Salmon Fishing in the Yemen

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My Dad read a lot. But he read things you could learn stuff from (gardening, wildlife, natural history, woodworking, diy, history, military, politics, etc books) or biographies/autobiographies of sportsmen or military persons. So much so that when he passed away and my Mum came with us to his flat, she remarked that copy of The Bourne Identity was the first novel she had ever seen in his possession. And she had been married to the man for 15 years at one time.

So that being said, the only novel my Dad ever recommended to me to read was this one. From what I can piece together, I think he had borrowed it from the library as he thought it actually was a book about fishing in the Yemen. It wasn't, and isn't, but Dad being Dad, seeing it was in his house for a month, he'd give it a go. And apparently he loved it.

I can honestly see why. It's the British kind of absurd he loved. It pays the crap out of those ridiculous people in London doing ridiculous things that his kind of Northerner doesn't get, and really, I only do as I live in the bureaucratic capital of another country. It's Yes Minister, but with fish and the Middle East. It is bloody funny.

It's a tongue in cheek look at the most boring man in British history who has been commissioned against his will through his civil service job to see if salmon fishing in the Yemen is possible. The book then follows him and his colleagues through the project and it's misadventures, and how it changes them.

It's also a rather insightful look into the political machine and British foreign policy regarding the Middle East in the 2000s. I'm glad Dad told me to read it actually. What I like about this book is very similar to what I loved about Dad honestly. Something so ridiculous and outrageous, in him the crazy Yorkshireman with the outrageous stories and the cheeky smile, but if you push further there was actually an incredibly nuanced understanding of foreign and military policy hiding within, both in the book and Dad. But Dad also had great information about growing tomatoes ;)

Update

I dislike the end of year. Well. I love it. But I also dislike it. 

There are great things that happen. So many things. I rarely am at home from the 20th October onwards. One day I wake up and it's around the 6th January. This was even more so in 2014. Real life coupled with ridiculous work commitments.

I read. I read a fair bit. I have about 10 books sitting here for reviews. But we've gotten to such a huge pile I am now procrastinating.

So to make myself catch up and get over being scared of the pile, I'll shall just do some mini/short reviews. These should start spamming the page in the next couple of days.

Well. That's the plan. I make no promises on the length.

Wuthering Heights

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Well. That's done. I've been meaning to read Wuthering Heights for years. It's a "Classic" (so along with that goes all the cultural references I have never really got). The Brontes are hailed in some circles as better than Austen. It's the most romantic story ever written.

Let me address those assertions. Bullshit.

Wuthering Heights is a book about the most stubborn, sullen, sulky, self-centred, selfish (I've unintentionally gone to alliteration and I have now run out of s words), prideful, petulant, bad tempered, greedy, hypocritical individuals I have ever had the displeasure of reading all shoved into one book.

I'm at a loss of why the book has been taught in high schools around the world for years. The story isn't particularly interesting or complex. The writing and language is easy to read and understand, which possibly makes it a more accessible option. Some people may have problems with the dialect parts, but to me that was just a Yorkshire accent. I actually stopped reading it as although I could understand it, it did take a bit of brain power to switch in and out of it and most of what Joseph said was rubbish anyway. Is it taught with the lesson "all these characters are who you should not grow up into"? Because that would make sense, a warning not to be like them.

This is a book of abuse. Really, that's what it comes down to. Severe manipulation of people, with liberal sprinklings of physical, emotional, psychological, and no doubt in my mind in the background, sexual abuse. Now I am far from being a prude or easily offended. I have read many a book that deal with these issues and themes. But in most other books there is a story that turns those situations into plot devices. Wuthering Heights doesn't have this. It is a chronicle of how people wish to control and/or destroy other people, mainly for the sake of it. It left me feeling a bit off in places.

And for the romance. There was hardly anything. There was fighting, sulking, screaming, name calling, shunning but not romance. I knew beforehand that Heathcliff and Cathy were supposed to love each other, but I would have found it hard to see if I didn't have that context. Life is too short to have a relationship like theirs, and it definitely is too short to read about it.

Positives? Well, as I said it was easy to read for a classic. That's good. I will now understand cultural references made about Wuthering Heights, so I can appear more intelligent in very certain conversations. And the moors. Can't go wrong with the moors. I can frolic over the moors myself and leave Cathy and Heathcliff behind.

The Secret Life of Bees

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I am honestly not sure where I am going to settle with this book. I am hoping writing this organises my thoughts about it a little more.

