Dear friends, pals and amigos. Guess what? Today [which is rapidly slipping away -- especially as I consume Old Milwaukee after Old Milwaukee as though Prohibition is to be re-instituted tomorrow morning…] TODAY IS AND/OR WAS MY FIFTH BLOGIVERSARY. Isn't that craziness? It just seems like yesterday since we started going steady! [All male readers, please do not take that last sentence too seriously…..] As for everyone else, my girlfriends hither and yon…. big hugs to you! This is my 2,224th posting! Five years of cyber-intercourse involving book-related themes and other semi-incoherent subjects. Thank you all for tuning in here. Lettuce keep doing it. It seems a lifetime ago when I, virgin-like, posted this First Tentative Blog. Cheers. -- Cip *****
It was a shocking thing to say and I knew it was a shocking thing to say. But no one has the right to live without being shocked. No one has the right to spend their life without being offended. Nobody has to read this book. Nobody has to pick it up. Nobody has to open it. And if you open it and read it, you don’t have to like it. And if you read it and you dislike it, you don’t have to remain silent about it. You can write to me, you can complain about it, you can write to the publisher, you can write to the papers, you can write your own book. You can do all those things, but there your rights stop. No one has the right to stop me writing this book. No one has the right to stop it being published, or bought, or sold or read. That’s all I have to say on that subject. -- Philip Pullman, upon being asked whether his book, The Good Man Jesus and the Scoundrel Christ, was offensive --
Here's the crazy thing. I don't even really like short stories. It's not my…… genre. I like novels. I prefer the way one can wade through a good novel for days at a time over a same time period spent hopping through the truncated quick blasts of a collection of short stories. But…. I must admit. I really liked these ones. The Complete Stories of Truman Capote. These twenty stories are arranged chronologically [as to the time of their original publication] ranging from the years 1943 to 1982. You can see a DEFINITE progression in quality, from first to last. Understandable, since the author was 18 or 19 years old when he wrote the first one, and 58 with the last. But really, they just get better and better as you go. It's a terrific book. Here's how I would [potentially blasphemously] put it. If they came out with The Completer Stories of Flannery O'Connor, The Completer Stories of Alice Munro, and The Completer Stories of Truman Capote, I would be most interested in getting my hands on the Capote volume! Thus far in my short-story reading, the only book I would prefer even above a Capote would be entitled The [Other] Nine Stories of J.D. Salinger. Happy reading y'all! ******
"I've always thought a body would have to be sick and dying before they saw the Lord. And I imagined that when He came it would be like looking at the Baptist window: pretty as colored glass with the sun pouring through, such a shine you don't know it's getting dark. And it's been a comfort: to think of that shine taking away all the spooky feeling. But I'll wager it never happens. I'll wager at the very end a body realizes the Lord has already shown Himself. That things as they are" -- her hand circles in a gesture that gathers clouds and kites and grass and Queenie pawing earth over her bone -- "just what they've always seen, was seeing Him. As for me, I could leave the world with today in my eyes." -- From A Christmas Memory, by Truman Capote --
Recently I had occasion to be the "witness" portion of a will-signing. I am not even sure if that is the correct term. Witness? A lawyer was present, and I had to sign about 14 different duplicates of 17 different documents, for a friend that was doing their will. While doing so, I said aloud, "Well, I hope you at least left me something in this thing!" Hah! The lawyer cut in at that point and informed me that this is a very integral part of the deal. The person doing the signing CANNOT BE A BENEFICIARY OF THE WILL. Interesting. I signed, and signed and signed. Ever since then I have been troubled by a bit of a conundrum. Regarding my own "estate" which [believe me, friends] does not amount to much, on an Earthly scale. But I have my books. A lifetime of selective collecting. Meticulous purging. Of all of my possessions, the one thing I would not like to "lose" -- is my book collection. I think I would sooner have my car smashed into a bridge abutment [with me inside it] than have my books destroyed. In many ways [that are probably clinically psychotic] I identify my very being… my existence... with my books! So -- a logical question ensues… Who do I leave them to? When I die. Who would I leave these things to? The answer is --> I do not know. None of my kith and kin, none of my family -- would want them. Jack [my cat]… prefers comic books. [And endless licking of himself]. I have no one to leave this precious stuff to. A lifetime of collecting. Where does it go when I croak? A while ago -- the superintendent of my building told me that someone in the neighboring building [there are three in our complex]… this person died and left an entire Fiction Library to his wife, and she THREW IT ALL INTO THE DUMPSTER. I said to him -- "Oh my God and personal saviour JESUS CHRIST…….. why did you not tell me of this?" I would have climbed into that dumpster and retracted those books WITH MY UVULA! But…….. …….. will a similar thing happen when I die? Will my own beloved Library go into a dumpster, to be smashed along with diapers and uneaten pasta [we all never quite get the measurement right, do we?]…… mashed into an amalgam of random garbage?
