Maman's Homesick Pie by Donia Bijan (memoir)

A Persian Heart in an American Kitchen

Cardamom. What IS cardamom, and where do I buy it?

This is one of the first questions to plague me as I read this memoir by Donia Bijan, an accomplished chef with a life story that is as fascinating as it is bittersweet. Initially, I hesitated before I began reading, as the last few memoirs I’ve read have been sort of “blah”. And when I saw that this book contains recipes, I thought that was a cutesy gimmick, as I once read a mystery that had recipes enclosed, which annoyed me to no end (yes, I get easily annoyed).

However, I curled up with it on a recent rainy day and couldn’t put it down. It’s lovely. Really. Bijan writes in a natural pace, and her stories brims with poignant details. It begins with the tragic death of her mother, and her task of going through her mother’s objects. The task is dreary until she finds her mother’s collection of recipes clipped from newspapers or on cards from friends. At this point, she finds the theme that ties her life to her mother’s: food. As a chef, the recipe cards she finds are revealing because they show how her mother, exiled from Iran, tried to adapt to American life at a time when being from Iran was a cause for suspicion.

Going back to the beginning, Bijan recounts her childhood experiences of living in the hospital that her father built. While he was a successful doctor in Iran (and devoted foodie on his own), her mother was head nurse and cook for the patients. Bijan and her sisters assisted their parents and were an active part of hospital life. The nature of food in that hospital was not simple of sustenance but of comfort; meals were designed to be shared, lingered over, and enjoyed as a communal activity.

is it really $47 for a 2 ounce bottle?

After her parents are exiled, Bijan goes to school in the US and later to Paris where she is trained at the Cordon Bleu. As she remains close to her mother, her relationship with her father is strained as he envisioned a future for her more prestigious than that of a chef. Bijan works in the field, rising to the top of San Francisco’s cooking scene before deciding to return to France to work as an apprentice to hone her craft further. At all points of her story, food is always treated as a purposeful endeavor; the composition of a home-made meal the ultimate display of love and attentiveness.

The recipes included are those that tie into each story, and there is nothing gimmicky about them. Several I have earmarked to try. But nothing tops the story itself—it is heartwarming and genuinely lovely to read. Definitely a feel-good story and I seriously think it would be a great gift for a foodie friend.

It can’t be denied that Bijan’s life was one of privilege: her parents were wealthy and she pretty much was able to undertake whatever opportunities appealed to her. But her hard work and self-sacrifice keeps the reader from feeling that her life was an exception. But to illustrate, at one point she describes life in Paris where she is toiling under brutal teachers at Cordon Bleu:

“Most evenings, on my way home, I would stop to buy half a baguette, then heard to the fromagerie for a wedge of cheese I had never tasted, and finally go to the produce stand for a single peach, or two figs, maybe a tomato.”


Maybe that is supposed to sound minimal, but being that it’s Paris, PARIS (!!!!), it sounds impossibly elegant. In all seriousness, a fromagerie isn’t exactly in the strip mall in town. I admit, that single statement evoked much jealousy on my part, and possibly would on any woman’s part, because we know she gets to go back to her small but elegant apartment with a view of the Seine. In any case, the envy I felt didn’t diminish the book in any way. The reader sincerely wants her to succeed in her endeavors.  Highly recommend!

Special thanks to Michael and Kelly of Algonquin Books for the Advance Review Copy.

Los Angeles Stories by Ry Cooder

"I had made up my mind to quit worrying.  Los Angeles was the Land of the Brighter Day, something good was bound to turn up."

These last two lines sum up the motivation that lies with the numerous characters that musician Ry Cooder offers up in his new collection of short stories. While the stories are nominally linked, the variety is enormous: mariachi players, park prophets, backalley dentists, tailors, and disc jockeys are all introduced in their native milieu.  Set in the first half of the twentieth century, these stories are based on the inner life of the inner city.

This is not postcard or travel agency Los Angeles;  there is no glamour or celebrities to dress it up.  Even the weather doesn't seem to cooperate with stereotype: fog and rain are as frequent as bar brawls.  The characters are the faceless many that work off the books, just trying to get by while the city appears as a predatory character, breathing and pulsing, foiling any attempts at the good life.

The collection is also an excellent geography text to significant Los Angeles locations--Griffith Park, Chinatown, Little Tokyo, Union Station, Bunker Hill, and Hollenbeck Park all serve as backdrops, and Cooder seems to know the streets and back alleys very well.  Cocktail bars and bowling alleys are among the seedy gathering places of the working class and small time criminals that Cooder writes about and who occasionally cross tracks with each other.

My favorite was "Who do you know that I don't?" set in 1949, wherein a tailor to the mariachi clientele attempts to solve the murder of a popular jazz musician, Johnny Mumford.  Cooder creates a world of layaway payments, shiny and finned cars, and musicians desperate to wear a good suit but not eager to pay.  Memorably, the tailor even makes one suit to be shared by two musicians who can't afford their own, later assisting them to escape the cops while he helps search for links to the murder.  A prize collection of 78 records becomes a significant clue.

Another story focuses on a resourceful guy whose job is to fill in the details on the City Directory, going door-to-door to collect information from suspicious citizens in boardinghouses and side streets.  The essential absurdity of compiling an accurate book aside, Frank is diligent and thorough.  Though he's essentially a simple man, his path crosses with three suspicious murders and suddenly he's a suspect:

"Once they see a pattern, they think they know it all, and they think they got you.  That's not the way life is.  Take it from me, life is random and inscrutable, like the City Directory."

The stories are well-plotted and heavily detailed, and the characters feel real.  Cooder develops each protagonist well, and creates their world for the reader in inscrutable detail.  In fact, that may be one of my only concerns about the collection:  at times I felt like there was too much name-dropping and references to streets and neighborhoods and pop culture of the period.  Sometimes, the many facts slowed down and derailed the narrative from its pace.  I think the same effect could have been achieved without so many points of reference and still have remained realistic.

In comparison to the series by Akashic Press of Los Angeles Noir, I liked this title better. LA Noir by Akashic, with its various contributors, seems to have more of a pervy element to it, shock value placed over storyline, that made me end up giving it up.

Special thanks to Alyson of City Lights for the Advance Review Copy.

Shadow Traffic, Stories by Richard Burgin

“It would be too humiliating to face him on the playground if he stole my money.”


Jeff is a self-made man: with his new condo and telecommuting job, cash, and good looks, he’d seem to have it all. Yet in the second story of this collection, “The Dealer”, author Richard Burgin creates a complicated persona that is distinctly childish and insecure. But he’s not simply a dumb guy; that would be too easy. Rather it’s the disparity between his sense and naivete that makes the character so intriguing. It’s not easy to write someone so complicated without the reader impatiently dismissing the character as stupid. Yes, he makes stupid choices, but it’s the normal ones that are the most revealing.

In the story, “The Dealer”, Jeff befriends a fast-talking musician that plays basketball in the neighborhood and conveniently supplies Jeff with pot. Of course, he has a cool name, “Dash”, and appears to be the role model that the more conventionally successful Jeff aspires to. Yet, as shown in the quote above, their friendship seems to be based on more of a nine-year-old awareness than a grown man; while they play basketball at the school, the clue is that Jeff calls it “the playground”. Burgin creates an uneasy relationship between the two that hinges on Jeff’s unwitting struggle to find a friend.