This is the story of Lily, a white, 13 year old girl in 1964 South Carolina. She is lonely and abused by her father, both physically and emotionally. One day she accompanies her housekeeper into town, who is going to register to vote for the very first time, and things happen that lead to her and Rosaleen running away from home.

They end up staying with an incredibly interesting household of sisters in a town 2 hours away who keep bees and have very different rituals and habits. They have been lead here by a card Lily found in her mother's things. They are pretty much adopted by the sisters and all their friends as well. The underlying social problem here is they are all people of colour, and Lily is not, in a southern state during the civil rights movement. Not that any of them have a problem with this, but it lingers in the book.

I have a few issues with the book. One, is I cannot fathom how much Lily lies to the sisters. I find August, May and even June likable, fascinating and incredibly generous people. And they let Lily and Rosaleen stay in their house, no questions asked, not knowing who they are for several months. And anytime something about the past comes up, Lily lies. I can't stand it. But I don't like lying much. I just want to shake the girl and point out everything the sisters have given her, at considerable personal risk, and yet, she won't even tell them her last name.

The other thing is while the sister's spiritualism and religion is interesting, and I was interested in knowing the stories, I got a little over it. I mean, as in I got it. I got what they were trying to say. I didn't need it all spelt out to me in odd honey smearings. Or just spelt out to me.

But lastly, I just felt ill during the second half of the book. Mainly as I knew what the narrative climax was going to have to be, I was terrified it was going to go the way I didn't want it to go. I guess that is a credit to the book really. I was that worried about the characters, even the slightly sociopathic 13 year old liar child, I felt ill.

I read it as part of a team challenge, I had to read a chick lit book. It was more than just chick lit though, which is why I am glad I read it instead of some of my other options. But if this sounds like your kind of book, and you like a spiritualism/self discovery aspect to your novels, then you'll probably like it more than me. And you should read it.

An Unsuitable Job for a Woman

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PD James was a presence while I grew up. She was always there. Same with Ruth Rendell. They were an infinitely growing, ominous, dark tomed presence that appeared on and loomed from the bookshelves. I had no idea what was in them, until I was old enough to start watching murder mysteries on TV with my Mum, but these books were slowly taking over.

But up until now, I have never read a book by either of them. So when I abandoned my first U read for the alphabet (Unnatural Fire, I couldn't deal with the language) I picked up this one.

This book is a spin off of sorts to her Adam Dalgliesh series. He makes an appearance at the end of the book and has a talked about presence throughout. Cordelia Grey is a early 20 something who worked a typing temp for a private investigator. He liked her and her investigative skills so much, he hired her on as another PI. Then made her a partner in the business. And then manages to kill himself leaving Cordelia the business which is unheard of in the 1970s for a woman to have a business, particularly of this nature, and so young.

Lurched into all of this Cordelia gets employed on her first solo case to go up to Cambridge and investigate the death of a young uni dropout called Mark Callender. This involves all sorts of running around Cambridge, hard life for some.

It's a short book, so I don't want to give anything else away really. It was fun. It a proper British murder mystery. I felt like I should have been watching it as a BBC miniseries at times. It's dated well, besides the typewriters. At least I spent enough time as a kid playing with a typewriter I know about ribbons and how annoying they are. And despite the title, it was not even half as sexist as I expected it to be. That was rather refreshing, especially after the last couple of reads.

And best of all, I didn't pick the ending! I love murder mysteries when I don't work out then end.

Storm Front

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Ah Harry Dresden. I was waiting for this. I tried Steppenwolf for my S read (and German read). I had already tried it once on a plane in Changi airport at 1.30am. I couldn't do it. So I tried again in real life and not jetlagged or uncomfortable. Was just as mind numbing. Discussions of the human/steppenwolf psyche which reads like a bad turn of the century Anth textbook. No thank you. So, obviously I was devastated I may have had to read Storm Front. Which has been solidly on my radar for a while and moved up much higher after Lexx's one and only review.

Storm Front is the first in the now mammothly sized Harry Dresden series. Harry is a wizard in Chicago. In a world where magic is sort of acknowledged but still not really welcome. Harry has done some things in his past that means that he's not too popular with the wizarding world, and is making his money by being a Private Investigator. The usual though, he doesn't have much money and has a tenuous relationship with the local police as a contractor.