Hence -- I am announcing the following decision. When I sort of sense that I will be dying, I am going to post here on my Bookpuddle Blog my moribund intentions -- and ask if anyone out there wants to receive my hundreds of books, upon my demise. Applicants will have to provide a sort of Reason why I should choose them as the Successor to my one lifelong Greatest Possession. [I am not kidding]……. I already know that none of my family is going to want my books when I kick off. If you want them -- you must tell me. While…….. while I am "of sound mind." *******
The question was, How would you summarize your book in one sentence? The author, Yann Martel said, "Writer meets taxidermist meets Holocaust." However, I just finished reading it [Beatrice & Virgil] and I know that Mr. Martel must have winced at the question itself. Oh, how we love to summarize. How we long to describe. Oh, how we love to define. To encapsulate.
We love to tell. But this, my friends, is the definitive [<-- no pun intended] novel of the limitations of language. The wild thing about Beatrice and Virgil, the one thing I would say to all readers [and here I am clarifying the author's own summation] -- it is not ABOUT writing, or taxidermy, or the Holocaust… Yann Martel is not the new-and-improved Jerzy Kosinski or Primo Levi -- he's the modern day Jeremiah of LANGUAGE AIN'T ENOUGH. This book is about -- I CANNOT SAY IT IN A WAY YOU CAN KNOW IT.
Henry is a struggling writer, trying to write something better than his second novel, which was immensely successful. His editors, his publishers, are trying to steer him toward a re-write of his current work. The thing is straddling too tightly the fence that separates fiction from history. "What is your book about?" they keep asking.
It's a good question. It's similar to the one asked of Yann Martel, above. How would you summarize the thing?
Henry meets up with another author, whose day-job is Taxidermist. The taxidermist is also at a bit of a stalemate in his own book, about a talking donkey and monkey. [Beatrice & Virgil]. He wants Henry's help, especially in the specific realm of description. As Henry engages in this enterprise, he gets more than he bargained for. In the end, he believes more fully in the taxidermist's "story" than the original author does. The reader, the reader that is turning the last page of Yann Martel's book -- understands that there are no words to transfer certain things [like the Holocaust] from one person to another. You would have had to have been there, to know it. To tell it? To say the words? You would have to have been a donkey. Or perhaps -- a monkey. Not a person. Not the most erudite survivor, that now, tries to do so.
This is a book that I refuse to lend to friends, because I fear I will never see it again. And, like breath, like breathing -- I want to do it, want to experience it, again.
