Thankfully my hotel in NYC gave me an umbrella for my taxi ride to NYU and then again as I headed to Penn Station. Getting there when there was a hole in the schedule of trains north, I had a quick lunch and headed to the bookstore. I found a book that I thought would be a variation on Sherman Alexie's stories about life on the "rez." I bought The Boy Kings of Texas by Domingo Martinez.
Domingo was raised in the barrio of Brownsville in a family of five children, two girls and three boys were he was the middle on. Domingo wrote this memoir as psychiatric therapy to heal from the traumas and temptations of his youth and young adulthood. His family is comic and horribly tragic: an abusive father in a culture that fosters that behavior; a grandmother who blends Catholicism with voodoo like talismans who may have contributed to the death of her philandering husband; sisters who assume Valley girl personas to overcome their heritage; a brawling older brother and an emotionally fragile brother who falls into addiction.
How depressing, how well written and insightful, how Texan. As with the rest of my reading habits this summer, I got Domingo's sequel My Heart is a Drunken Compass. Here Domingo's life in Seattle where he moved to get away from Texas. Like other male members of his family, he falls completely into alcohol and drug coupled with absolutely horrible choices in girlfriends, It is a difficult story to read. A talented writer who hopefully will venture into fiction
Wednesday, September 30, 2015
Continuing The Massive Recapitulation
So before reading about octopuses, I had to go to NYC for work, easily the first time I've been back there for years ... just thinking that would predate 9/11 ... when I used to go to WTC quite frequently during my early years in government. This trip was in August, shortly after Bill and Em came up from Texas for their vacation up north. I believe I might have mentioned in the blog before that Em's mother is a pre-publication proof reader of paperback books and Em usually brings several with her for me, but probably also to get her house less cluttered. A couple of years ago, she brought Ahab's Wife which I didn't like that much. This time she brought another Sena Jeter Nashlund novel, Adam and Eve. What a difference.
I just checked Amazon's review and they call the plot preposterous. I tend to see it more a female Indiana Jones adventure, in a setting that harkens to 100 Years of Solitude fantasy. It is the scope and themes of the story that attract me: an astrophysicist's search for alien life, the vested interests of traditional monotheistic religions to hold to a creation theory, and the creation of prehistoric art and how art and family defines man. It certainly was a page turner and kept me reading as many paragraphs as I could cram in between conference sessions.
I just checked Amazon's review and they call the plot preposterous. I tend to see it more a female Indiana Jones adventure, in a setting that harkens to 100 Years of Solitude fantasy. It is the scope and themes of the story that attract me: an astrophysicist's search for alien life, the vested interests of traditional monotheistic religions to hold to a creation theory, and the creation of prehistoric art and how art and family defines man. It certainly was a page turner and kept me reading as many paragraphs as I could cram in between conference sessions.
The Last Five Months
I cannot believe it has been since April that I posted. Must admit, and I have been so reluctant to do so, that work has been a big deterrent, distraction and draining experience. It's not so much that I am writing constantly -- more than I am taxed to be sharp, witty and confrontational all at the same time. Come home with my brain drained, unable to look at a printed page. Of course, from late spring through the summer, I must have put together a dozen thousand piece jig saw puzzles, becoming an even greater believer in using the other side of your brain, yoga like, to gain balance. So referencing brains, let me start reconstructing what books I did manage to read over the past months with one of the last ones, The Soul of an Octopus by Sy Montgomery.
Think I read a review in the New York Times book review and chanced it being available already at the library. It is a small book and a quick and engaging read. Ms. Montgomery is a naturalist, not a marine biologist, who apparently has written several books about her world wide journeys to study animals wherever they are found. Her octopuses were located in the Boston Aquarium.
A side note: in July, I took our older son and his wife who hails from Texas to Boston for a Red Sox game, a visit to the aquarium (she loves penguins) in exchange for my return visit to the Harvard Museum of Natural History to see the glass flowers again, nigh almost 50 years later. While the weather and seats were perfect for the game, my son re-enacted his own past Fenway behavior, reading non-stop for almost all nine innings. He did rise to the challenge and personally guide Em through the aquarium like a volunteer tour guide.
