Books

Although it would be fun to blog about how our county treasurer was recently arrested for drug charges last weekend, especially after I just sent him a check for thirteen hundred dollars to pay off my land/property tax, I’m going to refrain and simply say that the whole thing is a very sad situation.

Instead, I’m going to tell you about Alison Jay, who illustrates children’s books. I just discovered her. Her illustrations are simply a delight. We have two of her books checked out for Liam right now. It took me forever to realize that each page has an image subtly placed that is then exhibited in a larger form on the next page. It’s kind of like a Where’s Waldo book, but far more intriguing and finer artwork. You can buy her illustration in poster format on an online “boutique” called Oopsy Daisy. Her books are definitely going on my wishlist.

I recently watched The Namesake, a movie based on the book by Jhumpa Lahiri. It was really good, highly recommend it. But at the end I started wondering whether I should have read the book first, which is what I had always intended to do but I just don’t have as much time to read nowadays. I tried to do this with the Golden Compass but was too excited about the movie release that I watched it after only completing half the book. As it turns out, the movie didn’t ruin a great deal when it came to reading the book. They left a lot of things out of the movie and it was easy enough to enjoy both for what they were. I’m not so sure about The Namesake, though. I’m afraid now that I know the plot and story, I won’t enjoy the book so much, despite the fact that one of the main reasons I’ve always enjoyed Lahiri’s work is for her writing style.

Another movie I really want to see is Atonement. My brother just watched this and said it was an excellent movie. When I told him that I was waiting to read the book first he suggested that I not because it might ruin the movie experience. Jeeze. It’s so hard to choose.

Other book/movies I want to see:

Persepolis (already read that one so)
Love in the time of Cholera
Kite Runner
Silk
Lust, Caution

I’m sure there are more, I just can’t think of right now. But seriously. What’s the better bet? Book first or movie?

Yikes. Ok, that so did not go the way I thought it would. I’ve never even heard of this book.

You’re The Guns of August!
by Barbara Tuchman
Though you’re interested in war, what you really want to know is what
causes war. You’re out to expose imperialism, militarism, and nationalism for what they
really are. Nevertheless, you’re always living in the past and have a hard time dealing
with what’s going on today. You’re also far more focused on Europe than anywhere else in
the world. A fitting motto for you might be "Guns do kill, but so can
diplomats."

Take the Book Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.

My friend Diama just sent me a really funny blog written by a stay at home dad. I really cracked up when I read his post called My Daughter, the Nazi. It was definitely the kind of laugh I needed today.

When Emmeline did a Nazi salute in the middle of the Jewish Community Center and then strode goose-stepping under a wall-sized quote by Anne Frank, I sensed my penchant for teaching her random, silly parlor tricks had taken a turn for the worse. The alphabet, numbers, real animal sounds — I think we’ll be doing a lot more of those from now on.

I guess this just proves that you can have the best of intentions as a parent and things will still go awry.

I brought Mike back a book called Daddy Needs Drink after he emailed me at work with another frustrating experience trying to get Liam down for his afternoon nap. He’s reading it as I write this and I’m relieved to hear him chuckle every once and awhile. There is something cathartic about reading blogs/books about parents who are having similar experiences with their kids, especially when they manage to put a humorous twist to things.

Unfortunately it seems the big run of Zombie movies has all but dried up recently, and so I’ve had to turn to other media forms in order to get my “zombie fix”. Cindy checked out Monster Island for me, a book originally published in Blog form. The author is David Wellington. It’s a trilogy, with Monster Nation, and Monster Planet following it. All three are in Blog format, while only Monster Island being published as a book so far. The tone of the book is great, everything you need when dealing with zombies: fantastic gore, tongue-in-cheek humor, and lots and lots of guns. Plus a few surprise bonuses: a Scottish mummy, a guy who turned himself into a zombie, and 16 year old Somolian girls in schoolgirl uniforms toting AK-47’s. Rock!

After checking out Wellington’s website I came across a website for zombie based Browser/Flash games! Check out Undead Games.

One of the best things about having a wife who works at the Library is that I can get on the “Hold” list fairly quickly for just about any book that comes out. Thus it was with the new Harry Potter book. I was #3 on the list (scoring me a book as soon as it came out) and when i recieved the telephone book sized (ok, a REAL cities telephone book…), brand new Year 6, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince I was all giggles. As I finally sat down to digest the eagerly anticipated, next-to-last book in the Harry Potter series, I couldn’t help but feel something akin to the feeling you get when the weather starts to get cold and you take your favorite blanket out of storage and wrap it around yourself - it’s comforting, it’s familiar and it puts you at ease. This is how I felt when reading the first few pages.

This whole series has been so phenomenal. Say what you want about them, call it a fad, a craze, whatever - you can’t deny J.K. Rowlings writing skill. Fans of the books know - we CARE about Harry, Hermione, and Ron, they are our little brothers and sisters and we experience their pain and loss; thrill and joy, just as keenly as they do. I don’t own wizard robes, I’ve never gone to a book release party, I don’t dress up like a wizard to go see the movies and I don’t own a wand (well, not anymore anyway), but I’m on the bandwagon just the same, baby! Next stop, Diagon Alley….

