectacle in the City's West End<p>By Aaron Chapman</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigGiAyWatk17MFVWEY-6Vh3jIVIkdyq3JKUHMOmZ1CWq3z-hBbLK4ThcDTYa12tVl9FjwpobzIwpjIaVvh5bD2C-4h7ov14hzDiMT7JggZGlo1Av5KxaExKVuM1NXaO6f6JHSBsJ-qWcqhsc5y5VKYCykc5zfdqtHVdzlsGuoQPC32zqIc3UypdQ/s614/VancouverVice.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="614" data-original-width="430" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigGiAyWatk17MFVWEY-6Vh3jIVIkdyq3JKUHMOmZ1CWq3z-hBbLK4ThcDTYa12tVl9FjwpobzIwpjIaVvh5bD2C-4h7ov14hzDiMT7JggZGlo1Av5KxaExKVuM1NXaO6f6JHSBsJ-qWcqhsc5y5VKYCykc5zfdqtHVdzlsGuoQPC32zqIc3UypdQ/s320/VancouverVice.jpg" width="224" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>meezlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09064532853057054875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16667400.post-55217472993401860682023-08-03T18:29:00.012-04:002023-08-18T12:31:10.400-04:0010. Enola Holmes: The Case of the Missing Marquess<p> By Nancy Springer</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOVO3E2N8QnSmxUvCoPfzyIi8iHBPC1U5UDRqaxkzO6xMPnyvKJQLjXiLOr4vvGI3tRMKCFxv1sPA1eEXIXeEnc6n-5pVZkDZ8XwDl8H_y3JlxNJUXpbQOWeQSE02j_SrShni6UpZJ61iQgwrnq66wGRnd4EUJcOTPB1KYI1GBUJOJoAqVI_qv0Q/s767/EnolaHolmes_MissingMarquess.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="767" data-original-width="500" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOVO3E2N8QnSmxUvCoPfzyIi8iHBPC1U5UDRqaxkzO6xMPnyvKJQLjXiLOr4vvGI3tRMKCFxv1sPA1eEXIXeEnc6n-5pVZkDZ8XwDl8H_y3JlxNJUXpbQOWeQSE02j_SrShni6UpZJ61iQgwrnq66wGRnd4EUJcOTPB1KYI1GBUJOJoAqVI_qv0Q/s320/EnolaHolmes_MissingMarquess.jpg" width="209" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>meezlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09064532853057054875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16667400.post-87452761432166495062023-07-24T15:54:00.003-04:002023-08-18T12:30:55.224-04:009. I'll Be Gone in the Dark<p>By Michelle McNamara</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVsbrb8fLKd1Ye4a_JkUhcWiDtSYZQvEq2oguYJ9ZS9u4zcEKQTDb2FcEcBtvGupI2GKfP_OMFxlnUxfhicASbh0UnICmhQR8zZkjRRghwkBeYJfV0hUFbzYdhLX2eUpE5FHHmuThjNb84HMPcnHM6-23nPOi7bVdqnsAlHAFTbp23PIeayX5xkQ/s614/Ill_Be_Gone_in_the_Dark.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="614" data-original-width="407" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVsbrb8fLKd1Ye4a_JkUhcWiDtSYZQvEq2oguYJ9ZS9u4zcEKQTDb2FcEcBtvGupI2GKfP_OMFxlnUxfhicASbh0UnICmhQR8zZkjRRghwkBeYJfV0hUFbzYdhLX2eUpE5FHHmuThjNb84HMPcnHM6-23nPOi7bVdqnsAlHAFTbp23PIeayX5xkQ/s320/Ill_Be_Gone_in_the_Dark.jpg" width="212" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>meezlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09064532853057054875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16667400.post-61077268969297739562023-07-02T12:28:00.012-04:002023-08-18T12:33:32.178-04:008. Le Printemps de Sakura<p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">By Marie Jaffredo <br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeNak52mp-y41n_dvaiyhgbluFektw4bSSc5XJrhagDuqQCTswtB_Vdjvlo7ctrPiHdNdM2f2dfSIuNqeAYLyBqiUJPdtSewdF59MHpAWof0wnu9uVn2R6IXsos8YrCTnJL2AQn_O0M9fcyfPyUBY0CuIM1BdZ7ZQii4_-OQPh0Gpgba0BrY1EDw/s817/lePrintempsDeSakura_bd.jpeg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="817" data-original-width="600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeNak52mp-y41n_dvaiyhgbluFektw4bSSc5XJrhagDuqQCTswtB_Vdjvlo7ctrPiHdNdM2f2dfSIuNqeAYLyBqiUJPdtSewdF59MHpAWof0wnu9uVn2R6IXsos8YrCTnJL2AQn_O0M9fcyfPyUBY0CuIM1BdZ7ZQii4_-OQPh0Gpgba0BrY1EDw/s320/lePrintempsDeSakura_bd.jpeg" width="235" /></a></div><p></p><p><br />
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{page:WordSection1;}</style></p><p></p>meezlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09064532853057054875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16667400.post-84469723509278497302023-07-01T14:54:00.016-04:002023-07-14T10:23:11.802-04:007. The One Hundred and One Dalmatians<p>By Dodie Smith</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl32ddG1_D8UNpkisrbxDcwzeUNQ8SPK7OiBFUcjL2EOn4i-YykIFLuvReJKUs344UUVbr73TiICKBoGd4frkjGZ4b47QJsmGA2DBgrlM_DmISoPLFmzRcGF7JDgDAr67kgyT90TOALjbRHx3DrTg-NqvJuBz_EOGxIEK6QhLIXpLSG1rWTiCMzQ/s1000/onehundredone_dalmatians.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="666" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl32ddG1_D8UNpkisrbxDcwzeUNQ8SPK7OiBFUcjL2EOn4i-YykIFLuvReJKUs344UUVbr73TiICKBoGd4frkjGZ4b47QJsmGA2DBgrlM_DmISoPLFmzRcGF7JDgDAr67kgyT90TOALjbRHx3DrTg-NqvJuBz_EOGxIEK6QhLIXpLSG1rWTiCMzQ/s320/onehundredone_dalmatians.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif" style="font-family: arial; font-size: small; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><i>One
Hundred and One Dalmatians</i> has been my fave Disney animation for as long as I
can remember. Some years ago, I re-watched it with my daughter and she really loved