My favorite of the collection is “Memo and Oblivion,” a futuristic story about battling pharmaceutical companies, one of whom has created the pill “Memo” to restore every personal experience and memory to those that take it. “Oblivion” is marketed by another secret organization and promises “to obliterate only painful human memories.” Immediately the contrast engages the reader: which would they choose? To be able to remember the first time you bit into an apple? Or to be able to completely erase a painful event?

As the two companies struggle with trade secrets and human testing, the level of tension arises as to what side effects the pills may create. Burgin pokes at different concerns, from legality to ethics, as his characters discover for themselves that all choices have consequences, no matter how well-intended. This story could stand alone and would make a great movie.

"Memorial Day" tells of a grieving son, left with money to burn, travelling to find a purpose for his suddenly empty life.  In London, he meets a woman that defies his expectations, and vice versa.  The two are strangely connected, and what ends up happening reminds the reader of the adage, "he who hesitates is lost".

While the stories are random and varied, all have a sense of humor and a wry look at modern life.  They leave the reader sensing that they need to answer for themselves the questions that were cleverly proposed and threaded into the narratives. 

Special thanks to Johns Hopkins University Press in Baltimore for the Advance Review Copy. 

It was just released this month.

The Fragile Day by Amy MacLennan (poetry)

"I've done the right thing my whole life. Kept my father's house, solved every case, never broke the rules.  It's not easy being this good."

You know when all-around good girl and role model Nancy Drew starts lamenting her perfect life that this is no ordinary book of poetry.  Amy MacLennan's chapbook is rich with alternative viewpoints and rich metaphors, and the poem cited above, "When Nancy Drew the Line," is just one of them.

Many times she addresses the contemplations of an imperfect life...the thoughts that assail us when we should be sleeping, or the sense that we could worry less if we only had "facts splayed out, a plan, a map" to guide us.  A runaway truck hints at lives that feel out-of-control, desperately needing a safe place to land, and an afternoon thunderstorm is pictured perfectly as "a sulky girl slamming the door". 

"In the Labor Room" summons that quiet moment right before birth, when the concept of new life mingles with the recognition of the passage of time, and that despite years of friendship and change, "we haven't even aged."  I loved this one, and how it felt to me like acknowledging that despite my getting older and having children of my own, I still feel like a child.

My absolute favorite was "If You Write a Love Letter to Disappointment", where MacLennan instructs the reader on how to address defeat. 

"Avoid sarcasm, but accept grief.
Draft the letter as if
you could only write it once.
Use a long salutation
and a short goodbye."

MacLennan's poetry is accessible and relatable.  It doesn't come off as overly structured and pretentious--it's simple, yet the meanings are deep.  It's not Language Poetry, that ends up confusing me and making me feel like a dolt for not getting it (aka Armantrout's Versed).  Instead, this feels like a gift of conversation, and the style reminds me of Tobi Cogswell, Susan Rich, and Angela Long. 

Special thanks to Spire Press for the Review Copy.

Waterline by Ross Raisin

“And see if he did put a claim in then the reminders would be there the whole time—for months, years, however long it took—and even that is still ignoring the main thing: why should he get a windfall? Him that brought it into the house and handed her the overalls to wash and here’s two hundred grand, pal, take it, it’s yours—you deserve it.”

After the death of his wife to mesothelioma, Mick has to start his life over, struggling with the guilt from her death attributable to residue from his job in the shipyards. While his children hint at getting a settlement, to punish the company that virtually saturated their employees in asbestos, Mick resists any idea of what he imagines a payoff for her death.

While the story proceeds with his descent into grief, it never plays into the stereotype of the grieving widower who travels through five stages of grief to recover and find love again with a sweet old lady down the street. Instead, his journey is literal. Unable, emotionally, to reside in the house anymore, he starts sleeping in a shed outside, and his focus changes to minor things to avoid thinking about the bigger issues. He begins finding a kinship more with the birds he feeds than with other humans.

“He listens, enjoying the sound of it, as they begin skittering on the concrete outside the shed door...Until recently there’d been just the one – probably the same patient guy that’s been coming all the while –but he’s obvious gone and let dab to all his mates that they can come and eat here, and now there’s a whole mob of them. Good for him, no keeping it all to himself. Obviously no an English bird. A genuine Southsider, that sparrow. “


The quote above reveals a wry humor that Mick has, told in his warm Glasgow accent. It’s revealed again as he’s run out of money, and thinks about the possibility of asking his brother-in-law for money:

“…he’d be pure delighted, guaranteed. A great song and dance over it, the ceremonious fetching of the chequebook, the smug showy putting on of the wee reading glasses. How much would you like, Mick? Really, it’s not a problem. How much?”

Instead of resorting to that indignation, Mick chooses another option: complete departure, from both Glasgow and reality. He ends up in London living a life he’d never imagined, and one that he hopes to hide from his sons left behind, who know nothing of his location.

Mick’s voice is full of irony and desperate humor, especially when he remarks on the cheap condolences friends make when they see him. He’s a realist that knows far too well how little people really feel about his loss. In this many vivid side characters are pulled in, and while they don’t appear long, they are memorable for the way they are described.

Midway through the novel I glanced at the author’s photograph in the back. It stopped me in my tracks. It’s a young guy that wrote this aged voice! It sort of put me off, for a day anyway, because I couldn’t imagine how a young man (anyone younger than me qualifies in that regard) could create such a complex persona that melds humor, regret, guilt, and anxiety in one realistic character.  Topping it off is the Scottish voice that Mick delivers his thoughts in;  sometimes an accent is hard to read because it doesn't flow, but in this case it was much of the charm.  (Would make a killer audiobook!)

Especially noteworthy is that while it is essentially a quest motif, the fact that neither the reader nor the protagonist knows the object that is being sought makes it mysterious. The pace speeds up as you literally follow Mick through a labyrinth of people and places, and you really don’t know where he’s headed. And the questions continue to plague you: what happened to his sons? Who were the men at the door? Will he go back to Glasgow?  What was up with Craig?

This is on target for my top five titles of 2011. Not only because of the main character and the plot, but also because of what it reveals about those living outside the margins of society. While the underbelly of large cities is often presented as a place of crime and prostitution, Waterline exposes the remote lives of immigrants and the homeless, attempting to live an honorable life while no one wants to meet their eyes.

Special thanks to Joe Pickering of Penguin UK for the Review Copy.

National Book Awards 2011 Finalists Announced

Today, the finalists were announced:

Fiction Finalists


The Sojourn by Andrew Krivak***

The Tiger’s Wife by Tea Obreht

The Buddha in the Attic by Julie Otsuka

Binocular Vision by Edith Pearlman

Salvage the Bones by Jesmyn Ward

Nonfiction finalists


The Convert: A Tale of Exile and Extremism by Deborah Baker

Love and Capital: Karl and Jenny Marx and the Birth of a Revolution by Mary Gabriel

The Swerve: How the World Became Modern by Stephen Greenblatt

Malcolm X: A Life of Reinvention by Manning Marable

Radioactive: Marie & Pierre Curie, A Tale of Love and Fallout by Lauren Redniss (first graphic novel ever included in this category)

Poetry Finalists

Head Off & Split by Nikky Finnery

The Chameleon Couch by Yusef Komunyakaa

Double Shadow by Carl Phillips

Tonight No Poetry Will Serve: Poems: 2007-2010 by c

Devotions by Bruce Smith

***My vote goes to The Sojourn by Andrew Krivak...Austria/Hungary circa 1914...my review was in the online edition of Rain Taxi earlier this year: http://www.raintaxi.com/online/2011summer/krivak.shtml. 

