Category: Books

  • Footloose

    The blue toenails felt a little wild at first.  

    Blue Toes

    That was before I noticed how nice they looked with these pretty sandals.  Actually they were last year's sandals but so far, I've worn them more this year.  The truth is I'm just happy that I can see my toes.  

     

    I am happy for a lot of things.  Materfamilias commented on the offhand way that I mentioned a walk.  The truth is that I am grateful to be walking; I am grateful that walking grows easier each week.  This past week was filled with walking firsts: it was the first week that walking actually made my muscles feel better, the first week I was able to increase my walk from 1/2 mile to a mile, the first week I could walk uphill without pain, the first time I could actually look up and admire the view while walking down the hill without risking an inadvertent misstep and back pain.   In short it was a good week.  I was able to walk a mile at least once 5 out of the past 7 days.

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    Yesterday I took my walk at the downtown farmer's market.  Uneven pavement — no problem.  Curbs — no problem.  Stopping and starting and dodging other walkers — no problem. I didn't buy a lot but I had a wonderful time looking around.  It was so nice being able to go out and on my own to explore again.  

    Near the end of my walk, on the way back to my car, I stopped at Cruze Dairy Farm Stand and bought a small prepacked icecream single:  buttermilk lime cardamom.  The flavor caught my fancy.   And it was good, very good.  Even the act of eating ice cream while walking, something that a few months ago would not have even caused me a moment's thought, seemed like a special treat. After all, it was only a month ago that standing at all was a challenge, a calculation, a risk:  could I stand long enough for a shower? Could I go to the bathroom?  If I did, how long would I need to rest before I could get up long enough to brush my teeth?  Could I stand up long enough to get something to eat, or to drink, or even to turn out the lights? 

    Today I didn't take my walk.  I realized I needed rest, that I have been doing too much.  It s not the walking. I am not lifting, working hard, pushing too hard, except that I am.  I want to do everything and miss nothing, and although my days are filled with simple tasks, common errands, I am finally realizing that all these simple activities require using muscles I didn't use for a while.  In fact they all require relearning muscle movements that I've probably not used for for years.  It shocked me to discover that movements my therapist tried to teach me, are easier now, that I can stand straight now, with some effort, and I've not really been able to stand straight, withoug leaning forward, for years.  A world of possibility is opening up, if only I can give myself time and patience to learn to move properly.

    Today has been a day of rest, of recovery, and yes a little bit of blog writing.  In fact I've written, and lost, this post three times.  I blame it on physical and mental exhaustion.  I spent the afternoon watching movies and knitting. I spent the afternoon in necessary rest.  There is more than enough time in the world for rest, for revitalization.  There is no benefit in pushing to do more and more; the benefit is in giving oneself time. For the first time in a days I don't feel numb with exhaustion.  Out of rest will come even greater progress. 

  • Too Many Books; A Summary

    It has been nearly a month since my last book post and until I took the time to sit down and actually update my list I would have said that I really hadn't read that much anyway.  But truthfully, that is all a matter of perspective.  It is true I did not read as much as when I was confined to bed, and there is no surprise in that since there wasn't much else I could do during that period.  Still I was surprised that I had read as many books as I have, too many books to adequately review.  Some were very good, some not so much; it is not that my memory of the books has faded, but that my energy exhausted, and so, for now, settle I must.

     

    I had high hopes for How Children Succeed by Paul Tough and it proved to be thought-provoking, especially in the first half of the book.  Tough challenges the assumption that success is highly correlated with acquired knowledge and IQ, pointing out, in a very measured way, that character is far more important than IQ even though character strengths such as perserverance, grit, determination and curiosity are both harder to teach and to measure.  The author also scored points for pointing out that although poor students from troubled homes experience severe setbacks to building resiliance, and most of his emphasis is rightly on lasting effects of childhood insecurity,  he also points out that this problem affects the affluent as well, accurately pointing out that many afffluent young people in private schools are succesfully sheltered from failure, the result being that many are afraid to take risks.   The second half of the book does not live up to the premise of the opening chapters though, The young people he profiles are fascinating, but in the end the book is far better at telling us why children fail than it is at offering suggestions for helping them to succeed.

     

    Dragon's Triangle by Christine Kling was my Kindle First choice for May.  It was fast paced but the plot was cliched and convoluted and the character development distinctly lacking.

     

    Just One Evil Act by Elizabeth George was both fascinating and at times painful to read. It could easily have been subtitled "The unravelling of Barbara Havers" and unravel she does.  A tightly wound bundle of denial, anger, fear, loss and recklessness, Havers comes dangerously close to losing everything and completely antagonizing the few friends who have stood by her. And yet I found a certain amount of resolution in this novel, at least in the end.  Nothing was completely new here;  both Lynley and Havers have been through tough times and Barbara, rather rightly or wrongly has felt betrayed by Lynley for a long while, although this betrayal was unintentional and probably not even reognized by Lynley or acknowledged by Havers.  In fact there have been signs throughout the last few novels that Havers was spiralling out of control and it is a sign of George's mastery to have managed this long, convoluted saga with Haddiyah and Azarh so well.  In the end I'd like to hope that Havers and Lynley are both beginning to heal now, although I'll also admit I wouldn't mind seeing Salvatore lo Bianco again either.

     

    The Last Chinese Chef by Nicole Mones was a wonderful novel about culture and relationship and food and how they all can be woven together.  I loved the book and found it almost poetically beautiful.  I would read it again.