But even though it is such a cliche, it's a good one and it's done well. There's an interesting magic system, there's a good enough story, the characters are easy to relate to and likable. Personally though, I have two problems:

1. One, like Lexx I found Harry a bit of a chauvinistic dick. But I found it more forgivable than Lexx. Which made me wonder why that was, and my conclusion was "Well, coz he's a man." Once I think that I berate myself for being sexist but also wonder why this excuses it. And I think it comes down to the underlying sexism that does still pervade every day life for women, and we just have to accept that sometimes, some men are chauvinistic dicks. And we have to deal with this or we'd be angry all the time. And sometimes it's not coz they think they are better than us. I mean the old men at work hold the doors open for me, not because they are bad people, it's just what they do. And that's my point. I can't yell at them every time coz that makes me the bad person, not them for implying I can't open a door. But when he says things like:

My own hands were too broad, but Murphy had delicate little lady's hands, except were the practice with her gun and her martial arts staff routines had left calluses. p302

That's just plain fucking rude.

2. I can't stop thinking of Harry Ramsden's. This was a fish shop in a small Yorkshire town next door to Dad's own. He used to ride his bike in the 40s over there and buy fish and chips wrapped in newspaper out of a hole in the wall. It then became a restaurant in the same town, then a chain in the UK, and then in the late 90s it had grown to a chain in airports around the world. It was crap from an Aussie fish and chip perspective, mainly as it was all mass produced at that time. But I can imagine being a kid and buying it out of someone's kitchen it would have been great. I thought they had gone bust but apparently not from the quick google for a link. Anyways, I keep mixing up the names. Not Jim Butcher's fault.

So I'm settling on a 4. I'm hoping Harry get's better. And that James Masters reading the audiobooks I have of the next few make it even better.

The No.1 Ladies' Detective Agency - #41

Imaged sourced from here

I remember first hearing about this series when my step-father asked for it one Christmas. I was slightly bemused being young and judgmental. But then the hype and acclaim got louder and louder. And I knew I was being silly.

But I have still left it until now to read about Precious Ramotswe and her detective agency. I am actually glad this challenge kicked me up the butt to read this book. Did I think it was as amazing as all the reviews have told me for the last 10 years? No. Was it a fun read? Yes. I did feel it was a little tainted with the overhype, but that is not the book's problem.

What actually impressed me about the book was two things. One was the sense of place. Alexander McCall Smith has an amazing way of describing the landscape and the surrounds that you actually feel like you are there. I saw an interview with him and he was just so in love with the landscape of Zimbabwe (where he grew up) and Botswana, and that makes complete sense as it it comes across in his writing. It was like the country and the environment was a character in the story. As someone who comes from a very ragged country herself, it was lovely to have that kind of environment talked about in a book. None of this Thomas the Tank Engine style of manicured landscape, this was real.

Secondly, there is no doubt this book is a cozy. However, there are so many topics and taboos that are talked about in this medium that don't usually fit. It was refreshing. Cozies have a tendency to be so clean and sanitised. None of that horrible life stuff (besides murder of course). But this one talks about rape, witchcraft, domestic violence, sacrificial killings, etc. It was an interesting mix. And yet a very safe way to raise these issues. I was impressed with the sensitivity to the audience, yet the lack of glossing over the truth.

Did I completely fall in love with it? No. Will I go back for a second helping? Yes. I need to see how it develops. I probably won't stick around for the whole 14 books, but I have a bit more time in me for Precious and her agency in the meantime.

Tephra, the new chicken, decided she wanted to write to you all too. I include her blog post below: "25555555555555555555555555555555555thuiuiuiuigggynutuul,;l'[=K9.;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;llllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll568655555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555556+"

Something Fresh

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While I was overseas, I finally bit the bullet and started a Wodehouse. This is an important time in every girl's life, and I am very happen that it occurred while I was actually in Wodehouse country. I am really quite serious about that last part. I cannot imagine a better intro to Wodehouse than I have had.

I picked up Something Fresh, the first in the Blandings Castle series, in a bookshop in Oxford. I had luckily discovered that morning, that I had brought the wrong book overseas with me for the September Challenge I was running. So I just had to buy another book. Life is so incredibly hard sometimes.

The book starts in the West End of London, which we had just been spending the last week wandering around exploring. I could imagine perfectly the streets or buildings, if I didn't know the exact area it was describing. When we weren't in London, we were up in Oxfordshire visiting my brother who was in an old family manor/stately home which had been converted to a hospice. But it was very similar to what I imagine Blandings would have been like. Just a bit smaller.