it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif" style="font-family: arial; font-size: small; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"> </span></p><p class="MsoPlainText"><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif" style="font-family: arial; font-size: small; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">The opening credits had also reminded me that the movie was based on a book by Dodie Smith.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: arial; font-size: small; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">I had
read the <i><a href="https://meezly.blogspot.com/2011/04/book-12-i-capture-castle.html" target="_blank">I Capture the Castle</a></i>,
which has been a personal favourite, so I just had to have my own copy of <i>The One
Hundred and One Dalmatians</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not long
after, I ordered a new hardbound edition anticipating that my daughter may
enjoy that too when she’s able to read. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s
been sitting in her bookshelf for a few years and just recently, her 10 yo self
had picked up the book to read on her own volition!</span></p><p class="MsoPlainText"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: arial; font-size: small; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif" style="font-family: arial; font-size: small; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">It
also made me realize I hadn't yet read the book myself. So as soon as my daughter finished, I started reading it. I wasn't disappointed -- it
was just absolutely charming and delightful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Even though I only got to the part where Pongo and Missus were making
their arduous journey to Suffolk, I asked the kid if she'd like to watch the
movie again. She agreed, wanting to watch it that very evening, and so we did
(I, ahem, still had the file in the storage drive). It'd been at least a few
years, so she didn't remember much of it, so for her <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>it was like watching it a new again!</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif" style="font-family: arial; font-size: small; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif" style="font-family: arial; font-size: small; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Watching
the film again for the umpteenth time has not lessened my love for it. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>I can also better appreciate the wonderful job the Disney folks did by adapting
the source material for their animated film.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I also learned some interesting things: </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif" style="font-family: arial; font-size: small; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-indent: -18pt;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: arial; font-size: small; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-language-override: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-family: arial; font-size: small; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Dodie
Smith was a consultant for the film, and her story was based on how her own
dalmatians had 15 puppies! </span></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-indent: -18pt;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: arial; font-size: small; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-language-override: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-family: arial; font-size: small; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">When
she was writing the book, she had actually hoped that Disney would turn it into
a film! </span></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-indent: -18pt;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: arial; font-size: small; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-language-override: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-family: arial; font-size: small; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">I
didn't realize that 'Sleeping Beauty' was a flop when it came out, which left
the studio with a tight budget for 'One Hundred and One Dalmatians', but I
think (with the help of Xerox technology) it had worked to their advantage. </span></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-indent: -18pt;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: arial; font-size: small; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-language-override: normal; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-family: arial; font-size: small; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Not
only was the animation gorgeous, but equal attention was paid to the writing,
characterization, voice work, music and the inspired idea of basing Cruella de