     

    The Whole World Over by Julia Glass was a book that was given to me while I was in bed.  The book is well written, and Glass is an astute observer of the intricacies and inconsistencies of relationships.  The book was tender and thought provoking, but I found the characters difficult and unappealing and I couldn't really understand the decisions they made.  I suppose it was just not my cup of tea.

     

    Faro's Daughter by Georgette Heyer was the first novel by Heyer I have read, and I can hope that it was not one of her best, given her reputation.  It wasn't bad, and the writing was, in fact, rather clever, but the characters were not particularly likeable or well developed and once again the characters' actions often seemed inexplicable.

     

    Lastly, I  found Zealot by Resa Aslan simultaneously fascinating and problematic.    It is fascinating because Aslan does a fabulous job of portraying the political milieu and social unreast that existed in Israel and its relations with Rome during the time of Jesus and the first century CE.   It is excellent at addressesing the confusion of the time, and through that the confusion and unsettledness of human interpretation of ideas and events. The book is problematic because Aslan's biases are exceedingly obvious.   This doesn't entirely detract from the book and I do think that Aslan makes his point that Jesus of Nazareth was a fascinating figure from a completely historical perspective, whatever one makes of Jesus Christ.   However, the book is riddled with antagonism and cynicism and rather blinkered and unreasoned opinions, and is best suited to a reader who is willing to read the  book as a conversation, although granted rather one-sided.

     

     

     

  • More Nattering about Books and Food

    I cannot fully express the joy and sense of accomplishment I feel being at able to occasionally prepare a simple meal for myself.  My happiness is unbounded and worth the resultant exhaustion. Even though I remain only able to get up for 5 or maybe 6 minutes at a time, which limits me to simple things that allow me to stagger the preparation over a period of time, the sense of freedom gained is immense.  Being able to make a salad, or a very simple meal, even it takes an hour, is the difference between being completely dependent on others and being independent.

     

    First I made the buttered spinach recipe I wrote about from The Nourished Kitchen. It was simple.  I let the spinach sweat over low heat, and this allowed me to rest, then I forced the extra moisture from the spinach, sauteed it in some butter, seasoned to taste, and added finely minced hardboiled egg.  It was a lovely combination, although I changed the proportions a bit, since I was making it for myself and planned to eat the entire thing for breakfast.  I had 8 ounces of tender spring spinach, a little under half the recipe, with two hard-boiled eggs (the full recipe amount).  It made for an excellent repast, which is not surprising since I love spinach mixed into scrambled eggs.  It is possilbe that I like hard-boiled eggs mixed into a bowl of spinach even better, and a strong possibility this may become a standard.  It is easy to toss the spinach in the pot and do other things, like make coffee and toast, chop the eggs and feed the cats, while the spinach steams. Then it is a simple task to toss everything together and eat. Of couse this implies that I have boiled the eggs previously, but that is not hard,  and hard-boiled eggs are a good staple to have in the house for those times when I am rushed and need a bit of protein to tide me over.

     

    15797974I've been reading Deborah Madison's Vegetable Lieracy over the past week or so and of course it has further fueled my desire to be up and in the kitchen.  I am not quite finished reading it but I've read enough to know that it will indeed see frequent use.   The book is divided into 12 sections representing 12 families of vegetables, and the author has some thought provoking observations on how the vegetables under consideration in each section work together.  Actually, although there is no dearth of practical information in the book, it is really more personal and anecdotal than strictly educational in approach, and that is one of the things I like about it.  The recipes sound wonderful, and given my experience with Madison's previous books, I have no doubt that they are excellent.

     

    Last night I made Tuscan Kale with Garlic-Anchovy Dressing for dinner.  It was incredible.  The recipe deems this a side dish for 3 or 4, and it would be an excellent side dish.  I love a large meal-sized salad however, and four cups of Kale also made an excellent, and generous,  dinner for me, although I did use only about a quarter cup of croutons, and slightly less olive oil than called for.  Truthfully, although the croutons were good in the salad, and added a nice crunchy counterpoint, Tuscan kale retains enough crunch and texture that I could happily eat the salad without croutons, if I were making it just for me again.  But don't go thinking that I left any croutons behind either, I enjoyed every last one.  I can only recommend this recipe for those who enjoy anchovies and garlic as the olive-oil-garlic-anchovy dressing is noticably pungent.  I felt the anchovies complemented the kale well.  In fact I enjoyed it so much, I could use this dish as a reward for good behavior, an earned treat, and it would work, as I found this far more indulgent and satisfying than any junk food or pastry I can recall.

     

    I wonder if that is a bad sign or a good sign.  What kind of person craves kale with anchovies and olive oil instead of dessert or french fries?  Perhaps I've finally crossed some line,  gone over to the dark side…. I've partially lost the sweet tooth that has plagued me since childhood.  I still love a sweet.  I still love a really good pastry or piece of chocolate, an excellent dessert, even an occasional french fry. I don't completely avoid these things, but when I do want to indulge, I rarely want more than a small amount.  But I could certainly eat a whole bowl of Kale with Anchovy-Garlic dressing without regret.  The recipe is generous enough with the olive oil that  I can't justify eating and entire bowl of  it every day, but at the same time, with 4 cups of kale,  I can't exactly call it junk food either.