Beauty and The Inferno by Robert Saviano (essays)

Translated from the Italian by Oonagh Stransky

"We discussed...how everything you seem to see is not the real story.  How you always end up understanding less of what is happening rather than more."

This excerpt was from a conversation between two journalists, Saviano, and the Italian legend Enzo Biagi.  Saviano's thoughts on Biagi fill a chapter in this collection of essays from Saviano's experiences as a journalist --work that would probably never be printed or aired in the United States.

First off, it's important to know that because of his work, Saviano is a wanted man.  His journalism doesn't use the typical references to "an unnamed source" or an "anonymous tip".  Instead, he fully exposes the names of organizations, politicians, and individuals that are involved with criminal activity in Italy, even if it endangers his life.  Thus he's in hiding because of tell-all stories about the mob, and the way his articles explain not only who is committing the crimes, but also the structure of power and the methods (or businesses) they use to manipulate politicians, sell drugs, or launder money.

I'm not sure the difference in legalities that allows for such focused criticism that is relatively unheard of here.  Even stating that a suspect is "alleged" is frowned upon here, whereas Italian newspapers can indicate full names and addresses.  It makes reading his essays shockingly different from what a US reader may be used to, and makes his living in hiding completely understandable.  Many times I had to pause and ask, "can he say that?"  Seriously, I would not want to be his bodyguard.

Beyond the exposure though is a real intent to educate citizens in Italy about their government and what is happening around them.  In describing Enzo Biagi, as mentioned above, parallels are seen between his goals and that of Saviano's:  "Biagi was capable of looking at fragments of the daily news.  He examined things bit by bit.  He never jumped to a solution, but always advanced slowly...He examined our daily concerns about taxes, terrorism, schools and health and used them to ask bigger questions.  He wanted to explain, freely and to spread information and make it known, but to do this with discipline and control" (127).

This is the model Saviano uses as he writes, at all times attempting to avoid both the cynicism that marks many reporters and the focus on elegance and style that detracts others.  His reporting is for ordinary people and he tries to reveal it without frills.  Like Biagi, he wants to motivate his readers to take notice, especially of the scores of unsolved deaths occurring around them:

"Can you really believe that none of this depends on you, or on your want of indignation? Do you really think that worrying about your everyday life is enough? Are you satisfied by the answers to these questions?  Does saying "I'm not doing anything wrong; I'm an honest person," allow you to feel innocent?  Can you let the news wash over you, over your soul?"

From that he describes the sixteen people who have been murdered by a mafia gang called the Casalesi who run businesses that profited more than 500 million Euros, while the rate of congenital birth defects increased 84% due to their illegal dumping of toxic waste.  Their profit equates to 7172 deaths from cancer per year.  So this lovely countryside in the South of Italy, namely around Lake Patria, has become an almost Wild-West type of region where the carabinieri and others trying to fight the criminals are threatened or killed, along with many innocents in the way.

In other essays he looks at similar issues facing the South of Italy, and at many times incorporating details of the culture of Italy, both ancient and current.  Saviano is well-read:  he references operas, plays, poetry, and literature in his writing.  The pace of the essays are fast even while the details are disheartening.  Seeing how crime is perpetuated as a business, focused on efficiency and results, is hard to accept. 

One thing that alienated me a bit at first is his Preface, where he describes his efforts to live in hiding.  It's off putting at first, as he seems to dwell on his imminent danger and how unafraid he is, given his important sacrifice.  Since I'd never heard of him, it felt like a bit of bravado instead of reality.  Yet, after I read the essays, I totally get it.  I would hide too, and I now can respect that he has made tremendous, unimaginable sacrifices in the pursuit of truth.  I just think it would have appeared better as an Epilogue than hitting the reader with all that indignation right up front.

Special thanks to Paul Engles of MacLehose Press, UK, for the Advance Review Copy.

Bandit Love by Massimo Carlotto (translated fiction)

Translated from the Italian by Antony Shugaar

“This was underworld business: it was a mathematical certainty that it was going to end badly… Somebody was going to die. That was the only thing we knew for sure as the car raced eastward in the night.”

It starts with a kidnapping that makes little sense, and moves nonstop into one of the most enjoyable literary treats I’ve read this year. Even though this crime novel is serious business, there’s an air of humor that surrounds a trio of ex-cons and bad guys that are called in to solve the crime. Yep, these guys, having paid their dues as tough guys and retired from that life of crime, now just want to sit back and drink Calvados, eat pasta, and listen to the blues. Except for the lead, Marco Buratti, who also happens to be addicted to home shopping television shows.

The action is non-stop as it crosses through Italy and into the Balkans as the three men try to solve two mysteries. They had previously got involved in a hit that went wrong, the moral of which was, “know who you do business for and why before you shoot someone.” Since they didn’t obey that rule, they have to backtrack and solve that before the kidnapped woman can be found.

The characters that they run into are just that: characters. Carlotto makes them memorable, with little clues that make them feel much more complicated than just a simple definition of “bad guy”. Drug smugglers have egos and their own tragic flaws, of which these experienced searchers exploit, while at the same time they lament,

“Why do Mafiosi always seem to have one useless son?”


This leads to an amusing conversation as they analyze The Godfather and The Sopranos to point out just which characters were intellectually-challenged. The rapport between the three is priceless, as they unquestionably back each other up, which would seem unlikely for the world they live in. And what a world that is, when drug smuggling and police corruption is impossibly powerful, with so many innocents thrown into the conflict.

I can’t even begin to explain why this book was so much fun, given the subject matter was serious and at times, appalling. Perhaps it’s the universal simplicities that unite everyone-good or bad-the power of a good meal? A view of the sea? The comfort of a regular table at the trattoria?

Special thanks to Europa Editions for the Advance Review Copy.



Safe from the Sea by Peter Geye...now in Paperback!

Safe from the Sea by Peter Geye

For those who haven't yet read this fiction novel yet, be advised it's out in paperback now from Unbridled Books!  It was in my top-four books of last year, and I read a ton last year! 

It's a literary fiction title that explores the relationship between a father and son who've held a long-standing silence, with the backdrop of a horrifying ship wreck.  Family mysteries unravel and the two main characters are both compelling. 

Enjoy this over the fall, and wear a sweater (the descriptions of the cold at times will make you shiver).

Eye candy....Geology.com



Collision between spiral galaxies



Today I was doing research on a completely different topic, but found this website, www.geology.com/nasa.  Amazing stuff....images of volcanoes, glaciers, cloud formations, etc from satellites.  Several were a slide show, one of which is above, about colliding galaxies.  The thing is, and I am completely confused at how this is possible, is that they seem to have before and after pictures of the collision.  At least, that's how it appears.  If you need a break from your books, check out the images....

Help Support Translators! Buy this Ebook (preferably today!)

From Chad at Open Letter:

"You may already have heard about this, but to mark the fourth anniversary of Three Percent, we just released a $2.99 "best of" ebook entitled "The Three Percent Problem: Rants and Responses on Publishing, Translation, and the Future of Reading."

As with other Three Percent activities, the point of this is to help support literature in translation. Which is why all of the proceeds from the sales of this ebook will go directly t...o paying translators. So you can think of this as a sort of $3 donation . . .