Vil’s looks on actress Tallulah Bankhead!</span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-indent: -18pt;"><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-family: arial; font-size: small; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif" style="font-family: arial; font-size: small; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">I
also loved how Disney kept the 'What's My Crime?' television show from the book,
but adding the klever Kanine Krunchies commercial. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It also made sense that the two 'nannies' became
one character, and the two female dalmatians, Missus and Perdita, were also
merged as one.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif" style="font-family: arial; font-size: small; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif" style="font-family: arial; font-size: small; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Some
trifling details I noticed now that I'm older (and more cynical)... for
instance, how in the movie, Mr Dearly, was a struggling musician with a stay-at-home wife, yet he could
afford a townhouse (albeit a modest one) in central London and pay for a
full-time housekeeper. In the book, Mr Dearly was a finance wizard who helped
the government eradicate debt, and in doing so, was rewarded a nice house in a
plum neighbourhood. However, it did make aesthetic sense for the movie to turn
Mr Dearly into a musician so the film could have its catchy musical numbers!</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif" style="font-family: arial; font-size: small; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoPlainText"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: arial; font-size: small; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Dodie
Smith also wrote a lesser known sequel to </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: arial; font-size: small; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><i>The One Hundred and One Dalmatians</i> –
it’s called <i>The Starlight Barking</i>, and I’m determined to find a nice hardcover
edition of that too!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, it’s a
little harder to find, and it’s looking like I may have to order a used copy
from the UK…</span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></p>
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{margin-bottom:0cm;}</style><p><br /></p>meezlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09064532853057054875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16667400.post-49576398950461240112023-06-01T21:37:00.043-04:002023-08-06T18:52:32.752-04:006. Bunny<p> By Mona Awad</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3aSW0dLYHfn98ctVoGrUuYiXmI1qfIoLWw8ISR_AkitHwRMxhaSS7g3os8bo8tNzdeZR46u37A_PSsi__boVJp_pjpgVyfcg8LIuJ8yVC8WqpT6zCo43qdEx3sRCvPLEpROPFXNWc5F02neks3Gq-yzO3T7KErDCPnDj8IQryiGVTNuqRYWY/s2400/bunny_cover.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2400" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3aSW0dLYHfn98ctVoGrUuYiXmI1qfIoLWw8ISR_AkitHwRMxhaSS7g3os8bo8tNzdeZR46u37A_PSsi__boVJp_pjpgVyfcg8LIuJ8yVC8WqpT6zCo43qdEx3sRCvPLEpROPFXNWc5F02neks3Gq-yzO3T7KErDCPnDj8IQryiGVTNuqRYWY/s320/bunny_cover.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">This <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/2882038042" target="_blank">Goodreads review</a> took the words outta my mouth: </p>
<p style="font-family: Times; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none; font-size: x-small;"></span></p><blockquote><span style="font-size: x-small;">Words cannot, and I mean CANNOT, express how disappointed I am with this novel. I went from, "wow, this is so creepy, I love it!" to "well, that was a little disappointing," to "FUCK THIS SHIT SO FUCKING HARD." </span></blockquote><p></p>
<p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Now why would I waste precious time reviewing a book that I could not WAIT to finish? The problem was that I’d already written most of my review before I found Rereader’s :-(</p>
<p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">What initially intrigued me about <i>Bunny</i> was a simple blurb: <i>Heathers</i> meets <i>The Craft </i>meets <i>Frankenstein</i>, and Goodreads reviews saying what a slip-streamy mind-fuck of a book it was. Author Mona Awad grew up in Montreal so when I saw a copy of Bunny at SW Welch, I didn’t hesitate getting it, then promptly reading it.. Obvs I missed Marg Atwood praising <i>Bunny</i> as "genius" at the top of the book cover, which should've been a warning bell: Ding-ding!! Over-hype alert!! <br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i>Bunny</i> started off intriguingly enough, with the academic setting reminding me of another novel about a poor student of promising talent attending a prestigious program within a fictional Ivy League university. This self-loathing outsider longed to be part of a clique who happened to be a secret society where its members performed arcane rituals involving animal sacrifice. That novel was <i><a href="https://meezly.blogspot.com/2008/10/book-13-secret-history.html" target="_blank">The Secret History</a> </i>by Donna Tartt, a work so infinitely superior than <i>Bunny</i> that it may have ruined my expectations of similar works of academia fiction!