The book itself was fun. A little old fashioned, but no more than other writers of that era are now. But I can see why he is such an acclaimed writer. The book introduces us to the Threepwood family, their staff and friends. This time we meet them when it looks like Freddie, the youngest and particularly useless Threepwood, has just gotten engaged.

The story honestly is a little thin, but that's not why you read Wodehouse. You read him for his interactions between people and his observations of just about everything around them. And when he is does this and pointing out the slight absurdity of it all, he is brilliant. I am not a huge fan of slapstick either, but when it is written in such a dry, sarcastic... British, way. Oh I was nearly crying with laughter on the train. I highly recommend picking it up for a light, fluffy read.

What's with the Rainbow?

So to get all political on your arse (like that's never happened before... piffle). I believe that if you love somebody, it doesn't matter what race, creed, gender, colour or sex you are. You should be able to commit to each other in a loving relationship in front of your friends and family if you wish. Not everyone likes the idea of marriage, that's cool, I'm in a relationship with one of them. I'm also not saying a religious organisation should have to perform over unions they do not agree with.

What I think is that a relationship between two people who love each other should be able to have that recognised if they wish.

At the moment I live in a country that seems to be governed by conservatives who are more scared of what the evangelicals in their electorates think than the majority of Australians. I live in a country where an atheist PM (of the debatable "left" party) in a defacto relationship is terrified of the conservative vote. It does my head in.

This is why I have a big rainbow here. It's to say while I personally am not same sex attracted, my family members and friends who are and who want to get married, should be able to. And I will protest, and demonstrate, until they are able to. This is a wonderful thing. Two people willing to stand in front of everyone they know and commit themselves to each other is great. And this rainbow is declaring my support for this cause, and at the end of the month there will be a snapshot of all the websites who display this rainbow and be sent to the Australian Government. Follow the rainbow to see other sites who support this, add the code yourself, or dismiss it (it shouldn't show up again for you, yay for no spam). I don't mind, but this is what it is about.

And those of you who have quibbles, or just want a good rational debate, you should listen to this conservative pollie from New Zealand the other day when they debated, and passed, their own marriage equality bill.

Challenge - Jane Eyre

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I got given Jane Eyre many years ago. Much to my mother’s distaste. In fact I mentioned to her the other day I was reading it and she groaned. And flopped over. And continued groaning and stooping lower and lower until her arms were dragging on the floor while she trudged around the kitchen at an incredibly slow and thumping rate.

If you think I’m prone to overreaction and drama, you should meet my Mum.

It then emerged that she couldn’t quite remember reading it as she ran around the house warbling “Cathy!!!” and I pointed out that was the wrong sister and book, not that I have read Wuthering Heights either. She did finally remember reading it when I was speculating on the end, and she got an evil grin on her face, opened her mouth, clamped both hands over it quickly, and ran away.

See my previous comment. Throw in my Dad’s Yorkshire tendencies to tell long, rambley stories over a pint or 7, and I didn’t stand a chance.

So on my second attempt to read it, I finished. I had to read it. We share a name. In fact when I came across the quote, which I actually really like;

“Do you think, because I am poor, obscure, plain, and little, I am soulless and heartless? You think wrong!” –p282

I am wondering if my good friend in high school calling me (and writing all over my stuff) “Jane, plain and small” was actually her being literary. Strong possibility.

So what did I actually think? I loved the first half of the book. Besides the love of semi-colons (says the girl with the love of commas and parentheses), I really enjoyed the writing. And she at least knew how to use those semi-colons. I loved the feeling of being back in Yorkshire. I loved the moors. I liked Jane. I even liked Mr Rochester. As I said to Mum, “He’s actually quite funny and intelligent. Until he doesn’t stop talking. He just goes on and on and becomes ridiculous, and you just wish you could shake him and say ‘Oh just stop talking!! I liked you so much better when you weren’t talking!!’”. She pointed out in mirth that may be the pot calling the kettle black. Bah.

But then it goes a bit pear-shaped. The big twist in events happens. She meets St John Rivers, who needs to get the .. hell... over himself frankly. The book gets ridiculously preachy. I got stuck in sermons that I didn’t realise I being lead into, and that made me grumpy at the characters for breaching my trust. Oh and then the end! Dear god!

So I’m glad I read it. I liked the first 300pp or so. It was going to be a 4 starrer I thought. It would pull me out of this 3 star slump I’ve been in. But alas, it was not to be.