To try and game the system (a bit), I'm urging everyone I know to buy this book today, Friday, September 16th. That way our sales ranking will jump up and will help us get the word out to people who don't normally support literature in translation.


These pieces are organized into a number of parts designed to provide an introduction to the contemporary publishing world. Ranging from pieces about the economics of publishing literature in translation, to explanation of the very different publishing scenes found in different countries, to profiles of translators, to mini-rants about book marketing, technology, and 99 cent ebooks, "The Three Percent Problem" is kind of like Andre Schiffrin's "The Business of Books," but with more swearing (and jokes). "

Three bucks is a cheap donation for a worthy cause and looks to be a great read as well...if you've ever listened to one of their podcasts, you know this will be snarky and fun!

Snatched from Chad's Facebook feed....

Vintage Gray by Joshua Michael Stewart (poetry)

    "...And you turn
back to your first memories,
when you were the one
and even a trip to Kmart
had the potential for greatness.
Your whole life you waited
for that moment when purpose would be defined.
Gradually the troll moved out of your closet,
and you came to agree with Hoffman,
that indeed Kmart sucks.  But still you wait."

---from "Answering Machine"

From looking at punctuation in an entirely literal light to analyzing Jimmy Stewart's voice, Joshua Michael Stewart's collection takes a different angle to look at things we see every day.  Concrete poetry with stark visual images and a gentle wit combine into poetry that is easily readable, even when at certain points you have a sharp intake of breath at just how sneaky he threw in that raw wire of emotion.

There's something fun about his poems, even when the subject is not joyous.  His choice of topics make you happy that someone still thinks about things like Bing Crosby's voice or who can describe that moment of silence after a mother slaps her child.  In "Vintage Gray", he allows an old radio show transport him to a place in the past which softens his present.  He captures the thoughts that occupy us while we exist in the present and imagine places we've never seen but that feel like memories.

In "You Are What You Eat", Stewart describes life as a butcher, "a hook in my back", and wanting to quit.  His plea, "but I don't have the guts," mixes humor and the sad reality of being stuck without options, and the way your viewpoint changes on observing those making their own choices.

My favorite of the book is "Ripping a Charles Simic Poem Out of The New Yorker", as the character plans a significant crime (at least to the nasty saleslady), but the trail of subscription cards falling out of the magazine are surely going to give him away. 

There's nothing overly conceptual or meta-physical about this grouping of poems. This is a collection of reality, askew at times, but pictured vividly, with all of its shadows and light significantly focused.  Of all, I came away from the book smiling at the wit that thinks of elephants in pajamas and of playing poker under a church pew.

The chapbook is available at http://joshuamichaelstewart.yolasite.com/. 

I purchased my own copy at that site.

Animalinside by Laszlo Krasznahorkai and Max Neumann, and Why Your E-Reader Can't Touch This

Images by Max Neumann

Translation from the Hungarian by Ottilie Mulzet

Sure, you could probably read the text of this on a Kindle or Nook.  But you'd be missing everything, and I don't just mean the Neumann images.  This book actually smells good!  It feels good.  It's a tactile experience that engages your eyes and other senses, while your brain tries to solve the mystery of who is the Animalinside.

First off, this is a novella that started with a Neumann painting that inspired Krasznahorai's text about a creature that defies easy description.  After that, Neumann provided more images with the same dog-like beast, to inspire further chapters from the Hungarian author.  Prefaced by Colm Toibin, who states that the author "stands closer to Kafka than to Beckett, but he is close to neither in his interest and delight in verbal pyrotechnics, in allowing the sheer energy of his long exciting sentences full sway."

The monster of the story, if indeed that is what it is, is trapped in a place where he is excluded and in pain.  "...I don't even exist, I only howl, and howling is not identical with existence, on the contrary howling is despair, the horror of that instance of awakening when the condemned--myself--comes to realize that he has been excluded from existence and there is no way back..."

The words of the beast, shown in the images as a sort of fierce two-legged dog, are almost always horrifying...caged, it waits for release to wreak havoc and battle for kingship over a wasteland of earth.  At lighter moments, though, it speaks almost in a panic over the search for its food dish, but the threats he makes about its loss are nothing adorable.

Much of the imagery and words confuse me...I sense that a deeper measure of the meaning involves the ugly results of binding the voices of small, defenseless peoples until their defense is their only option.  Their obsession. 

And about that, "smells good" remark?  New Directions designed this as part of their Cahiers series, #14, and it's designed in a seven step printing process that makes for thick, waxy pages, with layers of thick inks and contrasting textures.  Maybe it's all the chemicals involved, but it smells and feels amazing.  Heirloom-quality, if that's possible for a novella.

Special thanks to New Directions for the Review Copy.

Scott Wannberg: not your hipster poet, but the real deal

I heard this evening that one of my favorite poets, Scott Wannberg of Florence, Oregon, has passed away.  He had a wicked sense of humor mixed with a voice that spoke for the little people. 

One of my favorites of his many works:

Agony River by Scott Wannberg

Temperature has a headache

swears it won't rise to your occasion
Speeding patrol cars out of fashion
find enough time to spotlight your cold skin

Agony River just called collect
promises to flow to the front door in a few hours
Strange faces from the ongoing confusion
only make the decision that much harder


Pull the plug or mop up the bleeding deck one last time
in hope it will never show up again
Pain aches for you and it calls me over and
wants to know the secret of reaching you


Idiot, I tell it, the only secret is in
the sunlight, how it still finds a way to bathe you
when all the experts have run off to the airport
for their red eye flights home


Agony River winds its way to the sea
and we are nothing more than
belligerent fish
waiting for some omnipresent hook
to call on us for some kind of sustaining belief


If anything, I'm glad his pain is over.  He has a spoken word CD called 3 Fools 4 April that has some especially moving poems.  In one, he actually is weeping as he reads....the poem was about the death of someone close and the strange mix of dealing with death, finding a meal, making 'arrangements', and grieving all at the same time.  He never just read a text, he felt the emotions and exuded those feelings.  Not your hipster poet, for sure. Strange Movie Full of Death is a huge collection of his works-the definite grouping.

The words will be treasured as the voice is missed...

We, The Drowned by Carsten Jensen (translated fiction)

Translated from the Danish by Charlotte Barslund with Emma Ryder

   "War was like sailing. You could learn about clouds, wind direction, and currents, but the sea remained forever unpredictable.  All you could do was adapt to it and try to return home alive."

Carsten Jensen was already noted as a journalist long before We, The Drowned, was published.  Perhaps it's his observation skills from that career that make this fictional maritime novel so enthralling.  Yes, that's a gushy word, and this review will contain many of them.  See, I had heard about the novel quite a bit, and had a few people recommend it.  And last year I was so adoring of anything Nordic or Scandinavian (still am, actually!).  But there was so much hype about this that I figured it may be too 'important' to be enjoyable.  I had it sitting a few weeks, looking like a great white whale among my other review copies....intimidating me.  Then I dove in.  And everything else pretty much got pushed aside in favor of reading this novel.