I’m of a fearsome mind to throw my arms around every living librarian who crosses my path, on behalf of the souls they never knew they saved. -- Barbara Kingsolver --
There are certain works of art which excite more interest in their creators than in what they have created, usually because in this kind of work one is able to identify something which has until that instant seemed a private inexpressible perception, and you wonder: who is this that knows me, and how? -- From The Headless Hawk, by Truman Capote --
It is regrettable, and a mystery to me how a book that it is so well-written and important can go out of print, but such is apparently the case with Kati Marton's [1982] book Wallenberg. Reading this book is something I will never forget. It is the story of Raoul Wallenberg, a young Swedish diplomat whose heroic and selfless efforts saved thousands (some say as many as 100,000) Hungarian Jews from certain death in the gas chambers of Auschwitz. Budapest's Jews were among the last substantial population threatened by the Nazi's, and in July of 1944 Wallenberg was sent there by the Swedish Foreign Ministry in an effort to rescue the remaining 200,000 Jews from planned deportations. He issued thousands of Swedish Embassy-stamped "Schutzpassen" which were provisional or "protective" passports, granting the bearer not only an exemption from wearing the humiliating yellow star, but (more importantly) extending to them the rights of Swedish citizens, with the eventual intention of being "repatriated" to Sweden. With funds supplied from the War Refugee Board, Wallenberg also secured property which he then converted into "safe houses" for those rescued from deportations. Can you imagine? At times, Wallenberg put himself on the line and pressured SS officials into turning over to his custody "prisoners" who were already on board deportation trains! He then organized a network of hundreds of Jewish agents who managed the distribution of food and medicine to Jews in his shelters. The tragic twist to this story is that after Budapest's liberation, Wallenberg himself was arrested by the Soviets on espionage charges and imprisoned, presumably until the rest of his life, for his fate remains shrouded in mystery. All attempts by his family and government to obtain his release were frustrated. To placate the mass of inquiries, Lubyanka Prison officials gave a date of Wallenberg's alleged death as being July 17, 1947. The end of Marton's book goes into many reasons why such an ending to Wallenberg's life seems suspicious. She explains how that Wallenberg was "quite possibly the Soviet's most important prisoner. His name and his legend were too powerful to release." A free Wallenberg would be a "living indictment" and would have presented a dangerous competition to the Communist party's most jealously guarded possessions: legitimacy and power. The author says in chapter 10: "Wallenberg was imbued with a conviction that anything was within reach, any goal could be met if one just applied oneself, and all of one's God-given gifts to its fulfillment."
Here where I live in the capital city of Canada there is a Raoul Wallenberg Park... and whenever I drive by it I am powerfully reminded of the importance of remembering this hero of humanity, who, in the name of the civilized world sacrificed his own freedom in a fight to hold the uncivilized portion of that world accountable to the last. Learn More. P.S. I have just discovered a new re-issue of this amazing book. Click-->HERE. ******
Fiction and nonfiction are not so easily divided. Fiction may not be real, but it's true; it goes beyond the garland of facts to get to emotional and psychological truths. As for nonfiction, for history, it may be real, but its truth is slippery, hard to access, with no fixed meaning bolted to it. If history doesn't become story, it dies to everyone except the historian. Art is the suitcase of history, carrying the essentials. Art is the life buoy of history. Art is seed, art is memory, art is vaccine. -- Beatrice & Virgil, by Yann Martel. p.16 --
In addition to the knowledge of history, we need the understanding of art. Stories identify, unify, give meaning to. Just as music is noise that makes sense, a painting is colour that makes sense, so a story is life that makes sense. -- Beatrice & Virgil, by Yann Martel. p.15 --
Fiction, being closer to the full experience of life, should take precedence over nonfiction. Stories -- individual stories, family stories, national stories -- are what stitch together the disparate elements of human existence into a coherent whole. -- Beatrice & Virgil, by Yann Martel. p.7 --
I remember once taking a correspondence course entitled Pastoral Counseling. The summer break of 1990. I wanted to knock off a few extra credits to ease up my regular workload in my final year of a Bachelor of Theology program. No, not Pastureal Counseling [which is designed for cows]. Pastoral Counseling --> designed to help a pastor / minister help parishioners in their journey through life. As it turned out, my life as a pastor was short-lived. I am now a full-fledged heretic. But I learned a lot in that course that has stayed with me, and helped me -- and one section that was the most memorable, the most meaningful, involved something known as Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs. At the bottom of the Maslow pyramid are the most basic things that people need in order to live a healthy life -- the physiological needs of food, water, shelter, etc. As one moves upward in the pyramid, the life skills become more specialized, and at the top of the pyramid is a thing called "Self-Actualization". Click -->HERE for an illustration. I became fascinated with finding out more about this top level of the pyramid. Maslow breaks it into many sub-categories, but the one that has stayed with me is called "Continued Freshness of Appreciation." Maslow discovered that healthy, mature adults exhibit a capacity to appreciate even the most ordinary events in their lives with a sense of newness, awe, pleasure and even ecstasy. They seldom became bored with life experiences. Thus, for such a person, any sunset may be as beautiful as their first one, any flower may be a breathtaking loveliness, even after he/she has seen a million flowers. For such people, even the casual workaday, moment to moment business of living can be thrilling, exciting and ecstatic.