A Case of Exploding Mangoes - #31

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I need to start reading the backs of books.I was convinced that this book was about a Pakistani family and their hilarious drama. So I spent the first 30 pages reading waiting for this to start, then read the back of the book. My thought straight away was, "You've bloody done it again". You would have thought that I had learnt from my Iran read. But hellz no! Learning from experience is for losers. Or something. /sigh

Ah well, on with the show. What the book is really about, is the sudden firey, airplaney death of the Pakistani President/Dictator in 1988 and the circumstances, imagined and real, surrounding it. This is not a spoiler by the way. You're told this happens on the first page. And the back of the book, which is why I frequently don't read them.

We are following the story of a Pakistani officer and his arrest as his roommate goes AWOL. Ali Shigri, tells us what happens to him during his interrogations and imprisonment. But we also flick between him, and none other than Mr President himself, and the people and events that surround him.

It was again a very well written book. I can definitely see why it made it on the mixed blessing Booker Longlist in 2008. It just wasn't a subject matter that interests me. Actually, that isn't entirely true. The political, societal and religious themes very much interest me. Shigri is a drill commander though, and drill bores me. Military things bore me. I'm the daughter of a short time Naval Officer (I got in the way of that) and a career Submariner in two different Navys, but military things, especially things like drill and parade and chest puffing and displays of tanks... *snore*

I'm actually striking it pretty lucky this year. While the subject matter has not always been up my alley, the vast majority of my books this year are really, incredibly well written. I feel like I should like them out of respect for the authors. And it is what has made me persevere with them. I want to know where the story goes as I am lead there by the writing, not because I am entirely riveted by the story itself. 

But the benefit to that is I have no hesitation recommending this on to people who are into that kinda thing. If you like military mysteries or historical fiction, read it. If you like people in stupid uniforms calling each other Sir and obeying their commands with no hesitation because of a small bit of cloth or metal makes them better apparently, then go for it! Even if you are not, like me obviously, then still feel free to give it a go, as there is enough to pull you through. Especially if you like mangoes, as that bothers you right until the end. What on earth is with the mangoes?

Pounamu Pounamu - #25

Image by me.

So behind. And I haven't even been doing anything. I've been on holidays in the 40 degree heat. That's it, blame the insane heatwave. Ignoring the fact I read this book before it started...

But all this aside, this was the perfect time to read this book in this challenge. It turns out I was almost experiencing an element of Aussie literary homesickness. As much as I have loved some of the places I have been taken, and the stories I have been told, I longed for a familiar voice.

This book sated me while still opening my eyes to new experiences. Let me explain.

First and foremost, I love Kiwis and New Zealand. I find New Zealanders (or Kiwis to us Aussies) to be some of the most lovely people on the planet. They seem to have most of the qualities I love about Australians but with a slightly gentler spirit. Maybe that's what happens when you have nothing poisonous on your islands and all you native creatures are birds. But it was an eerily familiar voice in a different culture. And it helps when you read all the vowels the wrong way round so it sounds like a Kiwi accent. And I understood most of the English slang (not the Maori to begin with, but more on that later). It was home after being away so long. And that's leaving out the fact that New Zealand is one of the most beautiful parts of the world, which I was lucky enough to rely on my imagination for (although I have only been to the wrong island for this book).

My Mum picked up this book last time she was in NZ, and when I said I was doing this challenge and asked her and her husband for suggestions, they both recommended this book. I said "But Kiwi books would be the same as Aussie books though. I'm looking for something different". They assured me I was wrong and to read it. And I will admit they were right.

The short stories are written about traditional-ish Maori communities in the North Island of NZ around the 1960s. The kids are feeling the pull of Western culture and to the cities, where as the adults are concerned about the continuation of their communities and the cultural and religious traditions that are so completely intertwined to the communities. I find Maori culture fascinating (and I admit I have quite a few tikis in my ownership) and therefore wanted to know more about what was important and sacred to these communities. And Ihimaera does this in a way that is accessible for us. He also mingles Maori into the text, so before long you have picked up words in Maori and they no longer need to be explained.

It's brilliant writing. I'm not a huge fan of short stories, I get frustrated as I either don't find out enough so I don't engage with the story, or I engage and then feel cheated. But this didn't happen too often in this book. And the stories are heartbreaking and so, so funny. One story about the Maori Hockey Tournament had me laughing so hard, even when I was rather sick. These warrior peoples, with the gentleness and politeness of not only their own culture but the general New Zealand-ness, competing with each other and their own little problems, was so hysterically well balanced and told it was a marvel.