The scope is epic---generations of families living in the Danish port city of Marstal live and die, mostly via the sea. Going to sea is a right-of-passage for most every boy, and those who never return seem to outnumber those that do.  Yet, it's not overly sentimental--the stories are told in a more distant, reporting style, rather than as an emotional narrative.  Sections of the book are laid out almost as short novellas that interlink.  The most intriguing feature of the arc of the novel is the family ties.  We begin by meeting Laurids Madsen, an unflinching and unbending character who appears to be the model of wisdom and good.  The story moves through him to his son, Albert, and beyond.  Yet some vignettes feature new characters interlacing with old, and it seems like instead of a family tree, Jensen has created a city tree, donating a bit of space to each character.

"As we stood there, gazing out at the water, it seemed a great mystery lay before us: the mystery of our own lives, spread before our eyes. No matter how often we came here, it was a sight that always rendered us speechless."


Despite the many characters in play, however, none of them are similar.  They all feel distinctly individual, with traits that are too unexpected to be imagined.  I wondered if Jensen had collected a gallery of individuals from his reporting days, little mannerisms and odd habits that he saved to put together in this tale.  Because it feels so real...no one behaves perfectly and things never go to plan, yet it feels right.  He recreates the speech of children, their inner thoughts, and moves on to the worries and equivocations of an older man.  Here he shows the child's reaction to fear:  "They were probably scared of him and so they did what boys do around any object of fear: they went up close, pointed a finger, gave it a nickname, and masked their terror with roaring laughter."


In a section about a vicious schoolteacher, it concludes,

"Limping and bleeding, our skin black-and-blue with livid bruises, we were always aching in some exposed place.  But that wasn't the worst of what Isager did to us.
He left his mark in another far more frightening way.
We became like him.
We committed appalling acts and only realized the horror of what we'd done when we stood gathered around the evidence of our atrocity.  Violence was like a drug we couldn't relinquish."

As Jensen tells it, it's clear that he's devoted to the tenacity of the Danish people.  Many times, but not always, he employs the David vs. Goliath archetype, with the small town victorious over much more feared and powerful nations.  In this way, he introduces a political and historical thread to the stories about the townsfolk, without becoming dull or stalling out over the explanations of war and battle.  In fact, as a journalist Jensen mentioned this in detail in an article from the BBC World Service, in regard to why Denmark hasn't joined in accepting the Euro but retains the krone for its monetary unit: 

"To understand the reason for this obstinacy in a people that historically has mostly been known for its lack of passion and its willingness to adapt, you must understand then in Denmark nationalism takes the shape of moralism.


In a world where almost all nations are bigger than Denmark with its number of inhabitants that is only half of that of London how do you compete? How do you become visible on the world map?


By claiming you belong to another world, that of moral superiority. Big is bad and small is good, you claim. You celebrate David as the symbol of your small nation and take on the rest of the world as if it was a kind of Goliath. It is not your contribution to the world that singles you out, it is your resistance to the world, the stones you throw at it" (1).


Back to the novel, we are shown that drowning is at the back of everyone's mind, whether in peacetime or war:  "Every sailor knows this bitter feeling: the coast is near, but you'll never reach it.  Is there anything more heartbreaking than drowning in sight of land?  Is there a single one of us who hasn't at least once felt haunted by the fear of slipping away within sight of a safe haven?...Every terror needs a yardstick, and surely the yardstick for the unknown is the known?"

Marstal, Denmark

As the people recover from their familial losses, they gain in other ways.  Marstal changes, and even the personality of the town is altered by the sea.  The losses from war aren't always physical, as Jensen shows clearly by even considering the economic conditions of the town.

I think I had two favorite aspects of the story, as well as a special fondness for Laurids and his son Albert.  The family line that is conveyed, with the lineage that is similar enough to feel related even if they hardly know each other, owes its success to the writer's skill of somehow incorporating DNA into the text.  Without telling the reader outright, one can sense the hereditary gifts (and faults) from father to son. 

The other draw of the story is the writing itself--fast-paced, lean, yet incredibly descriptive and atmospheric.  In some points you pause to reread a well-worded passage.  For example, one sentence knocked me out..."their blue faces made them look like mermen born of the boiling foam."  It felt poetic, and stuck in my head, until the point I thought the line was almost too perfect and alliterative.  Yet gorgeous metaphors like that appear throughout, without being too precious.  The locations too, from Australia to Samoa, Hawaii to the Caribbean and back to Marstal, feature realistic portrayals of ship life and the arduous journeys.

In an interview in World Literature Today, Jensen stated one purpose to the book for the city of Marstal today.  "...for the widows of Marstal whose husbands were lost at sea, there was never an ending.  No burial, no ritual of saying goodbye--like a sentence without a period.  I felt like I was finally providing an ending to their story, bringing the dead back home and burying them.  I was constructing a symbolic or metaphorical cemetary" (2).

For those ready to read this, it may be helpful to take note of a few of the names early on...the men who are captured by Germany and the boys in school in Marstal.  They reappear.  And don't let the large size of the book overwhelm you;  the brisk storyline builds to a roaring adventure quickly and keeps it up. 

One last note should address the beauty of the book itself, from the font and page numbers to the subtle graphics and monochrome color scheme.  Everything about it feels classy, and this is one book I'm not lending out.

Special thanks to Hannah Harlow of Houghton Mifflin Harcourt for the Review Copy.

(1) http://www.bbc.co.uk/worldservice/programmes/twt_euro/euro_jensen.shtml Web.
(2) Taras, Ray.  "A Conversation with Carsten Jensen".  World Literature Today, May-June 2011, p57. Print.

What You See in the Dark by Manuel Munoz (fiction)

Change-both progressive and regressive-is the theme of this quiet thriller set in Bakersfield, California in the 1950s.  Three stories are told that intersect in varying ways, leaving the concept of "what you see in the dark" meaning entirely different things.  Darkness is the time to ruminate over bad decisions, the time when crime often occurs, and the only way to see a movie-all demonstrated in this novel.

As the book begins, we're introduced to a young couple who defy their small town's expectations by dating, even though their 'interracial' relationship is a scandal.  He's white and successful, a veritable catch, while she's a poor Hispanic, living alone in poverty, abandoned by her mother.  As the town gossips, the story seems to be on track for a fairly predictable resolution...that is, until you realize that the narrator isn't identified.  Who is this person that seems to be watching and seeing what is going on in the lonely town?  This unknown element changes the novel, making it less predictable and adding tension.

While this is going on, a famous Actress comes to Bakersfield with a Director to film a new and somewhat scandalous new movie, using the small town as a location to set their prospective movie.  I was terribly annoyed by the way the Actress and Director were only referred to by those titles...it became annoying.  Yet, it's not long before you figure out that Munoz is alluding to Janet Leigh and Alfred Hitchcock, and that the movie is a not-subtle nod to the film Psycho.  The film's elements also refer to change, in the form of what is seen on film in terms of morality and violence.

Amid this is a small hotel (Bates, anyone?) on Highway 99 facing obsolescence due to the progressive new I-5 freeway being built nearby.  (I've driven these roads before, so it's easy to picture the setting.)  Again, change threatens to alter both lives and the city itself, and when a unexpected murder occurs, the intersections all make sense.

At times the story loses its rhythm, often in lengthy asides wherein film history (European vs. American style) is analyzed for far too long.  Yet, in other places, the methods of filming and lighting individual scenes is fascinating.  It's almost as if there's too much knowledge packed into the novel that might have made an excellent nonfiction film exploration.