<br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i>Bunny</i> features Samantha Mackie (aka Smackie), who’s already into her second year of an elite creative writing program. She's part of a workshop comprised only of her and four other women who're already in a tight-knit circle of their own. The workshop is led by the rather clueless professor Ursula Radcliffe aka KareKare aka Fosco, who can't help but fawn over the four privileged "girls". Even though these girls all have unique names of their own, they endearingly call each other Bunny (hence the Heathers reference). Samantha hates/fears/envies the Bunnies and christens them with her own secret nicknames: Caroline/Cupcake, Victoria/Creepy Doll, Kira/Vignette and their leader Eleanor/Duchess. But really, all Samantha wants is to be one of them. </p>
<p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Awad makes it easy to hate the Bunnies: they talk in a sickeningly cutesy way, constantly cooing over each other, etc. Awad gets so caught up in showing us how annoying and superficial they are, she forgets to make them remotely interesting or distinctive (other than Cupcake, they’re hard to tell apart). Finally the Bunnies invite Samantha to one of their secret "Smut Salons". At first it seems like they just drink grossly sweet cocktails and talk about boys, but no, somehow these girls have figured out a way to conjure up bunny-boys! There’s no explanation on how they discovered this magical ability. Even Evil Dead and Buffy provided some background on how supernatural entities can be brought about, but Awad doesn’t bother with this. </p>
<p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Samantha’s one true friend Ava is the “rebel punk” cuz her hair is bleached out and disheveled, and she wears a lot of mesh and dark eye shadow. Ava dropped out of art school because she couldn’t deal with the phoniness and wants nothing to do with the status quo. Ava is Awad’s spin on Holden Caulfield. But Samantha doesn't want to be a cool, rebel chick like Ava, she wants to be a rich bitch Bunny who wears heels and girlie dresses with poodle prints.</p>
<p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">So yeah, the Bunnies have the ability to conjure up cute, empty-headed young "men" out of wild rabbits that populate their forested neighbourhood, but these boy-men are far from perfect. They wear gloves as their hands are not fully formed. Sometimes there’s a hairlip, they’re easily startled and may start screaming if you ask them too many questions about themselves. Their heads exploding seems like an attempt at dark comedy, but it just made me wonder how the girls would clean up the mess, which Awad never goes into. But the most important thing that’s missing from these creatures is their manhood. They’re like emasculated changelings. The Bunnies don't even call them boys, but use words like <i>Hybrid</i> or <i>Draft</i>. That's why they finally recruit Samantha into their Smut Salon - with her "rougher background" she may conjure up a hybrid with more substance, and maybe even some proper appendages. </p>
<p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Except this plot device took forever to get somewhere. I kept thinking when was the plot going to advance to the next level, or step outside of Samantha’s navel gazing? What are the ethical ramifications of the wealthy elite transforming bunnies into human beings as playthings, and then disposing them or letting them roam free? When the Bunnies literally axe down the failed experiments, how do they clean up all that blood and gore from their beautiful homes?</p>
<p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">There was a scene where Samantha encountered a failed experiment at Prof Radcliffe's Yule gathering - a bunny-boy was part of the hired catering staff. There could’ve been some potential ethical dilemma to explore, or something cleverly comedic. Instead, Awad avoided any sociological insight and kept rehashing Samantha’s issues throughout the entire novel. Some examples:</p>
<p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-size: x-small;">Samantha’s secret shame regarding her father’s failed business ventures. </span></li><li><span style="font-size: x-small;">When they had money, she had a taste of the good life, and when it was all gone, it sowed her obsession with the Bunny clique, and what her life could’ve been if she was fabulously rich like them.</span></li><li><span style="font-size: x-small;">Her love-hate relationship with the Bunnies. </span></li><li><span style="font-size: x-small;">Her constant guilt about abandoning her one true friend Ava, or constantly fearing that she’s lost her.</span></li><li><span style="font-size: x-small;">Her crippling writer’s block, because she’s so preoccupied with her status at Warren.</span></li></ul><p></p>