I highly recommend it. I understand not everyone will be able to jump in with both feet like I was without the knowledge of us down in the Antipodes as well as the Kiwi's own interesting version of slang (which I will admit we mock them for. Jandles? Really?), but it is a wonderful introduction to one of my favourite places on earth, Maori culture and the problems that have faced Indigenous cultures all around the world, especially by those who have been invaded/colonised (choose your own term) by White Europeans.

For those wondering, that is one of my favourite pictures I took in NZ. It's in Queenstown, looking over Lake Wakatipu at the Remarkables. I have always giggled at the name of those mountains. So British! "Have you seen those mountains? They are remarkable."

Wild Swans - #17

Yes, I know that image is Japanese not Chinese. Not to mention god knows what or who is doing what to whom. But it sums up this book for me. Elephant-Swan. The thing was huge.

This was one of those highly acclaimed and raved about books I had been meaning to read for a very long time. I was given it by my housemate who bought it at a garage sale down the road for 50 cents. He was very pleased with himself how little it cost. While appreciating the present, it was one of those occasions where you kinda didn't want to know how little was spent on you, no matter the bargain  It has sat on my shelf since then, trying to lure me to read it to see if it was worth 50 cents.

Was it? Yes. Was it insightful? Yes. Was it astonishing? Yes. Was it informative? Yes. Did it inform me how much of a bad person I have become? Oh hell yes.

I was amazed and horrified at the autocracies described in this book. By the Chinese landowners, by the Japanese and especially by the Communists. I had no idea about the Long March. I knew the phrase the Cultural Revolution, but actually had no idea what it meant. Chatting to my brother the other night highlighted how my education has lacked from doing no history in high school and very little in Uni. He knew all about this stuff from a subject he took in Yr 12. I, however, was completely in the dark.

Which lead me to an interesting discovery. I was listening to Jung talk about how she could not challenge Mao in her mind. How she was brainwashed into believing he was almost a god and infallible. And I thought, how stupid do you have to be? Well, not stupid as the consequence was torture and either death or complete destruction of your family and their futures. But how could you accept this and not challenge it at least internally.

And then I realised. Being a child of the 1980s I was always brought up to think that China was wrong. That they were bad and not good. They had human rights issues and freedom of speech problems and you don't want to end up like them. Oh and that Mao guy? Bit of a dick really. Not very nice. And I, until this book, had never known why besides one or two stories I had heard over the years. Except I accepted this premise. It was what we were taught. It's what was right.

While I am definitely on that side still after reading this book, my questioning of her brainwashing, lead me to discover the almost brainwashing of my own. My quick judgement of her made me realise that as a child especially, it is so easy to be talked around to other people's way of thinking. While I'm not saying we are comparable to Maoist China, I am saying that maybe we are throwing stones and not realising we are in a glass house.

But that's not why I am a bad person nor why this book is an elephant-swan. Why I am a bad person and this book to me is an elephant-swan is because my boss, who happens to be a Professor of Literature (you know, I mention this for the street cred haha), saw I was reading this book. While work is still insane, she was all "You have to go and read this book!! Now! Stop that work and read! I was all puffy-eyed for over a fortnight while reading that book. I couldn't stop crying!!".

I sort of looked at her, and replied, "Really? Until we got to the Cultural Revolution I was a bit bored. Hopefully things pick up a bit now".

There was a bit of a blank stare in return.

Really. I was bored. I was just thinking over and over again:

If it wasn't for the fact I had to read the book in September I may have, possibly, dumped it. Not sure, as the positives for reading it far out weighed the bogging down bits. But still. Bad person. I mean, seriously, who gets bored hearing about a families persecution and torture and harassment by a flawed but immensely powerful system?!? Not a good one.

But whether I am a good person or not, it's 3.5 elephant-swan stars. Recommend to everyone to read who has no idea about Chinese modern history, but be prepared you may be bogged down in the middle. Or I'm just horrid.

Zorro - #10

I did not have high hopes for this book. For some reason, some where I had read that it was terrible. I personally think that review was unfounded and untrue. Was it Dickens? No. Does everyone now have a picture of Charles Dickens dressed as Zorro in their mind? Yes. I am happy to have helped. Let me help you more.

Right. I, however, had Antonio Banderas in my head for this whole book, which is wonderful. Slightly strange while Diego was a boy, and he was just a mini version, but it worked. The story is a wonderful swashbuckling adventure throughout California (which was then a part of Mexico and a Spanish colony), mainly around LA and Spain, mainly in Barcelona. It follows Diego up until the point he is established as the Zorro we all know. There are sword fights, duels, love, Gypsies, horse riding, pirates, Native Americans, gambling, whoring. It’s fun.