Back to TSOAO, Sy is interested in finding out how much personality-type behaviors octopuses display, answering such questions as are they curious, do they play, are they attracted or repelled by certain humans, do they remember humans, and if these things do occur, what is there physiology-wise that gives these invertebrates the ability to do so. As she encounters a series of them, the scientists at the aquarium have given them each a name: Octavia, Kali, Karma, Athena. Each has different traits: they're shy or teases or affection-starved.
I loved this book so much, I ordered one for Em as a belated souvenir of our trip. And why did I like it. Sy describes something called octopus time, Even though the animals can be lightning fast quick in either darting away or sending out previously hidden arms to steal a pail of food, the water makes encounters with them languid. There is no fear in Sy or the scientists as they immerse their arms into the top of the tanks to let the sucker rich arms wrap around them as they get to "know" each other. Such engagements extend for long periods of time, so much so that in the silence of the exhibit or back room caring labs, they become something without fixed duration. Zen almost, and that calmness and oneness with all nature resonates in the writing. I too was at peace reading it.
I have another of her more recent books on order at the library, The Good Good Pig. Her writing is for all ages with no attempt to anthropomorphize her observations. She has a message of one world with all species sharing life. I suppose I should also read her books on lions and tigers
Think I read a review in the New York Times book review and chanced it being available already at the library. It is a small book and a quick and engaging read. Ms. Montgomery is a naturalist, not a marine biologist, who apparently has written several books about her world wide journeys to study animals wherever they are found. Her octopuses were located in the Boston Aquarium.
A side note: in July, I took our older son and his wife who hails from Texas to Boston for a Red Sox game, a visit to the aquarium (she loves penguins) in exchange for my return visit to the Harvard Museum of Natural History to see the glass flowers again, nigh almost 50 years later. While the weather and seats were perfect for the game, my son re-enacted his own past Fenway behavior, reading non-stop for almost all nine innings. He did rise to the challenge and personally guide Em through the aquarium like a volunteer tour guide.
Back to TSOAO, Sy is interested in finding out how much personality-type behaviors octopuses display, answering such questions as are they curious, do they play, are they attracted or repelled by certain humans, do they remember humans, and if these things do occur, what is there physiology-wise that gives these invertebrates the ability to do so. As she encounters a series of them, the scientists at the aquarium have given them each a name: Octavia, Kali, Karma, Athena. Each has different traits: they're shy or teases or affection-starved.
I loved this book so much, I ordered one for Em as a belated souvenir of our trip. And why did I like it. Sy describes something called octopus time, Even though the animals can be lightning fast quick in either darting away or sending out previously hidden arms to steal a pail of food, the water makes encounters with them languid. There is no fear in Sy or the scientists as they immerse their arms into the top of the tanks to let the sucker rich arms wrap around them as they get to "know" each other. Such engagements extend for long periods of time, so much so that in the silence of the exhibit or back room caring labs, they become something without fixed duration. Zen almost, and that calmness and oneness with all nature resonates in the writing. I too was at peace reading it.
I have another of her more recent books on order at the library, The Good Good Pig. Her writing is for all ages with no attempt to anthropomorphize her observations. She has a message of one world with all species sharing life. I suppose I should also read her books on lions and tigers
Sunday, April 19, 2015
Pagans by James J. O'Donnell
Pagans - The End of Traditional Religion and the Rise of Christianity was a book I started reading on Good Friday, just for the symbolic effect. When I checked the back flap and read that Mr. O'Donnell was a provost at Georgetown and former president of the American Philological Association, I felt like I had a good substitute for missing CAMWS in Boulder this March. Alas and alack, the book is flat.
As an English major, I could not abide trying to memorize the names of the English kings; same deal with the Roman emperors, especially once they tended to come from anywhere but Rome. I was hoping the book would explain the rites and horrors of paganism and the triumph of Christianity (aka Roman Catholicism). What little I took away was philological ... they made up the word pagan. The only quotes that capture the limited gist of this history follow:
"Two things happened to get this word to where we see it now. First, a sharp-tongued Christian used it to make a point. In early Christian metaphor, the true Christian was a "soldier of Christ," miles Christi, which made good sense especially among those communities that were insisting that Christians could not serve as real soldiers in earthly armies. At about this time (call it 200 CE), with a Roman army ... occupying forts and camps ... to protect the borders of the empire against illegal immigrants they called barbarians, the word paganus had become ... something like the everyday word for "civilian" ... and the word wasn't any more kindly meant than its equivalent on modern military bases. You just weren't serious, weren't strong, weren't a fighter; you were just ordinary, tedious, gutless and poor."