In any case, I didn't really get attached to any of the characters.  Arlene, mother of the popular young man and owner of the hotel, is a sad old woman living in the past, and who doesn't want to move forward.  The young Hispanic woman, Teresa, seemed far too stereotypical to be believed;  too dependent and needy for a young woman already managing on her own.  And the Actress, who studiously analyzes her role and the implications of it, comes off more like Pollyanna than real.

The setting of Bakersfield is spot-on, however:  the street names, weather descriptions, even the crops and sports are all true to life.  The anomaly of this small town being just a few hours from Los Angeles, yet world's away culturally, and the conflict between both ways of life, is something that propels much of the action.

Special thanks to Michael Taeckens of Algonquin Press for the Advance Review Copy.

The Sickness by Alberto Barrera Tyszka (translated fiction)

Translated from the Spanish by Margaret Jull Costa

"Tears are very unliterary: they have no form."

This is possibly the most dog-eared book I've ever had. Folding down corners is my method for marking significant (to me) passages, but it clearly wasn't working with this fiction novel because I was marking every page.  I'd never read this Venezuelan author before, but I hope to find more of his work translated into English.

Delicate prose, deep moral questions, and a stunning pace are what kept me hooked into reading this in one sitting.  The story itself is rather simple:  a successful doctor discovers that his father is seriously ill.  Their close relationship is strained as the son weighs the consequences of telling his father the details of his illness.  In the meantime, another man, virtually unknown to the doctor, begins stalking him, imagining that he holds the cure for the the list of complaints he suffers from.  There's a push and pull to the narrative, as the poignant moments between father and son,nuanced with shared memories of grief, intertwine with the creepy certainty of the stalker.

Because of the health issues that permeate the novel, questions about the nature of health and wellness are explored, but in a brief, compelling way.  The author cites quotes of famous authors, ethicists and physicians, but he's not showing off, they are actually appropriate observations of how the human body deals with illness.  These asides never go too long or feel like a lecture, they fit the material in the most uncanny way.

For example, Tyszka quotes Julio Ramon Ribeyro, who provides possibly the best explanation for the euphoria that exists after an episode of physical pain:

"Physical pain is the great regulator  of our passions and ambitions.  Its presence immediately neutralizes all other desires apart from the desire for the pain to go away.  This life that we reject because it seems to us boring, unfair, mediocre or absurd suddenly seems priceless: we accept it as it is, with all its defects, as long as it doesn't present itself to us in its vilest form - pain."

Tsyzka presents simple scenes with insightful observation.  On trying to read the face of a doctor while awaiting possibly bad news:

"It's the illustration that accompanies a bad diagnosis, the first installment of an expression of condolence."

On imagining his father's worries:

"Are the monsters of old age as terrible as those that assail us when we're children?  What do you dream about when you're sixty-nine?  ....Perhaps this is what his father dreams about:  he's in a laboratory, in the bowels of a hospital, surrounded by chemicals, sharp implements, gauze, and strangers all repellently dressed in white...."

Events proceed in unexpected ways, and as a reader, you never quite know what direction you're being pulled in.  You feel empathy and disgust in altering passages, and the underlying fear is riveting.  I did find the ending a bit confusing...I still am not sure I've understood all the implications laid out.

One scene confounds me:  It takes place on a ferry, where an obnoxious businessman makes a production of his 'importance' and maltreats his seemingly intelligent and kind wife, all the way to the point of beating her to the ground.  I'm not sure what the symbolism is, although I know it's present in that scene.  Is Tyszka trying to say that people are subject to humiliation, by oppression or illness, no matter how virtuous they are? 

In full, this is easily going to be in my list of favorites for the year.  While the subject revolves around illness, it never quite defines which 'illness' is being addressed:  is it disease?  regret?  evil?  The questions are posed, and only each individual reader can answer.

Special thanks to Paul Engels of Maclehose Press, London, for the Review Copy.

Additionally, I jumped the gun on this review:  it will be released in the US in 2012 by Tin House Books, but is available in the UK now.

My Bottom Five-the worst books ever (IMHO)

Okay, so there's way too many Top-5 lists, right?  Why not come right out with the worst and confess the total annoyance a reader may feel after a terrible book (the kind you keep reading, despite the awfulness, rather than throwing at the wall).  Please contribute your suggestions...

1.  The Great Fire by Shirley Hazzard:  WWII-era story of the "ideal" man, a researcher in Japan and China who falls in love with a fifteen-year-old angel (of course, he waits till she is of age to seriously consider her as a companion).  It's not the creepiness of his crush on her, but the author's characterization of this always well-dressed, perfectly groomed, wealthy, intelligent, respectful, proper, and unreal man-Alfred Leith.  He's so perfect you actually begin hoping he does something awful, even so much as belch, just to take away the sainthood Hazzard smothers him in.  The dialogue between he and his little darling is so contrived as to create laughs instead of romance.

2.  The Season of Second Chances by Diane Meier-Unhappy academic moves to Amherst, buys terrible house.  Finds good friends and wonderful contractor, fixes up house on supply of endless funds.  Begins wearing eye shadow to match the paint on her walls.  Alas, wonderful contractor not suitable as companion because he's not an academic like her-but her good friends help remodel HIM so as to be worthy of their company.  ICK.

3.  PS I Love You by Cecilia Ahern-I only read this because the movie was coming out soon, and frankly, Gerard Butler, Harry Connick Jr, and Jeffrey Dean Morgan are a trifecta of handsomeness.  The movie wasn't ghastly, but the book was.  The dialogue was so false and every single incident drizzled with sentimentality and too many coincidences to be real.  Corny is the best word for it.

4.  Winged Obsession by ????  This is a newish nonfiction title that could be great-it's about butterfly smugglers operating around the world, mostly set in Los Angeles, and the scale of the endangered-species trade is huge.  Yet every specimen is referred to as looking like Angelina Jolie, or Beyonce, or Cher.  Seriously, give the butterflies a break!  The author name drops way too many brand names and celebrity names and cheap gay humor to make you take the actual issue of illegal smuggling seriously.

5. An Dantomine Eerly by JD R Middleton-I admit, it's probably me.  I'm not smart enough to get this.  Imagine drinking three pots of coffee, having your eyelids taped open, endless episodes of Yo Gabba Gabba on while a strobe light fills the room, with an audio tape of Ethel Merman playing, while you're trying to read James Joyce, all after having not slept for a week.   That's sort of how I felt.  I couldn't figure out if I was holding the book incorrectly or if I was just completely clueless to the meaning of the rambling phrases and images.   I passed it on to a friend who called and wanted to know if this was, indeed, in English.  (And yes, I realize this publisher will likely not send me anything ever again.)

Art of the Novella Reading Challenge-Melville House

http://mhpbooks.com/mobylives/?p=32999

Melville House is promoting a lively list of novellas this year, and a new challenge has been started.  There are varying levels of participation...I'm going for reading nine of the titles (I believe there's something like 42 listed).  In fact, five of the novellas are all called The Duel by varying authors....

I'm starting with some of the Russian novellas and will post here as I complete them.  See the website above for entry requirements...you may win something cool!  Authors are varied, as are genres...

M C Escher, Ascending and Descending

Another Escher classic....

A Fireproof Box by Gleb Shulpyakov (bilingual edition)

Translated from the Russian by Christopher Mattison

Interactive poetry-complete with questions and answers (and a few prompts)-make up this collection from Gleb Shulpyakov.  The collection is personal, as he tells you about himself immediately in the section "Flick":  "I mean, I simply don't know where to begin, so I loiter, like a school boy hanging out after school...."  In his poetic 'loitering', he throws out images and ideas and creates parallels you don't expect.  Then, he teases you a bit by questioning what he just laid out.