     

    380557Aside from cooking and reading cookbooks, I can't say that I have been very ambitious this week.  I've basically been filling my time, between cooking attempts and doctor's visits, with light escapist reading.  

     

    BMBG recommended that I try Lawrence Block's The Burglar in the Library and I took her advice, although, as I was only familiar with Block's darker novels, I had trouble imagining Block as the author of laugh-out-loud mysteries.  Obviously I knew nothing of the Bernie Rhodenbarr novels.   With nods to Agatha Christie and Dashiell Hammett, skill and tremendous imagination, Block's humerous mystery had me rolling on more than one occasion.  

     

    I enjoyed the book so much that, feeling not particularly focused on more thoughtful literature and non-fiction, I went back to the first book, Burglars Can't Be Choosers,  and have been working my way through the series.  Block is a good writer; he is also a writer with a great sense of humor and a wicked wit who brings a light touch and a certain brash outrageousness to the most clichéd plot devices.  In fact the clichés are part of the point and part of the fun; Block never forgets his reader and never seems to doubt the reader's intelligence.  The books do build on each other and are worth reading in sequence but I enjoyed the first book I read, which is not the first of the series, immensly anyway.  And the Burglar series, although light and deliciously humerous, hold up to being read in quick succession, no easy feat.  I'll probably finish off the series over the rest of this week, or through the weekend, and they are books I would probably enjoy coming back to for a quick escapist bit of fun.

     

     

     

     

     

  • An Afternoon Snack and A Few Thoughts on Recent Books

    It's about time to catch up on reading again, although I have actually read very few books of late, only 3 since the last post.  What can I say?  I am too easily distracted?  I can't do anything consistently week after week without change?  Well, yes; it seems I am all to prone to human foibles.  

     

    2014-05-02 15.24.38But first I will distract you with yesterday's mid-afternoon snack:  toasted Udi's bread, homemade ricotta made from local organic grass fed milk, cucumbers, and pickled red onion. 

     

    It is the pickled red onion that is important here because it represent my first tiny foray into the kitchen.  Truly I was desperate to make something myself and this recipe,  from here, seemed easy enough.  Unfortunately my red onion was too large, so it was only half pickled by the time I was so ravenous I could wait no longer.  I eventually had to add a little rice wine vinegar and now my pickled red onions are also bright pink throughout.  But those half-pickled onions were surprisingly tasty.

     

    I probably won't be expanding my repertoire very rapidly, sliceing the onions and mixing them together pretty much exhausted the limits of the time I could spend on my feet before resting, a new record yesterday, at 4 1/2 minutes per session.  Baby steps, it is true, but progress nonetheless, and a small achievement.  Of both I am very proud.

     

     But back to those three books.  They could not be more different.

     

    UnknownFirst, I spent a good part of one day perusing The Nourished Kitchen by Jennifer McGruther who writes a blog of the same name.  Both the blog and the book are based on the traditional foods movement and the research of the Weston A. Price foundation.   As such, the book, some sections more than others, will not appeal to everyone. I've been eating primarily locally raised pastured poultry and meat for quite some time, I buy a significant amount of what I eat at farmer's markets, and don't really worry about the other stuff.   Although I haven't cooked anything from the book (see above about the limits on my cooking) a good proportion of the recipes are for the kinds of food I already love and I am looking forward to trying them out, but there are also many things that are new to me, including a section on fermenting vegetables.  I do keep a small selection of fermented foods, and think it would be fun to try my hand at making my own.   At any rate, the book is filled with good information and was a lovely read, the photographs are gorgeous, and it left me hoping that I can get back to my kitchen soon.  I'm thinking that the recipes for Blistered Radishes with Parsley and Buttered Spinach might be manageable with my current limitations, that is if I can keep myself from eating all the new spring radishes raw.

     

    9a2ad0cd1fe68dc5938346e5377434d414f4141Dennis Lehane's The Given Day really surprised me.  I thought it was a good novel and I got completely wrapped up in the story and the characters.  Well, truthfully there are only two characters who are fully developed, Danny Coughlin, and Luther Lawrence, with everyone else basically acting as set pieces needed to fill in the narrative or illustrate certain points.  So basically to like this book you have to like Danny and Luther, or you have to get wrapped up in the historical aspects of the novel, which is set in Boston immediately following WWI, between the influenza epidemic and the policemen's union strike. I liked both the history and the main characters, who I found quite compelling. Perhaps I've known too many young men just like them, and I could hear their words in my mind, superimposing the characters in the novel with other people I've known. Both men start out as rather shallow, happy-go-lucky young men, who glide through life, both try to do the right thing but learn that knowing what the right thing is far more complicated than it would seem.  Lehane handled the complexities and the subtleties of both men's struggles well, and I thought he also dealt well with the idea of family, and the unfortunate truth that we often start out thinking of our families with a hazy glow, wanting what is best, but woefully unprepared for the repurcussions when life doesn't turn out quite the way we imagined it.  Lehane has a gift for capturing the cadence of a speaker, and many times the voices would ring in my haad, so that even a simple dialog could be filled with meaning.