"This word isn't an analytical term from philosophy or even sociology. It's a stereotype, a club to hit people with. The speaker has drawn a line of his own choosing between them and us."
The book does provoke thoughts about the evolution of religious needs in history. As the populace evolves, its perspective on the need for ceremony changes. Only towards the end of the book does O'Donnell move to religious philosophy, He starts in a culture that is past making offerings to larger powers who are attributed to bringing good weather, rich crops and prosperity to one where soldiers sacrifice for battle honors. It is an empire where successful generals became rulers because the gods favored them. The pomp of religious holidays were quasi-political rallies supported by government coffers. As the government revenues shrank and as the lower classes became more removed from the ceremonies, other expressions of religion appeared, typically those that expressed the needs and cares of the uneducated masses.
I have mentioned on the blog my intent to read books with one word titles and books that cut across time by everyday topics. I must conclude that it is much more difficult even for a scholar like O'Donnell, to write concretely about a how a concept changes over time as opposed to Cod or Salt or other physical commodities.
Perhaps not a well thought out or composed review, but the library called to dun me to return the book as well as a DVD that has gotten dusty on the nightstand like movies have tended to do the past year or so.
In passing, I will mention I read The Wife, The Mistress and The Maid, a novel interpreting the unsolved murder of Judge Crater in NYC. Sometime ago, I believe I read about this crime before and this version posits a conspiracy beyond politics drawing in the three women as co-plotters.
So here are two books that I read, were somewhat interesting but nothing to recommend. Also should mention that I broke down and went back to book club last month, not because I read the book, but to see my dear friend. A serendipitous encounter has led me to a new friend, one who was planning on leaving the club herself until me and "friend" saved the literary discussion. Since then, I found out she works in my building and we shared a coffee and career counseling. At the March meeting, I fell into old habits and offered to host the June gathering, suggesting we read The Circle by David Eggers. That is what I'm reading now. Bought it last fall and started and loved it but put it aside figuring library books took priority over purchased paperbacks. Now that I have reread the first 100 pages or so, not sure I love it as much as I did back in the fall. Seems more predictable than other Eggers. Hopefully the plot will twist and turn more.
As an English major, I could not abide trying to memorize the names of the English kings; same deal with the Roman emperors, especially once they tended to come from anywhere but Rome. I was hoping the book would explain the rites and horrors of paganism and the triumph of Christianity (aka Roman Catholicism). What little I took away was philological ... they made up the word pagan. The only quotes that capture the limited gist of this history follow:
"Two things happened to get this word to where we see it now. First, a sharp-tongued Christian used it to make a point. In early Christian metaphor, the true Christian was a "soldier of Christ," miles Christi, which made good sense especially among those communities that were insisting that Christians could not serve as real soldiers in earthly armies. At about this time (call it 200 CE), with a Roman army ... occupying forts and camps ... to protect the borders of the empire against illegal immigrants they called barbarians, the word paganus had become ... something like the everyday word for "civilian" ... and the word wasn't any more kindly meant than its equivalent on modern military bases. You just weren't serious, weren't strong, weren't a fighter; you were just ordinary, tedious, gutless and poor."
"This word isn't an analytical term from philosophy or even sociology. It's a stereotype, a club to hit people with. The speaker has drawn a line of his own choosing between them and us."
The book does provoke thoughts about the evolution of religious needs in history. As the populace evolves, its perspective on the need for ceremony changes. Only towards the end of the book does O'Donnell move to religious philosophy, He starts in a culture that is past making offerings to larger powers who are attributed to bringing good weather, rich crops and prosperity to one where soldiers sacrifice for battle honors. It is an empire where successful generals became rulers because the gods favored them. The pomp of religious holidays were quasi-political rallies supported by government coffers. As the government revenues shrank and as the lower classes became more removed from the ceremonies, other expressions of religion appeared, typically those that expressed the needs and cares of the uneducated masses.