In one sense, Shulpyakov is a painter, using words to create a vision (and even mentioning Vermeer so we get it right):

Evening, sorrowful as snow in a painting
(late Vermeer, unsigned and dated)
in an aged scrawl).  A lamp in the middle
of the room.  The ticking clock

     is audible at snowfall's end.
     Classics staring back from the shelf.

What can we add to this painting:
a hot flame in a Hollandish fireplace?
a pair of borzois on a bearskin rug?
ringlets? festoons? patchouli? pastels?

     A map of a country on a stand?
     A checkered floor in perspective?

By the end of these verses, he's went from creating the vision to questioning the stereotype of it.  Small villages he describes seem quaint, yet then he mentions the statues of tyrants that lend a sense of foreboding to the image, and the quaintness implies hidden suffering.  The quiet is less serene.

He creates another unforgettable image in the following poem, made poignant by the hints at passing time found among the words 'waves', 'fades', 'moths', 'silhouette', and 'end':

A white Viennese chair sets against the sea
and you--time fades in the landscape's
evening waves.  Sculpted cheekbones in profile
and a child's sand-plastered shovel.

When you're here, red wine
flows for two, and the bitter wafts into salt air.
When you're here, everything's made right
as the sun eats away at the beach like moths.

Sunset over the sea!  Tragedy's classic
moment.  Silently gazing out to a point,
I see not you, but a color--and in it your
silhouette.  And this point is not an end. 

The poet writes to the reader, not necessarily for the reader.  The sense of conversation is intense at times, even when it is often humorous.  He mentions names from art, history, and politics, and assumes you know what he means (more than a few I didn't....thank you Google!).

That summer at the dacha I wrote a play...
Something from the classical genre:  love and the seaside.
And a pistol must be feared near the finale.
Each day, after flipping through more journals,
I headed up into the garret.
I opened my laptop and all the heroes
poured out at will:  babbling and dashing around.
You know what it's like to write a play?
You give them words and they create a ruckus--
quarreling with each other
barely enough time to keep track of them all!

I tripped over my words in reading this, I thought he meant that the pistol must be fired...as in Chekhov's gun rule, which states that if a pistol or rifle appears early on in a story, it must be fired or the audience is left uncertain.  It's a form of foreshadowing called repetitive designation, and given that Chekhov and Shulpyakov are both Russian, I thought immediately of the connection.  But this wording, 'feared' instead of 'fired', gives another dimension.  Feared can mean revered or venerated (besides dreaded), so perhaps this is a nod to the violence of Russia's past and how necessary it seems in literature to add the conflict of violence to make a plot work. 

The bilingual edition is lovely to look at...I only wish I could read the Cyrillic alphabet and hear it as Shulpyakov wrote it! 

Special thanks to Canarium Books for the Advance Review Copy.

The Hottest Dishes of the Tartar Cuisine by Alina Bronsky

Translated from the German by Tim Mohr

"I was a fundamentally generous person, and I valued the interchange between generations. Helping support Sulfia in raising my grandchild didn't bother me at all. Neither did drawing Sulfia's attention to her own frequent mistakes. All I ever did was for her to improve herself."

Perhaps this should be called The Battle Hymn of the Tartar Mother....The narrator of this fast-paced novel is a mother more like Mommie Dearest than June Cleaver.  She's actually kind of scary.  Yet her witty observations, completely oblivious of her own sinister attitude, makes the reader both laugh and cringe.

As it begins, Rosalinda is bemoaning her stupid daughter--an ugly thing with no prospects for success and an unplanned pregnancy to boot.  She believes in some sort of immaculate conception because she's sure no man would have her hideous offspring.  Eventually, the child is born and it's up to Rosalinda to try and create a stable and loving environment away from the child's hapless mother.

And yet, Bronsky has given us an unreliable narrator, the classic type that makes you begin to question everything about the story.  Little hints are thrown out, via Rosalinda's stream-of-consciousness thinking, that tell you more about why she is so difficult.  It soon becomes fairly clear that her daughter is not the idiot we're made to envision.

"I had tried to teach her that nobody should be able to see when you were scared. That nobody should be able to tell when you were uncertain.  That you shouldn't show it when you loved someone.  And that you smiled with particular affection at someone you hated."

The story progresses as the three generations of women fight for survival, and Rosalinda's influence is felt everywhere.  She really is the story;  the characterization of her is full of revealing details.  She knows just when to let her hair down (literally) to get her way, and when and what kind of flowers to send for a bribe.  She knows that certain events require heels and the fur coat, while at other times her beauty must be downplayed.  And she thinks nothing of throwing a boot at her daughter's face to get her way.

Aminat and Sulfia aren't as fully developed...but really, how could they, given the magnitude of Rosalinda?  Another character that is intriguing is Kalganow, Rosalinda's husband, who leaves her after a particularly harrowing cross-examination by her.  His presence in the story is at the periphery, but every scene he appears in is priceless. 

In all, the story had me laughing in shock and awe at her atrociousness.  Yet it grew tiring too, by the end, as she never seemed to mellow.  I still enjoyed it, but I thought that underlining her pushy character was already done and I was convinced.  I did like how certain factors that explained her behavior were subtly incorporated without excusing her.  This will likely be in my top five fiction titles for the year....and the cover art is just brilliant.

Special thanks to Europa Editions for the Advance Review Copy.

Vernal Equinox by Manolis, poetry

Of the collections of poetry by Manolis that I’ve read and enjoyed, Vernal Equinox is by far the most romantic and, shall we say, the steamiest. Perhaps the Greek mythological god Eros had an influence on this set of verses, although they wouldn’t necessarily be considered erotic. It’s said of Eros that “his quality of love was thought to be spiritual as well as physical, and was generally believed to be the deity who caused the love of beauty, healing, freedom, and many other good things as well as the love between people” (1). The Romans called him Cupid, and he was known for his quiver of arrows that struck often at random.


What is created in Vernal Equinox goes beyond just passion…this is no Harlequin poetry selection. Instead, the focus is on the feelings of both solitude and space that affection fills. The grace of companionship through difficulties, and the familiar grasp of a hand that soothes after a nightmare.

The Church is a frequent character in the poems, sometimes as setting and other times as a foil to the romance it seems to hamper. If anything, Manolis seems to contrast the pomp and drama of “grandiose” Church philosophies with the simplicity of tangible human affection. The addition of love changes the geography of the world in which we live, he seems to suggest.