     

    I also loved the sense of history: the details of time and place and a period of history I don't know enough about.  The book seems to be well researched but it is quite dense, as it seems this was a very dense and volatile period. There were sections that dragged, almost as if there was just too much in to the story, and yet I would say that most of  the detail and various plots were important to the development of the characters and the conclusion of the story. Reading about the influenza epidemic was powerful, and  reading about young police officer Danny dragging bodies out of buildings reminded me of a story we read in fifth grade, where a girl was describing looking out her window onto the bodies stacked on the sidewalk, waiting to be picked up and carted away, something I am sure I had not thought of once in the intervening 45 years. The rather long section leading up to the strike, and Danny's infiltration and exploration of the various labor groups and leftist organizations, as long as the rather paranoid reactions of the people in power were tedious at times, but were important for Danny's growing understanding that the world was more complicated than the world as seen from his parent's house.  Danny was a character of great hope and naiveté, and yet possessed of a great inner strength (not just physical strength which is played up in the book). 

     

    There are also some minor sections that are profoundly powerful.  Eddie McKenna is one of the polarizing characters of the book, and I feel his presence is necessary.  Near the end when he is speaking to Luther, telling him that he can never be an American, never be as much of an American as he (Eddie), the first reaction is to pull back from the appalling violence and racism of his statement.  Of course many felt the same way.  But upon thinking further, you realize that Luther's family had been in this country for generations even though they were originally brought to this country as slaves, and Eddie had come to America as a boy, trying to escape a kind of slavery, the bleak prospects and lack of promise of his lot in Ireland.  Not only did Eddie embrace America as a place for those who would change their lives, as he did, and embrace it with a proud love, in this scene Eddie also reminds of the dark side of an emotion that exists in all of us.  We see it all the time.  Another extreme example is the rich New Yorker I knew, who upon buying and restoring an old run down estate in an economically downtrodden town, became obsessed with buying up small properties near his house, partly because he wanted more land, but partly because he didn't want to see their mobile homes or run down houses, when he drove up his driveway.  The presence of a poorer population violated his sense of how the world should be, so his response, much like Eddie's, was to make it go away. 

    Although I thoroughly enjoyed reading the novel,  I can't say that it left me feeling like it is something I want to read again. It was not a novel that brought new insights or understanding, Well, it left me with a profound dislike of Calvin Coolidge.

     

    Lastly I read a Kindle Single called Planet Carnivore by Alex Renton.  The book seems to be fairly clear-headed, well-researched, and not particularly polemical.   Renton begins with the latest meat scare du jour and then uses that as a starting off point to discuss modern meat production and the true cost of the cheap meat we have grown so used to in western industrial nations and its environmental and health impact. He also reviews thoughts and suggestions concerning a more sustainable future from other authors as well as ideas of his own. I would quibble about a few things, but they are really secondary, not about his main thesis.  Recommended   But then I am inclined to believe we should think more and take less for granted. 

     

     

     

  • Walking and Reading

    Oh how my state of mind has improved since my last post.  I am walking steadily! Granted I am still only moving about for short periods of a few minutes each, but I am steadier on my feet, and I can stay up long enough to actually walk outside, to the mailbox even. I cannot begin to describe the thrill I felt at accomplishing such a simple task.   I can heat myself a simple lunch, I can make a sandwich.  There is much I cannot do, but I am no longer completely dependent on others for everything.  The power such simple tasks hold is not to be discounted.  At the same time that first trip to the mailbox was surprisingly difficult.  It was further than I anticiapted, nearly 100 feet each direction.  But each day I go a little further, do a little more, and I am filled with hope.  I know not to push to fast, to move slowly, but even  progress at a snail's pace is encouraging. Now if only I could sit, I could eventually get out into the world…

     

    Still, it is not all bad. Now that my mind has calmed somewhat my knitting is moving along nicely, although not as quickly as it would be were I able to sit (yes a small complaint).  And I am able to once again able to let my mind drift into the pages of a book and lose track of time.  In that, I was very lucky in my choice of books to read this past week.

     

    0743259920.01._SX140_SY224_SCLZZZZZZZ_Churchill and America  by Martin Gilbert is a book that had been on my reading stack for quite some time.  Truth is, I had been putting it off, thinking that I just didn't have the focus to really concentrate on it.  I have read part of Gilbert's biography of Churchill, which is excellent, but Gilbert can be a bit dogged and I wasn't sure I was really up to it, much as I admire Churchill.  

     

    Well, I was mistaken.  The book is fantastically interesting, and it is not at all a classic biography, as it is for the most part fairly one-sided.  You get the story of Churchill, and his relationship with America through his own words, through a lifetime of letters, speaches, telegrams, and various odd communications.  The story is tied together with bits of communication from those who knew him and worked with him.  In the end it is a highly personal story, very human, and very moving.  At many times I would find myself in tears and had to stop reading.  Over half the book concerns WWII and it was one of the most moving approaches to that war I have read. 

     

    18114053The second book is a novel, The Visitors, by Patirck O'Keefe, a novel I might never have discovered were it not brought to me by a new friend, who explained that the author had just recently given a talk at the UT Library and she hoped I would enjoy the book as much as she.

     

    It is a profoundly lyrical and beautiful novel, but not necesary an easy read.  The novel is told by Jimmy Dwyer, an immigrant from Ireland living in Michigan.  Time and place are interwoven throughout the novel as Jimmy's thoughts and memories wander, interweaving the past and the present as he constantly remembers, relives, and rediscovers himself and his relationship to his family through the refracting lens of time and changing relationships.  It is a novel that is at times tragic, and certainly melancholy, in how history plays itself out and repeats itself, and in how Jimmy learns that the past is always with us, no matter how much one wishes to escape it.  O'keefe's prose is breathtakingly beautiful.  He captures Jimmy's voice perfectly and he is fully and complexly realized.  The interleaving of time and place is expertly and subtly maintained and captured in the nuances of voice that define different places and relationships. This was an exquisite book that I will not soon forget.  