Am I therefore cheating having it as my Chilean read as it is not set in Chile? Very probably. It was on my bookshelf though and that was one of my rules; that I read what was on my shelf first. I broke it once and I can’t do it again. We have run out of room for more books. My partner is trying to put up shelves in the house for more books, but it is just resulting in the house smelling like wood stain (as we can’t open it up as it has been -6 all week), lots of holes in walls, and one exploded drill. He’ll get there and he’ll do it better than me. But in the meantime, I must read my already acquired books.

Also, who else do you think of as a Chilean writer than Isabel Allende? The House of Spirits was amazing! It probably helped that I had just done a Sociology unit (my god the website is still active 8 years on) on South America and it’s dictators, their overthrowing by socialists and then overthrowing of the socialists by military junta backed by the US. Chile was one of these countries (I say one, as it happened in most of them. Astounding). So reading that story that talked about these happenings from the family involved’s perspective was wonderful. That and I think she is a brilliant storyteller.

That storytelling brilliance was evident again in this book. You were easily whisked away on the journey and adventure. You were pulled into the Californian desert or the streets of Barcelona. What was jarring however was that while the book was told in the majority in third person (and worked wonderfully), every now and then there would be a narrator that jarringly popped their head in. The first time I was shocked. It was like someone had burst in on my dream and started telling me what’s what, while I was trying desperately to work out who the hell this person was and how the hell they got into my head. Then they popped in and out every 50 pages or so, talking in first person, telling you little snippets about Diego’s character (kinda worked it out already little dream invader, but cheers for that) or how they know Diego *sooo* well, or guess what happens later!

This dream invading narrator needed a good slap. But when they disappeared and left you to the story it was enjoyable and fun. I want to go swashbuckling. 3.5 sabre wielding stars.





Next: Burma with Saving Fish from Drowning

Dar

I went to my grandfather's funeral this week. This included a trip to Melbourne and a long drive home with my family back. I was supposed to get a lot of reading done, but it didn't really happen. But that's okay.

Besides being a sad occasion, my family has a way to make any event a memorable and usually hilarious one. Most of our family is in Melbourne, so we tend to only really catch up together at weddings and funerals. For some of us, that is more frequent than we would like, like the "black sheep" who stuffed his pockets full of biscuits from the wake. For all my cousins, who spent the rest of the day taking turns to try and turn the pocket biscuits into crumbs while the rest of us watched from the other side of the room, this is not enough.

But the man of the moment was my Dar. Dar was an incredibly successful and intelligent man. He was a research food scientist who started working for Kraft in the late 1930s and is the man credited with discovering that vitamin B1 and therefore Vegemite, is good for you. The Vegemite we eat today, is his team's recipe. He helped start one of the biggest Academies of Science in Australia and the annual Award of Merit awarded to Food Scientists in Australia each year is named after him. He got interested in my aunt's study of history at Uni and then decided he would go earn himself a Masters in history just because he could. And he went on to write quite a few books on science, food science, the history of food science and history.

He and I shared a love of science too, and I think he was a little chuffed that I used to work at the Science Centre here in Australia, and worked on the largest science prize awarded within Aus. At least I hope so, because I was always thinking of him while I was there.

What ties him in to this blog I guess, besides me obviously, was that this was a man I can never remember not reading. When he used to come stay with us what I remember as a kid, besides us having to have the best table manners in the world, and me being told off constantly for my pronunciation of the letter H, was that he always had so many books with him.

Usually it was work related, but he loved humorous British novels and British detective novels as well. He always sent us money for books or book vouchers for our birthdays and Christmas. One Christmas a couple of years ago at Mum's, we had all opened our presents. All 7 of us were sitting there with a pile of at least 3 books in front of us, some of us with 7 or 8. Dar looked around the room and just burst out in his large, explosive laugh. "Well," he said, "I have never met such a bookish family!"

I am very grateful to this old man, who always wore dress pants, a blazer, a vest, business shirt and a tie no matter the weather, who instilled in me a love of reading. I am grateful he taught his children this too, with my Mum and her sister both becoming librarians, and them making sure I always had books. I will miss our discussions about literature, education and science. I will miss the way he made me value all of them. I will just miss him.