For all of my other faults -- things in my life that are not quite what they should be -- I can honestly say that I believe I have at least achieved this one aspect of Self-Actualization, this thing that Maslow called Freshness of Appreciation. It is an aspect of life that I hold most dear. A cherished thing. It is the sort of thing where a person that does not make a lot of money, has an incredibly shaky and unstable future, drives a rickety old car, lives with only a cat, and is not good-looking -- that kind of person can step out onto their balcony on a Sunday morning, [see above photo] set their coffee mug on the railing, close their eyes, breathe in, and not even be able to find the words to begin to describe how much they appreciate life. In fact, searching for the words and not finding them is how you know you are there. Notice also that it is not momentary. It is not called Fleeting Freshness of Appreciation. It is to be -- Continued….
There is no such thing, unless you actually are a chalkboard. Even then, two options emerge. Recently erased, or never written upon. No one is a clean slate. If you are reading this, too late. If you have ever seen lightning however distant -- wrinkled your brow before, or even after, the thunder. Too late. Toolatetoolate.
Dear Friends: Thank you for your lovely thoughts and all of your prayers to the God of Cats. I received really great news about my son when I got home from work tonight. Apparently there isn't anything wrong with him except some rudimentary run-of-the-mill dental issues. [I've got to get him to quit chewing tabaccy!] Now -- in my previous report of last night I did not say anything about the cause of my anxiety about this gorgeous beast of a kitty cat! Here is the scenario in a nutshell: On Sunday morning I noticed that Jack was hobbling with one of his back legs off the floor. So I gave him a thorough -- leg examination. He was in no pain as I massaged his paws and stretched out his leg and kissed his nose and stuff [<-- I should be a veterinarian, huh?] So I just chalked it up to the fact that he had a few too many beers the night before, as did his father! Later in the afternoon though, I saw him do it again. The hopping bit. Again, he did not flinch when I resumed my examination of his paw. So I drank some vodka. Then, in the early evening, I noticed him sitting in an unusual position on his favorite rug. When I tried to pick him up he resisted, and when I finally got him to stand up he hobbled away and all four of his legs were simply not working right at all. He only walked a few yards away, staggering like a drunk, and then he lay down and blankly stared off into space, very unresponsive to my intense medically precise question of, "Hey buddy. What the hell is wrong with you?" Hence, I called around until I found the nearest appointment I could make for him. I feared that he was exhibiting the initial stages of some sort of cat-disease, and requested a comprehensive analysis of his blood. By the way, ever since his Wobbly Episode there... he has appeared normal as ever. But one can never be sure, right? I had to get him all checked out. And this evening I returned home from work to the following phone message from Jack's doctor! He's healthier than ten horses, apparently! Jack will probably outlive me!