  • Monday

    There are times that I am lying in bed reading, and I stretch my legs or roll over and I feel exactly as I was, as if the world is full of possibility and I can leap up at any moment and plunge headlong into the glories of life. In those moments I feel I am still a young girl and the world awaits, full of promise.  The promise is still there; I am improving, although slowly, but now there is also temperence. 

     

    Photo-6

    That does not mean there are not moments of joy.  I have rediscovered the joys to be found in simple pleasures.  This was my breakfast on Sunday, a current favorite, although it this particular combination never crossed my mind before I was confined to bed.  I have also rediscovered how contented I am with a supply of radishes, cucumbers, baby carrots, berries.  I dream of the spring crop of baby turnips, and have developed a renewed appreciation for the simplicity and goodness of roast chicken.   There is just something special about a lovely plate beautifully filled with a few tempting morsels… 

     

    I have settled into a state of fuzzy contentment.  Well the fuzziness is due to medication, which comes with all kinds of warnings about not driving, or operating heavy machinery, etc etc.  I see no warnings about riding unicycles.  I wonder…..

     

    No, I know better.  It is actually fine that the drugs make me light-headed because I don't really move very fast anyway.  They did fog up my thinking apparatus for a few days.  I had to abandon Churchill and I haven't started my next knitting project due to a profound inability to count to 400.  I am feeling a little sharper today, so I believe knitting will resume.

     

    129248So I resorted to some light reading.  A friend brought by a couple of the Mrs. Murphy mystery books by Rita Mae Brown.  The first book I read, Sour Puss, was somewhat enjoyable but was mired in too much detail about viniculture and the diseases that affect grapes. It was also a little too preachy, especially in the conversations between the cats.  But it wasn't so bad that I didn't want to read the other book, which was much better. 

     

     

     

     

     

    156664The second book, Catch as Cat Can, which is actually an earlier volume in the series,  was much more enjoyable.  The writing isn't particularly better, but at the same time it doesn't take itself too seriiously either.  I enjoy the animals and their conversations and observations about their humans.  I also enjoyed the story and its setting more than I had in the previous volume.  It is definitely light fiction, but it is an entertaining, relaxing read and I will probably look into reading more of the books in this series.

     

     

     

     

    20874139Finally, as part of the Kindle First program, I downloaded I Am Livia which I finished early this morning, and which I absolutely love.  This is not surprising.  I remember watching I Claudius with my parents in the 1970s, and later, when I read the books by Robert Graves, I loved them even more than the mini-series.  I also devoured Colleen McCoullough's series of novels about ancient Rome.  Livia has been much maligned in history, but I am not sure how much truth there is in these stories and how much is reactionary vilification toward a woman who lived outside the normal expectations for a woman of her age.  This novel paints attempts to pain a more flattering portrait of a strong-willed and impetuous girl, a girl who has a sharp intelligence, a girl thrown into difficult circumstances, a girl who demands to be accepted for who she is without apology.    It is not a difficult novel and I highly recommend it to people who like historical fiction with strong female characters. 

  • Socks

    Spending a fair amount of time lying down with an ice pack at the base of my spine seems to mean that my feet are always cold.  And I've found that wool socks are the best antidote.  I'm cycling through my collection of handknit socks rapidly these days.  

    Photo-2

     

    I had hoped to finish this pair yesterday, but yesterday did not rate highly for focus and concentration.  So I dithered, finishing them up in the wee hours, during a booming thunderstorm, with the final few rows rounding out my breakfast entertainment.  Just in time for happy toes. Photographic evidence to the contrary, they are actually the same length. 

    Photo-3

    These are the second version of my basic, pattern-free toe up sock, and I got the niggly little details perfected here, at least for me.  I am happy with the socks, so happy that I  literally pulled them onto my feet as soon as I bound off the last stitch.  The tail on the sock on the right foot hasn't even been woven in yet.  I'll do that later today before they are washed and blocked, at which point the little stitch lines showing the gaps between my dpns will disappear as well. 

     

     Next up will probably be a scarf, but I am so involved in reading Churchill and America, that I may not start until tomorrow.  Fascinating book, poignantly filled with quotes from Churchill's letters and speaches.  The struggle and the emotion are palpable.  

     

    This has been basically reposted, with a dearth of additional technical information, over at purlsandmurmurs.

     

  • Reading In Bed Part Two

    My reading slacked off somewhat this past week, and I spent more time idly looking at this or that or doing not much of anything.  I think it was time well spent, this lollygagging, so I have no particular complaints.

     

    I did spend some time just listenting to music.  A friend brought by a recording of the Brandenberg Concertos  because she knew I had missed the two-night performance of the complete cycle as I was already confined to my bed, and I was grateful to lie back and just listen in comfort.  I also discovered radio David Byrne and spent some very happy time listening to a playlist of new, at least to me, music.  I seems I had been so busy and so focused on other things that I had forgotten about the pleasures of just listening to music, and not just classical music, but popular music, music where listening to the words is an important part of the beauty of the songs, such as in the songs of Mark Kozolek (Sun Kil Moon).  I was also particularly taken by the beauty of the songs of Anna Calvi, both artists previously unknown to me, and whom I will now seek out. 