The Elegance of the Hedgehog - #6

We went to Singapore for a week. My work had a conference there, so we decided to buy another ticket and take a week off. Once you get on a plane for 8 hours (or 9 if you include the transfer to Sydney), you better bloody well have a holiday I think. The benefit however of living on an island where the closest neighbour is 4 hours away (which is closer than flying to the other side of the "island"), is that it gives you lots of time to read. The draw back is that with the data roaming charges being what they are, I'm going to be spending this week playing catch up.
....
I really don't have anything to complain about.

Anyways, Hedgehogs. Elegant ones.

This book had been on my "to-read" list for a while. I don't know why exactly. I think it was because it was one of those books that popped up everywhere, without any real reviews I could see. It had a nice cover. And it mentioned hedgehogs. I have read books for more ridiculous reasons.

This book sort of screamed self-indulgence for the first third of the book. The two main characters were incredibly intelligent. Like brain bleedingly so. But then they just tried as hard as they could to conceal it. I personally cannot fathom that. I feel that I am surrounded by stupidity so often, that intelligence should be embraced, encouraged and waved in everyone's faces.

What I ended up feeling like with this book was that the author made the characters that way to show off how clever *she* was. So maybe the waving it in everyone's face is a little obnoxious. All I wanted to do was shake her and yell "Yes! We all get how clever you are. Get on with the damn story!!"

Thank god someone listened and in comes Mr Kakuro Ozu who finally makes the book interesting, makes the book likable and somehow wiggles a plot out of the rest of the book. Everyone at 7 Rue de Grenelle is fascinated and in awe of him, and you as a reader are too. 1. Because he is infinitely likeable and a great human being, and 2. because he's made the 100 or so pages you have just struggled through worthwhile.

We had a ... lively discussion... over the book title in Sydney Airport. I said it was because hedgehogs are elegant in their own little way. My partner thought that this was ridiculous, and that it must be some metaphor on how something really wasn't elegant at all. It resulted in a "HAH!" moment when I came across:
“Madame Michel has the elegance of the hedgehog: on the outside she is covered in quills, a real fortress, but my gut feeling is that on the inside, she has the same simple refinement as the hedgehog: a deceptively indolent little creature, fiercely solitary--and terrible elegant.” 

Take that Mr Hedgehogs-aren't-elegant. 3.5 stars from me.

Next: Japan with Norwegian Wood

Purge - #3

This book was different. It had a mood. It enveloped you like a thick, sticky fog and wouldn't quite let you out. It drew you in so far, you felt like you were in the Estonian forest, probably in a log style farmhouse, and surrounded by the mist. You could pretty much smell the horseradish, feel the charcoal on your teeth throughout this book. It was an experience.

I wonder if it is just something we don't do in Western novels/stories. I liken my experience with this novel to my partner's when we sat down to watch the Swedish version of The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. He wasn't overly keen to watch it, but within the first 5 mins (which was only the intro titles) he was on the edge of his seat desperate to see where the movie went. In those 5 mins, the mood (his words not mine this time) was so unlike any thing that we were used to, and he was lapping it up. For him with the movie and for me with this novel, we weren't patronised, we weren't talked down to, we were just taken along on a story.

As a Westerner who's biggest problem in life at the moment is that her phone battery doesn't last more than a day (what the hell Ericsson!), being thrown into a world of either being occupied in your own country by the Soviets, then the Germans, then the Soviets again for good measure or finally being able to get to the promise of the West only to be forced into sex slavery, was needless to say perspective finding. The worlds these women experienced while not entirely unheard of, casts the light my cushy Aussie lifestyle.

Both Aliide and Zara were likeable to some extent, and you were able to empathise and sympathise with them both, although Zara more. You understood and even respected their decisions, and honestly I do not know if I would have made entirely different ones from Aliide to keep myself safe. The desperation of the women oozes off the page and into you.

Criticisms, as we all know I always have some. While I felt that the "darker things" (trying not to spoil here, so work with me) was dealt with delicately while still conveying the horror of it all in the Soviet area parts of the book, I felt that it was overly explicit when mentioned in the 1990s timeline. Although it could have been mentioned more I guess... so maybe that was the delicate way of putting it... Secondly, I think that Part Five of the book was kinda unnecessary, and the book could have end those 10-15pp earlier. It didn't alter the story or decrease my like of the book, just was a bit... meh.

Overall a highly recommended read. There are one or two bits that sort of burn into your mind so make sure you have some youtube videos of hilarious animals to get you to sleep. And for some reason I had a dream that I single-handedly had to save Latvia last night... not sure if that is related... Anyways, 5 stars from me.

Next: Congo with The Heart of Darkness.