I love trolls. On my mantle above the fire place I have several troll figurines. When I was little living in Scotland, our house was just across the street from a cairn. My mom used to tell me that a troll was sleeping under the cairn so I mustn’t climb it or I’ll wake him. I was never taught to be afraid of trolls. I was just taught never to make them angry, you know, a bit like dads. For most of my childhood I actually believed that we had our very own house troll. He lived as a figurine by day, standing next to our front door. Very ugly bastard. I used to try and brush his hair thinking it would help but it didn’t. By night he would come alive and guard the house for us, or at least, that’s what my mom told me. I liked the idea because it helped to explain the strange creaking noises that I heard at night coming from downstairs.

Troll: A Love Story is written by Finnish author Johanna Sinisalo. It took me about five chapters before I realized that the main character was a gay man, not a hetero woman. Brilliantly deceptive (then again, I could of just read the synopsis on the back of the book). I loved it. For once we get to imagine a troll as a process of evolution as opposed to a mythical creature. Poor trolls, get such a bad rap, always thought of as evil goblin like creatures. Nowadays, people even use the word “troll” to describe an internet menace. In D&D, trolls are considered one of the hardest most nasty creatures to kill. I have always imagined them a little twisted and probably pretty mischiveious but not altogether evil.

“Naturally, no one goes and sits with her. She’s been here before, and everyone gives her the ice-cold shoulder, yet still she turns up again and again. Someone might argue we’re zoo animals for her. But I’ve another theory. For her, we’re nobel savages, a kind of gray area outside the respectable, minutely organized community, an untamed wilderness it takes a lot of guts to step into. But if you dare, there’s a glorious smell of freedom floating around your trousers and giving the finger to society, making everyone an instant anarchist. Certainly, for her coming here is like putting a temporary tatoo on your shoulder: there’s the thrill of deviance with none of the dull commitment-and she’ll never have to wonder whether she’s too weird to be seen out before dark.”

“Drunk, you can think about things as if you were observing poisonous insects inside tightly lidded jars of thick glass, while a sober view would be a walk through thickets of the same swarming crawlies, which can land on your unprotected neck or leg if you’re not on the alert every second.”

I just finished reading The Swallows of Kabul by Yasmina Khadra. I picked it off the shelf a few days after I had a weird dream that I was visiting a foreign country where they stuffed playdo in womens mouths to prevent them from speaking. The author is a guy but he used a feminine pseudonym to write the book in order “to avoid submitting his manuscripts for approval by military censors while he was still in the army.”

Here are some quotes from the book that I particularly liked.

Nobody believes in miraculous rains or the magical transformations of spring, and even less in the dawning of a bright new tomorrow. Men have gone mad; they have turned their backs on the day in order to face the night. Patron saints have been dismissed from their posts. Prophets are dead, and their ghosts are crucified even in the hearts of children…

And everywhere-in the squares, on the streets, among the vehicles, or around the coffee shops-there are kids, hundreds of little kids with snot-green nostrils and piercing eyes, disturbing, sickly, on their own, many barely old enough to walk, and all silently braiding the stout rope they’ll use, someday soon, to lynch their country’s last hope of salvation.

Here is something I learned:

Burqa - “The burkha or burqa that the Taliban required women to wear in public is a tent-like garment that covers the woman from head to foot. The part covering the head is tight, to keep in place a mesh panel, out of which the woman sees; the rest is voluminous, gathered in back in pleats that allow freedom of movement.”

This is a burqa.

Zunaira shakes her head. “I don’t feel like coming home heartsick, Mohsen. The things that go on in the streets will just ruin my day, to no purpose. I can’t come face-to-face with horrors and just keep on walking as if nothing’s happened. Furthermore, I refuse to wear a burqa. Of all the burdens they’ve put on us, that’s the most degrading. The Shirt of Nessus wouldn’t do as much damage to my dignity as that wretched getup. It cancels my face and takes away my identity and turns me into an object. Here, at least, I’m me, Zunaira, Mohsen Ramat’s wife, age thirty-two, former magistrate, dismissed by obscurantists without a hearing and without compensation, but with enough self-respect left to brush my hair every day and pay attention to my clothes. If I put that damned veil on, I’m neither a human being nor an animal, I’m just an affront, a disgrace, a blemish that has to be hidden. That’s too hard to deal with. Especially for someone who was a lawyer, who worked for women’s rights. Please, I don’t want you to think for a minute that I’m putting on some sort of act. I’d like to, you know, but unfortunately my heart’s not in it anymore. Don’t ask me to give up my name, my features, the color of my eyes, and the shape of my lips so I can take a walk through squalor and desolation. Don’t ask me to become something less than a shadow, an anonymous thing rustling around in a hostile place. You know how thin-skinned I am, Mohsen. I’d be angry at myself being angry at you when you were only trying to please me.”