     

    My reading material was basically of a light nature.  I started out with two non-fiction books, neither one difficult but then realized that my focus was waning and settled into a slow, contented reading of light fiction.

     

    The non-fiction books were Malcom Kendrick's The Great Cholesterol Con,  which is filled with lots of information but is also written in a very fun, entertaining and accessible way.  I don't know that there was a lot of material in the book that I hadn't read elsewhere, I started doing a lot of research on diet, cholesterol, fat and so forth after reading Good Calories Bad Calories a while ago, and have become a pretty regular reader of certain medical and scientific journals related to those subjects ever since.  But Kendrick pulled the information together in a way that I felt was particularly accessible and I felt he made his points clearly without going overboard on either polemics or numbing the general reader with too much data.  I would say it is a very good introduction to an important subject and should be read by more people. 

     

    Then I read Anthony Colpo's Whole Grains Empty Promises, which I believe only exists as a kindle edition, because it was being offered free of charge when I downloaded it,  although I believe the price has goine up to $2.99.  The book was worthwhile for the extensive notes and references to the research, which make up a significant part of the short book.  But aside from that it was easy to read and Colpo did an excellent job of explaining why whole grains are not necessarily the be all and end all of great nutrition.  His information is based on solid research. Given his research I can understand the antagonism toward the establishment view that pushes whole grains, but even so I found his writing to be overly sarcastic and inflammatory.  I wish his tone had been more measured. 

     

    About this point I was finding it harder to take notes or underline passages in books, and was also feeling less inclined to read anything I had to think about it much detail, so I decided to move on to light fiction.

     

    Next I reread The Princess Bride by William Goldman.  Now I first read this book my freshman year in college.  It was already a couple of years old by then, but this was long before the movie came out and I can say this, much as I love the movie, and even though the movie is really quite true to the fairy tale part of the story in the Princess Bride,  the movie has just a shadow of the depth of the book.  I love this book, it always makes me happy, but it is so much more than a swashbuckling, fairy-tale romance.  I lvoe the way Goldman frames the story within another story and the way that framing story uses the fairy-tale to tell a far more profound story of why books matter, and what we learn from them, how they shape and expand our views of the world, and how that world shapes us as he interlayers stories of publishers, aspiring jewish writers and the ways and ridiculous spoofs of fairy tales and so many of the common dreams we all hold dear.  If you think about what the story actually says, it can really make you question all those basic assumptions about love and happiness, good and evil, and yet at the same time, the story can be extremely satiric and questioning while still leave me feeling profoundly happy.  Kudos to Mr. Goldman.  I've read this book probably 5 or 6 times in the last 38 years, every time I read it I find it both more absurd and more profound, and it always leaves me ridiculously happy.

     

    Next up was Lunch in Paris by Elizabeth Bard.  This had been on my list for a long time and I don't know why I never got around to reading it because it was really a lovely and charming story.  I like the way the story interleaves the discovery and interweaving of a new love, with the story of moving to a new cutlure and finding one's adult path in life.  The author skillfully blends the sense of isolation of finding one's path in a froeign culture and alone in a new environment with the completeness of the romantic relationship, and she also skillfully navigates the ways in which one comes to terms with knowing oneself and sorting out one's fantasies of life in order to get at the kernel of what is true.  I suppose there is more I could say, but put simply, it was a delight. 

     

    I read The Replacement Wife by Eileen Gouge primarily because a friend recommended the author.  I thought it was pretty good but annoying too and in the end I found it sad.  I started out thinking I would like the protagonist, Camille Hart, but quickly thought she was far too self-satisfied and a good bit on the over-controlling side as well.  There was a lot of miscommunication between the characers and damage that could have been avoided had they just been willing to talk to each other.  The basic point of the story is that when Camille learns that her cancer has returned and has metastasized, she decides she is going to die, and she also decides that she needs to find someone to take her place for her husband and her children before she dies.  But she gets to control who she chooses, and she wants him to accept her choice, but not get too involved at the same time.  In short she is working from her head, and from her own unresolved issues surrounding her mothers death when she was 14 and unresolved issues with her father arising from that same event.  In the end everyone gets hurt.  Yes the husband behaves childishly also, but I am more inclined to forgive him because I don't see from the story that Camille every understands the way her actions  felt like a complete betrayal of trust to him.  In the end, she lives, they get divorced, and the husband remarries.  It seems from the story he learns something about himself and about openness to relationships, and Camille seems to grow up a little but she still seems somehow to have missed something critical. Maybe I jut took the whole thing too seriously. 

  • Reading in Bed

    Here I am, propped up in bed today, with my computer on my lap, which means I can actually write something.  I'm going to have an epidural in a week, and am very much looking forward to it.  In the meantime, I am taking it easy, and reading a lot, well,  maybe not that much, but it is all I have at the moment.  Books are piled all around me, along with my laptop,  kindle, and my cell phone so I can talk to people and while away mindless hours playing games —  really there is nothing quite like a vacation filled with books and idle distractions.

    Here's a brief rundown of what I've read so far.  