<p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">As Rereader wrote so succinctly in Goodreads:</p>
<p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;"></span></p><blockquote><span style="font-size: x-small;">All Samantha did for LITERALLY 3/4 OF THE BOOK was whine, whine, whine about her life and how she hates people but can't tell them, and LIES, LIES LIES. Holy shit, did she tell the fucking truth AT ALL in this story? I couldn't tell because the author was SO ADAMANT about making her lie about FUCKING EVERYTHING that I honestly couldn't tell. I was so done with her self-created and self-attended pity parties that by the time she actually did something it didn't feel satisfying.</span></blockquote><p></p>
<p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Unlike <i>The Secret History</i>, where every sentence had its place, the writing in Bunny was a mixed bag. Rereader and I both agree that Awad has a talent for descriptive prose, but the pacing and narrative structure left a lot to be desired. The writing got so bogged down with repetitive details of Smackie’s same old shit, it got tiresome pretty fast, and I found myself skimming over the “pity party” sections, to coin Rereader’s term. Here's a sample:<br /></p><p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i></i></p><blockquote><i>Kill me now</i>, Ava would say. She would feel no shameful tugs of longing to wear their camel coats (<i>boring</i>). To don their fur-lined gloves, their knitted hats (<i>I'd rather be fucking cold</i>). No awful itch in her mesh fingers to steal their soft purses. To slip into their creamy skins and live there. To lie in their just-right princess beds with the clean white loud sheets and dream their bland dreams. To be welcomed through their pillar-flanked doors by their Wonder Bread mothers and fathers. Who are alive. Who are not in debt. Who are not hiding in the mountains of Mexico among the emaciated dogs and the sunbaked dust. Who are not wanted for fraud or corruption.</blockquote><p></p>
<p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;">The paragraph in itself is fine and says a lot in a paragraph, but imagine reading variations of this over and over again every other chapter. <br /></p><p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Finally, in Chapter 30 (out of 38), something happened - there was a twist! One of the men Samantha conjured up - Max - had become Ava’s lover, and had also insinuated himself into the Bunny circle, causing instant rifts and jealousies. Max was the ultimate female fantasy, he had fully formed hands and not only was he utterly sexy, he had a fully functioning penis! What was Samantha’s secret?? (Don’t use hare-brained rabbits - try a stag!). And then, even later, we realized Samantha was more pathetic and messed up than we could have ever thought possible... we learn that Ava was unknowingly conjured up by Samantha - from a swan, when Samantha was all torn up about a drunken fling with a writing professor from the previous semester. </p>
<p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">All of this, including a confrontation with Samantha and Max vs the Bunnies, was rushed to a conclusion that could’ve been pretty good had the rest of the narrative been set up in more capable hands. Other goodreads reviewers were saying things like, WTF did I just read, or how odd or weird this book was, but having grown up with Angela Carter, the fantastical/fairy tale elements weren’t really that bizarre. Even though I didn't feel angry like Rereads after finally finishing <i>Bunny</i>, I was still hugely disappointed - <i>Bunny</i> had all the right ingredients to be a really great read, but ended up being somewhat clever yet not very funny, unevenly entertaining, and not terribly enjoyable.</p><div><br /></div><p><br /></p>meezlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09064532853057054875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16667400.post-26402497104485697222023-05-10T15:55:00.006-04:002023-06-01T15:56:06.432-04:005- Fearless Females<p> By Marta Breen </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_qZTl6sq3V7x98eYjD3LTnDXO9aEM-PP-6o4H2r1A2ZggNtuHGXsmSfXUE8whNYwyVBVAQA2vb4LolDiIdxeMdvyEao8Cb8R2erBXBNWCWtfEAxj7JHw1tPjMR3-g3_1pVmO_QvC_aDui_05sNAS2KpbvYML62Uxp2PH5dRM0A0_3WIzi2m4/s1980/fearless-females-comic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1980" data-original-width="1400" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_qZTl6sq3V7x98eYjD3LTnDXO9aEM-PP-6o4H2r1A2ZggNtuHGXsmSfXUE8whNYwyVBVAQA2vb4LolDiIdxeMdvyEao8Cb8R2erBXBNWCWtfEAxj7JHw1tPjMR3-g3_1pVmO_QvC_aDui_05sNAS2KpbvYML62Uxp2PH5dRM0A0_3WIzi2m4/s320/fearless-females-comic.jpg" width="226" /></a></div><br /> <p></p>meezlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09064532853057054875noreply@blogger.com0