In “New Dusk”,

In the streets we built
For our future encounter and
Our little talks at twilight

We’ll construct new signposts
And erect small statuettes

Opposite a descending sun
A poet of the insignificant
We’ll anoint our new saint

While you and I bestow benevolence
Onto this city with her grandiose churches
And the grieving priest shedding false tears


Authentic affection isn’t easy to find, as lamented in some of the poems. It often disappears without a trace, or misses its mark. In one poem, “Peeling,” a lonely woman prepares a beautiful feast for her husband, craving just a bit of appreciation and affection. Yet his hockey game on television is where his heart is focused. In “Ambience,” the sense of transitory affection propels the words so descriptively you can sense the couple inevitably being torn apart:

Ambient solace of your
Embrace where I seek refuge


Your fingerprints tangle
My beard into rolled anguish

Stay—stay with this a while don’t
Disturb equanimity of


Reddish dusk or let a lonely cloud
Cover this serenity or allow your


Day’s anxiety to hide behind
Our desired meditation on this


Moment in your arms and don’t
Let it go for even

An infinitesimal fraction of
Time frozen or fiery

The juxtaposition of frozen and fiery in the final line seems to allude to heaven and hell, and cements the idea that this romance is purely earthly, and that neither participant wishes to move beyond any imagined heavenly reward or hellish punishment. Incidentally, I was curious why Manolis wrote “a while”’ and not “awhile” in the third stanza, and if it was significant. It turns out that yes, it does mean something: ‘a while’ is a noun meaning a period of time. This usage underlines the ephemeral nature of the intimacy between these two lovers (2).

Lastly, in “Search,” the contrast of harsh light with comforting shadow reinforces the nature of seductive affection and how we even see differently when we are in love.

That you always search in dark corners
Believing you know what you seek


That you always yearn for a shadow
To help you pass unnoticed by moonlight


Beyond arm’s reach of your lustful appetite
And try to conceal your eyes behind sunglasses though

You can’t fail to be stunned by sunshine still


Only harsh light without him by your side

The title Vernal Equinox is most appropriate for such an assemblage of poems. It’s said that conception increases dramatically on the date of the vernal equinox (3). Perhaps it’s just a myth, but the concepts of rejuvenation and rebirth are linked to that date that begins Spring. Day and night are equal on the date of the equinox, which happens only twice a year.  The adorable sheep shown in the photo was born this year on the first day of spring, and I assume it's understood why I chose his picture.

thanks to Ekstasis Editions of British Columbia for the Review Copy.

(1) http://gogreece.about.com/od/greekmythology/a/eros.htm


(2) http://www.bluepencilediting.blogspot.com


(3) http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2011/03/20/first-day-of-spring-2011-vernal-equinox_n_838124.html#s255588&title=A_newborn_sheep

Deep Country by Neil Ansell (memoir)

Peace and quiet.  Time to hear yourself think.  No need for a clock.  All things that sound pretty wonderful to me, and that are found in this lovely book.  Neil Ansell spent five years in PenlanCottage in Wales, an extremely isolated location where you won't hear your neighbors argue or their car alarm going off.  Instead, bird song and silence....bliss.

Let me say immediately that this book is not for everyone.  There's no car chases, not really any suspense (unless you count the search for where mother Mandarin duck laid her eggs), and no wild characters (except for the hares that speed through occasionally).  But, for those of us who crave a little calm, this book is relaxing and appealing. 

Ansell is a journalist, and he craves isolation as well.  He's also precise in describing, for the most part, the types of birds that frequent the area and their breeding habits, even conducting a survey of species and totals.
A few of the birds I didn't recognize by their UK names, so I had to Google them for pictures.  All of his descriptions of their stealth and means of throwing off predators is fascinating.  Lots of facts are sprinkled in, such as how bats can live thirty years and return to their roosts the entire time. 

Yet the book isn't just about what he sees outside the decrepit cottage, but what he sees inside himself.  After a health scare, he observes:

"What remains if you peel away all those things that help you think you know who you are?  If one by one you strip away your cultural choices, the validation you get from the company of your peer group, the tools you use for communication?  Then what is left behind?  If you had asked me that three or four years earlier, when I was just arriving at Penlan, I imagine that I would have guessed:  your true self.  But I soon found that in fact I rapidly became less and less self-aware;  my attention was elsewhere, on the outside.  And now that circumstances had forced me to look inward once again, it was to discover that there was perhaps no fixed self to find.  So what was there instead?  Now, more than ever, I had the sense that my life was no so very different from that of the birds fluttering on my bird-feeder, as though a boundary between us had been broken" (188).

I think this would be an amazing audiobook (Martin Shaw or Alan Rickman on the voice, please!) because the subject matter is soothing.  When I went through a recent health scare, often it was suggested I use visualization to relax, especially during a few procedures that were without anesthetic.  The nurses all said, "picture a long, sandy beach at sunset....".  Nope, in the future I'll picture a rainy cottage with a wild-eyed rabbit perched on the back step and through the fog, a tree covered with yellow birds.

Very special thanks to Hamish Hamilton Books, an imprint of Penguin UK for the Review Copy.

Summer time...BBC crime and audiobooks

In between recent reads, my husband and I have gotten hooked on British crime shows.  I've always liked them, but now he's obsessed too.  The great thing about these series is that we don't know who is a famous guest star or not, so there's no hint to 'whodunit', as sometimes happens when you see the guest stars listed for Law & Order.  We've discovered these streaming on Netflix...

 




MI-5 is called Spooks in the UK

 Wire in the Blood is one that  features a sort of Monk-like character who is a blundering but genius psychologist. The characters are interesting but the stories are downright gruesome and just too gory for watching when you want to relax.  Ick.   Luther features an extremely tall detective (seriously, extremely tall!!!) who is trying to solve a murder while being stalked by the main suspect, and who most definitely lets criminals know how he feels.  The storyline carries over all the episodes in the series.  Very tense and fast-paced.   Sherlock is a series of three episodes that resurrects the Sherlock Holmes character (Watson is a Gulf War vet), and modernizes the stories to feature new technology. It's a shame that Sherlock is so incredibly annoying.  But all the props are there: the Baker Street address, Moriarty, etc.  MI-5 is by far the corniest, silly at times because it takes itself so seriously, yet it's still better than reruns of CSI  or L&O.

 

Collision

A few of the best: A Touch of Frost follows a cranky senior detective as he solves crimes around Denton, England.  It has an ensemble cast, and none of that annoying music video style production that CSI seems to have developed.  Another is Lewis, meaning Inspector Lewis, with two sort of bland actors as detective partners who actually kick ass in a rather polite and respectful way. Very mellow, very clean, sort of a vanilla crime show that is relaxing.  Collision is a five-part series dealing with the before and after of a major car wreck, with two detectives backtracking the activities of all the drivers involved.  Really, really good.

My favorite is Inspector George Gently, with two partners made of an aging detective (who remains dignified and sober even when he's furious) and his annoying young sidekick (who should be shot purely for his irritating habits, but they're just so darned polite they keep him on).  This is a fairly new series but it's set in Durham County in the early 1960's, and they have done something with the lighting that it almost looks black and white with James Bond-style music and retro clothing and cars.  Martin Shaw and Lee Ingleby are the stars and the writing is crisp and the detectives are flawed but compelling. 

Another recent development is I've become hooked on audiobooks again.  A Visit from the Goon Squad by Jennifer Egan is a wonderful book, and having it read dramatically while I clean house or work on beading jewelry is kind of cool.  I'm also listening to Thomas Hardy's Tess of the D'Urberville's (read by George Gently star Martin Shaw) at night to relax before bed.  The Tiger's Wife by Tea Orbecht and Hardy's Return of the Native (read by Alan Rickman) are next in line.  There's something very peaceful about hearing a quiet voice reading aloud.  Years ago I had a lengthy project where I listened to John Le Carre's The Constant Gardener as I worked.  Today when I drive by and see the finished project I start remembering the story...they are cemented together. 

If you're up for trying an audio book, Audible and E-Music both offer free trials.  You can also download an audio book right off Amazon to your MP3 player or PC.