    Hidden by Katherine McKenzie was a book I picked up as part of the Kindle First program.  I'm all for free reading, especially if I don't have to drive to the library to get it at the moment.   It is not a bad novel, and I enjoyed it, sort of.  It didn't really capture my interest and I found none of the characters compelling. The  story is about a man who dies suddenly, and the interlayering of his reminiscences with those of his wife and another woman with whom he has an intense relationship has a lot of potential.  The problem for me was that the individual voices didn't really seem that distinct, and the characters were not fully developed, although perhaps that was the point.  They all seemed like unrealized people who just happened into their lives through no fault of their own.  I felt no emotional connection to any of them. 

    Next up was The Voice of Silence by Oonagh Shanley Toffolo which I enjoyed.  It is a simple book, a simple story of a life, and nothing is fleshed out in great detail.  Yet it has a simple calmness and clarity about it, which I felt said a great deal.  I found it satisfying, perhaps more so than had it been more greatly mired in gritty detail or endless spiritual exploration.  

    After this I read The Shack by William Paul Young.  This is a book that came out a few years ago and apparently got some attention in Christian circles, but I was basically unaware of its existence. I read it because several people in a discussion group I participated in talked about it and how it helped them with some difficulties in their lives. Having read the book I now have a better sense of what they were saying.

    That said, I have to talk about this book on two levels. First of all the author is not a writer. It is not well written. The wording and phraseology is awkward and terribly clichéed.

    The novel is about a father who has lost his young daughter to a serial killer, is wrapped in grief, is seriously injured in a automobile accident, and has an encounter with God that restores his faith. It is clearly based on the principles that seem to shape some near-death experiences. It is also clearly written by someone who has struggled with loss and faith and is trying to share his story.

    I can in fact see how this book has angered many and also helped many, and I have no interest in getting involved in the discussion of Christianity, humanism, universalism, heresy etc. etc. that this book plays into. I felt the discussion of the Trinity was quite good, but there are many areas that are theologically weak, to say the least. It is thought provoking if one is inclined toward thinking about the topic of God and/or the meaning of life and the nature of forgiveness and restoration. It is also a work of fiction, not a work of theology. The author is telling a story, not telling people what they should believe. Strict adherence to truth is not the purpose of good fiction. Through story we are lead to open our minds, perhaps think, perhaps see the world a little differently. If the story helps some people with their own issues surrounding faith, so be it. They will perhaps move on and seek out further sources. If the story makes you recoil in anger and frustration it may still be a success if it forces you to face your anger and define your frustrations. Some of the books that have had had the strongest impact on me have been books which elicited strong feelings of anger and frustration.

    I am inclined to say that I believe it is not my place to tell anyone what they should believe, that we humans have a very spotty record when it comes to judging, and we should therefore best avoid it. Sometimes we find enlightenment and understanding in the strangest places, in the least expected places, even in wrong-headed places. This is one of the gifts of humanity. All I can say about that this book is, if one is thoughtfully or spiritually inclined, and capable of getting past the many short-comings of this book, there are quite a few profound insights that may make you think and reflect and question what it means to be a better person. And I suppose I believe, that for me, those insights transcend all the other failings of the book.

    Lastly, for this post at least, I read Dr. J: The Autobiography, by Julius Erving which I found to be gripping and fascinating.  The book is written in an almost stream-of-consciousness style with each chapter of his life existing in the present tense, which can be confusing, except that I find that Erving's voice, and his thoughtfulness is really emphasized by this style.  It seems like an honest and thoughtful reflection by a man who has lived a life defined by extremes in some sense, a man who is prone to thoughtfulness, and who has managed to stay true to himself, admitting to both his strengths and his flaws.   

    And that is enough for now.  Expect more. 

  • Ender: Fear, Manipulation, Responsibility

    MV5BMjAzMzI5OTgzMl5BMl5BanBnXkFtZTgwMTU5MTAwMDE@._V1_SX214_This weekend I finally watched Ender's Game.  I had been waiting to see it, having missed it in theaters, because I wanted to read the book, a book about which I had previously been, perhaps blissfully, unaware. 

     

    I'll start by saying that I don't think I would have enjoyed the movie more if I hadn't read the book.  Although the movie stays remarkable close to the story, it really just skims the surface and for good reason. In summary, the world is in dire straits and the only solution is to use computer games to train brilliant children to become commanders in a new army and thereby save the human race.  And yet the movie falls flat.  The special effects are somehow not special enough.  Asa Butterfield is too old to fully capture the power, and the horror, of Ender Wiggin, who should be much younger.  But then the abuse and struggles that 6-year old Ender Wiggin faces would not make a popular film and neither would the thought of a 10-year old destroying an entire species.  The film's Ender is a kinder person than the book's, but his affect is also more flat.  We do not see the struggles that makes him who he becomes.  He makes friends too easily.  The adults argue that they can't afford to be soft, but there they are, hovering over every scene.  Even the shock of the ending, the revelation that they were fighting a real war, that Ender just annihilated a civilization, doesn't have the weight it should because the audience has never had the opportunity to feel what the characters supposedly feel.  We just watch.  "No!. The way you win matters!" Ender cries.  But he could be any adolescent, crying about any unfair battle.

     

    375802Of course, this is part of the appeal of the book to its primarily adolescent and young adult audience.  I can remember that feeling of being misunderstood and manipulated.  Ender is the innocent who is tortured and despised despite his innocence; he is despised for who he is.  No one seems to care, no one protects him. The adults let the bullies get away with bullying. He takes action, and he is absolved of all responsibility for his actions.  In this scenario, the fact that Ender is mistreated is evidence of his goodness and his gifts.  And in the end he overcomes all obstacles and is blameless.  How can this not appeal to the rough world of adolescent angst?  And yet this is precisely the problem with Ender's Game.  Its morality is a stunted, juvenile morality.  