The form of a question may ease our way or pose obstacles.Or, when even slightly altered, it may generate antithetical answers, as in the case of the two priests who, being unsure if it was permissible to smoke and pray at the same time, wrote to the Pope for a definitive answer. One priest phrased the question "Is it permissible to smoke while praying?" and was told it is not, since prayer should be the focus of one's whole attention; the other priest asked if it is permissible to pray while smoking and was told that it is, since it is always appropriate to pray. -- Neil Postman, Technopoly: The Surrender of Culture to Technology --
For the past few days I have been concerned about my son, Jack. Hence, my absence in Blogland. Hence, my overall distractedness. Hence, my trip to the Beechwood Animal Hospital this morning for a 7 a.m. appointment, strategically booked so I could still get to work to PAY for the appointment! Hence, the fact that I extra-petted Jack when we went to sleep last night. Please pray for my kitty cat, whom, as you can see in the above photo, has entirely lost one of his forelegs over the weekend [just kidding, it's tucked under his gorgeous body]. Please pray to the God of Cats, that the results from today's blood test are Disease-Less! Thank you, friends. Sincerely, Cippy & Jack ******
The whole problem with the world is that fools and fanatics are always so certain of themselves, and wiser people so full of doubts. -- Bertrand Russell --
When it comes to wallpaper on an actual wall.... thing, in a house, like I do not have a clue. Don't know how to do it. Don't know how it works. But when it comes to my computer, I am a connoisseur. For years I have agonized over finding the best desktop wallpapers known to mankind. And I want to share with you [FREE OF CHARGE] my Top Three Favorites. With my absolutely gorgeous new MacBook Pro I have all of my icons placed vertically on the right hand side of my screen, and as such -- these three desktop wallpapers I am going to share with you this Historically Significant Evening work wonderfully with such a configuration. And [between sips of Sapporo beer] may I also ask a pertinent question? If you do not yet have a Mac computer, there is really only one word that applies to your current state of affairs... WHY? OK… moving on now. I am going to provide a link to the Three Bestest Desktop Wallpapers known to mankind. The first one is my all-time favorite. But the others are "pretty" good, too. Click on the --> IMAGEyou like and then save them in BIG size. P.S. For some terrific [award-winning] poems about wallpaper, click -->HERE and then --> HERE. Happy wallpapering to you! *********
In this blog I am going to [FREE OF CHARGE] recreate an actual timeline of events -- showing how, [in ways that can go unnoticed] -- germs are spread. Mind you, most of you would not have done what I did, but never mind that for right now. Here's the way it happened -- Last night I was reading my book [The Crazed, by Ha Jin] at Chapters [a big bookstore]. I was, as usual, sitting in one of these big nice leather chairs they have there, in the Starbucks. But the people around were talking too loud, so I relocated to a table, and an hour or so later I noticed that I had lost my Abraham Lincoln Museum postcard bookmark. Damn. I went back to the chair I had been sitting at, but could not find the beloved bookmark. One of the Starbucks girls may have tossed the thing out. This is when I saw one of these magazine subscription cards on the floor, nearby. Some magazine called Lou Lou. Never heard of it. So I just picked it up, dusted off the big boot prints all over the thing, put it my book, and proceeded to the payphone to order a Mexican pizza from Cumberland Pizza. [Your stories are way too detailed Cipriano!] Oh, hush! Fast forward the tape to TONIGHT… when I am again reading the same book in a public place, this time in a Foodcourt at the Mall. Mmmm… I had just finished a plate of noodles, beef & broccoli from Manchu Wok. Dang it all if a piece of broccoli didn't get a bit wedged between two teeth, halfway to the back of my yapper. Well, what do you think I did? Extremely hygienic guy that I am, I took my new Lou Lou "bookmark" and just jammed it on in there. Oh yeah…. what a relief. The offending vegetable piece did indeed come out on the corner of the subscription card. And yes, [in case you are wondering] I DID re-eat it. But immediately afterward, it hit me. I picked this damn thing up off the floor in a big bookstore! And it had hoofprints on it at the time! Yuck! So now….. if I die from some sort of rare gum-disease, I just want you all to know, it's been grand blogging with you all! Guess I should travel with toothpicks, huh? I am currently trying to wash away all memories of my disgusting actions by drinking copious amounts of Red Stripe beer.