I have mentioned on the blog my intent to read books with one word titles and books that cut across time by everyday topics. I must conclude that it is much more difficult even for a scholar like O'Donnell, to write concretely about a how a concept changes over time as opposed to Cod or Salt or other physical commodities.
Perhaps not a well thought out or composed review, but the library called to dun me to return the book as well as a DVD that has gotten dusty on the nightstand like movies have tended to do the past year or so.
In passing, I will mention I read The Wife, The Mistress and The Maid, a novel interpreting the unsolved murder of Judge Crater in NYC. Sometime ago, I believe I read about this crime before and this version posits a conspiracy beyond politics drawing in the three women as co-plotters.
So here are two books that I read, were somewhat interesting but nothing to recommend. Also should mention that I broke down and went back to book club last month, not because I read the book, but to see my dear friend. A serendipitous encounter has led me to a new friend, one who was planning on leaving the club herself until me and "friend" saved the literary discussion. Since then, I found out she works in my building and we shared a coffee and career counseling. At the March meeting, I fell into old habits and offered to host the June gathering, suggesting we read The Circle by David Eggers. That is what I'm reading now. Bought it last fall and started and loved it but put it aside figuring library books took priority over purchased paperbacks. Now that I have reread the first 100 pages or so, not sure I love it as much as I did back in the fall. Seems more predictable than other Eggers. Hopefully the plot will twist and turn more.
Saturday, March 14, 2015
52 Loaves, Three Continents and Six Daily Calls to Prayer
How did William Alexander have time to bake, let alone travel when he was dealing with renovating the big brown house in the town that time forgot and tending his 22 beds of vegetables. Well, the horticulture does recur in this book when he decides to grow the wheat, to grind the grain, to build a brick oven to bake the perfect loaf of bread. Ah come on, talk about obsessive compulsive. Even rereading Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance to not settle him down. It is only when he goes to Normandy to a monastery built around 635 AD does he come close to his perfect boule, actually a more communal bastarde, given that the monks want each of them to have a slice that is equal to everyone else's.
While I laughed by the first few pages of The $64 Tomato, I was tearing up in the last few pages of this book. His critiques from his children who only want him to make croissants, his outlay of huge amounts of money to learn how to make restaurant quantities of bread at Escoffier in Paris, and his side trip to Morocco, all come together to have taught him what he needs to know to reintroduce home or in this case abbey baked bread to the monks. Only to return home to miss the regime of vigils to complines and to receive an email that the monks will vote on whether to continue to use his recipes.
I think I have another one of Alexander's books on reserve but it seems a long time in coming in from the hinterland branches. Will head over tomorrow to return this one and collect another, I hope. Otherwise, I think I will start another alphabet sequence of biographies.
While I laughed by the first few pages of The $64 Tomato, I was tearing up in the last few pages of this book. His critiques from his children who only want him to make croissants, his outlay of huge amounts of money to learn how to make restaurant quantities of bread at Escoffier in Paris, and his side trip to Morocco, all come together to have taught him what he needs to know to reintroduce home or in this case abbey baked bread to the monks. Only to return home to miss the regime of vigils to complines and to receive an email that the monks will vote on whether to continue to use his recipes.
I think I have another one of Alexander's books on reserve but it seems a long time in coming in from the hinterland branches. Will head over tomorrow to return this one and collect another, I hope. Otherwise, I think I will start another alphabet sequence of biographies.
Sunday, March 8, 2015
The $64 Tomato by William Lawrence
The best book so far in 2015. Do not rely on NYT's review ... rely on the Hammagrael kid. When your college roommate says a book reminds her of you, you take the bait. OMG, it's me, it's my yard, my garden, my water bill, and on and on. On a snowy day, a day early in March when I should be thinking about hiring someone to till out the blackberry roots so the deer won't have a maternity ward, this book reminds me that spring will eventually come, with weeding and mowing and vermin control.