     

    Ender is a highly gifted child.  He is also horrendously abused.  His parents are negligent.  His older brother, who shows all signs of being a psychopath, tortures him relentlessly.  He is bullied at school.  He is chosen to go to a military school that seems to function with the sole purpose of pushing children until they break.  Ender is the child they have been looking for, a child with tremendous empathy, but also a child with an overwhelming survival instinct. Colonel Graff's mission is to push Ender to breaking point after breaking point, until the survival instinct drives all his actions, to the point that he will destroy before he risks being hurt.

     

    The basic premise is laid out at the  beginning of the novel.  Ender was chosen, protected, wearing a monitor.  The monitor was removed and along with it his protection, leaving him open to the school bullies.  In the ensuing fight, Ender moves beyond merely beating his opponent, Stillson, to brutalizing him.  Later when Colonel Graff asks him to explain his actions, Ender replies:

    "Knocking him down won the first fight.  I wanted to win all the next ones, too.  So they'd leave me alone."

    This, of course, is the answer Graff is looking for.  Ender had to beat Stillson to a pulp because it is the best strategy in the only world Ender knows, a world where violence is the only recourse.  At the tender age of 6 Ender has no faith in rescue.  He has a brother who tortures him, who will torture him again, and parents who seem oddly unconcerned.  He does not see a world in which anyone will protect him because no one has protected him this far.

     

    And of course, this view of the world is shared by the Space Command.  Colonel Graff want to shape a young mind to pulverize the enemy without conscience.  The military command is still functioning on a rather childish, dualistic, level.  They were almost destroyed by an alien species.  They see their only option as destroying the enemy before it can come back to destroy them, and they are going out of their way to do just that, to perform the interplanetary version of beating the bully to a pulp so he could never hurt them again.  They do not question the fact that the enemy has not returned.  It never occurs to anyone that the "buggers" might have made a mistake.  That they might not have originally realized that humans were intelligent, or that, having made that discovery, they might not attack again.

     

    "We did not mean to murder.  When we understood, we never came again. We thought we were the only thinking beings in the universe, until we met you, but never did we dream that thought could arise from the lonely animals who cannot dream each other's dreams. How were we to know".

     

    So the military uses their own fears, to manipulate Ender, to play on his self-loathing, his fear of being destroyed.  They don't let Ender's innocence or good qualities surface and Card intensifies and plays up this dichotomy in ways that are unsettling.  They make him into a killer, but claim he is still pure, still good, because he did not know he killed.  

     

    This raises several rather profound questions, doesn't it? In fact I find the book tremendously unsettling and thought provoking. Although the book is not difficult, and I suspect it can be ready simply without extended reflection, it can draws upon many emotionally and ethically complex issues.   It is also an extremely powerful study of violence, of military conflict, of strategy, and the extent we can allow manipulation to run amok under the guise of military necessity.  It is a damning statement of the many ways we let our fears build walls which separate us from and dehumanizing those we see as "the other", and the way we use fear to justify our actions.  There are, after all, reasons we encourage soldiers to see the enemy as "gooks", "towelheads", or "buggers".  It is very difficult to kill Ali, the little boy who was in your scout troop and whose dad owned the deli down the street, but not so difficult to kill some anonymous "other" who is somehow less than yourself.  But just as Colonel Graff didn't care what happened to Ender once the war was won, we don't really worry ourselves too much about what happens to our soldiers after they've come home from war.

     

    When Ender learns that he has destroyed the buggers in reality, not in a game, he has a much more visceral reaction than the movie Ender:

    "I didn't want to kill them all.  I didn't want to kill anybody! I'm not a killer!  You didn't want me, you bastards, you wanted Peter, but you made me do it, you tricked me into it!" He was crying. He was out of control.

    "Of course we tricked you into it.  That's the whole point," said Graff.  "It had to be a trick or you couldn't have done it.  It's the bind we were in.  We had to have a commander with so much empathy that he would think like the buggers, understand them and anticipate them.  So much compassion that he could win the love of his underlings and work with them like a perfect machine, as perfect as the buggers.  But somebody with that much compassion could never be the killer we needed.  Could never go into battle willing to win at all costs.  If you knew you couldn't do it.  If you were the kind of person who would do it even if you knew, you could never have understood the buggers well enough."

    "And it had to be a child, Ender" said Mazer.  You were faster than me.  Better than me.  I was too old and cautious.  Any decent person who knows what warfare is can never go into battle with a whole heart.  But you didn't know.  You were reckless and brilliant and young."

     

    Do Ender's actions shape him and what he becomes?  Who is to blame? Is he innocent, as this passage seems to claim, or does he bear the responsibility for those he has killed?  Card seems to gloss over any sense of resolution Ender finds at the end.  Forgiveness is mentioned and with that forgiveness comes a renewed sense of responsibility.  But it seems the afterthought here, whereas for me, I would think it would be the primary focus. 

     

    Since I read Ender's Game in January, snippets of news, fragments of conversations, keep bringing me back to the many questions raised by the book.  I am sure that some of my ponderings may not have been intended by the author, but that is one of the reasons I consider this a good book, it makes the reader question, even beyond the intended scope of the book, or its intended message.