The reason death sticks so closely to life isn’t biological necessity – it’s envy. Life is so beautiful that death has fallen in love with it... -- From Life of Pi, by Yann Martel --
Yann Martel's new novel Beatrice & Virgil is now in the stores. I already have my own review copy, graciously sent to me direct from Random House. [Thank you, Julie!] I was surprised to see Mr. Martel featured on the evening news tonight, and I caught a snippet of the interview on my camera. Here is an interesting factoid that preceded my expert film-making…. apparently Yann Martel received a $3,000,000 advance for Beatrice & Virgil. As in -->3 MILLION[s] !! Now that's how you know your publisher loves you! I briefly met the author in the Life of Pi heyday… and I must say, he is a wonderful person to meet. Watch this brief segment, this brilliant video-footage, and you will learn that there is a relatively prestigious [extremely famous] person who is A Big Fan of Yann!
Early spring, yes. It's one of those cautiously hopeful days at the beginning of April, after the clocks have made their great leap forward but before the weather or the more suspicious trees have quite had the courage to follow them, and Kate and I are traveling north in a car crammed with food and books and old saucepans and spare pieces of furniture. -- Michael Frayn, in Headlong --
Something has to change. Undeniable dilemma. Boredom's not a burden anyone should bear. Constant over stimulation numbs me and I wouldn't have it any other way. It's not enough. I need more. Nothing seems to satisfy. I don't want it. I just need it. To feel, to breathe, to know I'm alive. -- lyrics to Stinkfist, by Tool --
My favorite composer is Antonin Dvorak. (1841-1904). I have many CD's of his work, and I love it all. But my favorite is Symphony #9. Better known as The New World Symphony. The entire thing is a masterpiece, but what I love most is the adagio section of the 2nd Movement. When I attended a live performance here in Ottawa at the National Arts Centre [more than a decade ago] I wept. This Czechoslovakian genius composed this symphony while in New York during the winter and spring of 1893. And this, after spending the summer in good ol' Spillville, Iowa. Go figure. Can any good thing come out of Iowa? This did! It is just beautiful music. Wonderful. Moving. I can't help it -- I love a good adagio.
See my own poetic homage to Dvorak -->HERE. *********
Some people carry their heart in their head and some carry their head in their heart. The trick is to keep them apart yet working together. -- David Hare --
In the beginning was much dirt and rock... a site. And Developers moved upon the face of the site, and saw that it had potential. For it was nigh unto the crossroads of two thoroughfares. Yea, it was also along a bus route and several amenities. And Developers said, “Let there be Merchandise here. Let Commerce erupt! A store, and let it be such a store as has not been seen hitherto, nor even heard of existing elsewhere, so grand shall it be; Let the length of it be from Yonder Street even unto the Other Street, and the width of it nine blue whales end to end. Let its height be a refuge for pigeons, and let there be an escalator within, to separate the lower portion from the upper portion." [Nay, make that two, one in each direction, that each level be Accessible Without Much Effort or Forethought Thereto.] And Developers nodded, ate donuts, and saith betwixt them “It seemeth good unto Us.” And Excavators came forth. Much Carpenters thereafter.
And it was agreed upon that the Enormity of Square Footage “be layered with Shelves.” Yea, and it was written and declared “Divide the Store into Departments of Fiction and Poetry and Home & Office and Art and General Computing and Religion and Philosophy.... Cooking, Psychology, Personal Finance, Reference and Science and So On and So On” and thus it was done even as they spoke the word. And behold, it was good. And such as was commanded was fulfilled. And in the fullness of the command was it overdone, in that even that which was commanded was surpassed when it came down to the actual fulfillment of commands that had been commanded in their fullness. And in much stocking of Shelves were many employees employed in the employment of it all.
And thereafter Banners and Slogans were emblazoned, and Discounts and Blowouts and Back to School Weeks declared. Hence it was decreed “Let us go forth and install an Emporium of Addictive Substances near the portals, that those who enter herein find it increasingly Difficult To Leave.” And Oh, I say unto thee.... It was so, even as Developers decreed and the Profits foretold. Verily, verily, it was so! ********