As much as I'd like to, I am not about to prepare a 2,000 square feet vegetable garden, although I probably will look to winter over my thyme and find some wild aggressive arugula seeds. I loved this book because it is set in the Hudson River valley, because Mr. Lawrence seems to have all the parallel experiences of a long married couple with two aloof children, a house with never-ending annoyances (yesterday, the newly installed back door knob came off in my hands, leaving the screws in the door and a gaping hole for the drafts to come through. I can relate to inexplicably high water bills, unhandy repairmen, and purslane.
At my advancing towards retirement age, I also chide myself from trying to maintain beds of flowers that are an unending cycle of tending, dead-heading and babying. And like WL, this is a hobby of only one person in the household, me, the rest just enjoying the bouquets and seasonings.
Besides laughing reading whole paragraphs out loud, there is one page worth quoting at length:
"...In short, I am an Existentialist in the Garden. Camus in chamomille, Satre in the salad. How on earth did I get here, and how do I get out? Do I want to get out? If I leave, where to I go? ... What I've been doing is rewarding, nourishing, and reflective of a philosophical belief in self-sustenance and healthy, fresh food -- but how do I make it fun again. This is supposed to be a hobby, not a burden ... a lesson in how quickly novelty becomes ritual becomes chore. The great, terrifying existential question: If you were doomed to live the same life over and over again for eternity, would you choose the life you are living now? The question is interesting enough, but I've always thought the point of asking it is really the unspoken, potentially devastating follow-up question. That is, if the answer is no, then why are you living the life you are living now? Stop making excuses, and do something about it."
I thought I mentally debated this during my two bouts of cancer and resolved the issue once and for all, Not. My daily life comes under continuous reassessment. Garden is the least of it.
As much as I'd like to, I am not about to prepare a 2,000 square feet vegetable garden, although I probably will look to winter over my thyme and find some wild aggressive arugula seeds. I loved this book because it is set in the Hudson River valley, because Mr. Lawrence seems to have all the parallel experiences of a long married couple with two aloof children, a house with never-ending annoyances (yesterday, the newly installed back door knob came off in my hands, leaving the screws in the door and a gaping hole for the drafts to come through. I can relate to inexplicably high water bills, unhandy repairmen, and purslane.
At my advancing towards retirement age, I also chide myself from trying to maintain beds of flowers that are an unending cycle of tending, dead-heading and babying. And like WL, this is a hobby of only one person in the household, me, the rest just enjoying the bouquets and seasonings.
Besides laughing reading whole paragraphs out loud, there is one page worth quoting at length:
"...In short, I am an Existentialist in the Garden. Camus in chamomille, Satre in the salad. How on earth did I get here, and how do I get out? Do I want to get out? If I leave, where to I go? ... What I've been doing is rewarding, nourishing, and reflective of a philosophical belief in self-sustenance and healthy, fresh food -- but how do I make it fun again. This is supposed to be a hobby, not a burden ... a lesson in how quickly novelty becomes ritual becomes chore. The great, terrifying existential question: If you were doomed to live the same life over and over again for eternity, would you choose the life you are living now? The question is interesting enough, but I've always thought the point of asking it is really the unspoken, potentially devastating follow-up question. That is, if the answer is no, then why are you living the life you are living now? Stop making excuses, and do something about it."
I thought I mentally debated this during my two bouts of cancer and resolved the issue once and for all, Not. My daily life comes under continuous reassessment. Garden is the least of it.
Saturday, March 7, 2015
The Room by Jonas Karlsson
Let me say this yet again: I have been duped too often by NYT review. The Room is not a funny book. Despite being Swedish, it does not rise to The Girl with the Dragon Tatoo.
It is a book about a man who is a delusional paranoid, who unfortunately reminded me of someone at work. Bjorn retreats to a "room" that no one else can see, a room that does not exist, but a mental state where he can produce work that far exceeds his fellow workers.
The NYT said this was funny. It's not. It's a quick read so you won't waste more than an hour should you decide to try it, but I would say not.
It is a book about a man who is a delusional paranoid, who unfortunately reminded me of someone at work. Bjorn retreats to a "room" that no one else can see, a room that does not exist, but a mental state where he can produce work that far exceeds his fellow workers.
The NYT said this was funny. It's not. It's a quick read so you won't waste more than an hour should you decide to try it, but I would say not.
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