Alice Munro

Is it a new style of book clubbing?

Are we being avant-garde - or just indecisive?

I think we all need a bit fin de siecle in our lives.

June* is the month for dictating the author that we shall all read - rather than the book. I wonder if this has something to do with the way our book club discussions devolve to talking about what other books of the author we've read; what else the author has made us feel; what movie we watch; what amusements we have been undertaking. Okay, so it doesn't take much for book-club discussions to tangentialise - but it's all part of the joy.

June is also the month of the winter solstice, the shortest day of the year.

I don't know how that's relevant but there's something about June ...

It's a bit ... you know ... loopy.

This is what everyone is reading:-

Cee:- Runaway Stories - described by an Amazonian reviewer as: "a book about life and life experiences and because of this it is slightly depressing." Described by Amazon as having:- "a sense of hidden menace or even violence."

Oanh:- Beggar Maid - finished! and also the Moons of Jupiter, or Tales of Girls and Women (if I get around to it, riding my wave of enthusiasm all the way)

Lana:- Runaway Stories (2004)
Meg:- Dance of the Happy Shades (1974)

Meg & Lana thought it would be a great idea

to track the development of

this very prolific author over 30 years ...

Doctor (who's not yet given me permission to use her real name):- Beggar Maid

There are a few other book clubbers who have not yet told me what they are reading ...

TELL ME!

so I can edit this post.

~ Oanh

Dirt Music

This month's book, to be discussed over lunch at the lovely Meg's house, is Dirt Music by Tim Winton. I really enjoyed it. I have this strange thing about Tim Winton - even though I've enjoyed everything I've read of his (which is not a lot - a collection of short stories, and Dirt Music), I classify him in my head as a difficult writer. Which is pretty silly of me, given that I love the way he writes. Dirt Music was wonderfully lyrical.

Speaking of which, Tim Winton released a companion CD to the novel. From the description on the cover, "A loose term, ‘dirt music’ is described by Tim Winton through the character of Luther Fox who says in the novel, 'Anythin you could play on a verandah. You know, without electricity. Dirt music.'" It's actually a very cool collection of what I'd call country/folk/bluegrass, and I've been listening to it at work all week. I'm not sure what my colleagues think about the faint strains of steel guitars drifting out of my office door, but no-one's complained. So far.

Of course, in my wonderfully organised fashion, I have left the CD itself at work. Thankfully, I had already ripped it to the computer, so now I am forced to burn a copy to take to the Book Group tomorrow. I don't think it's illegal if you're forced to do it, is it? Surely not.

I look forward to discussing Winton's atmospheric prose over lunch with the rest of the Book Group-ees, while the Sensitive New Age Cowpersons play their super-fast version of I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For (with banjos!) in the background. Atmospheric indeed.

Celia

Case Histories by Kate Atkinson

Book Club rises from the slumber of pre and post christmas lethargy - we return with a rather popular book by Kate Atkinson.

Knowing nothing about the author, I will only rant about the difficulty locating this book in the library.

Celia promised that there were many copies in the library. Being the lawyer she is, there was a catch.

Yes, the BCC libraries had 57 copies. The central city library has 6 of these 57 books. Heck, one of them is even large type. But oh - 5 of the 6 were out until way past the next book club date, and 1 was missing.

But that's still 51 copies, right? Well, 47 copies are out. Borrowed. By *someone else*.

Okay - okay. That leaves four. But where are these four? Bracken Ridge, Holland Park, Woop Woop, Some-other-outer-Brisbane-inaccessible-suburb.

Dreamily I hope that at least some of the 52 copies are borrowed by other book-clubbers. But I suspect that, given that Celia and I are the enthusiastic ones, there are at least 52 people in Brisbane reading Kate Atkinson and who didn't even have it chosen for them. go Kate.

If you're in Brisbane and are reading this book, would you like to come to our next book club meeting? You might know more about the book than I will ...

- Oanh

Holiday Reading

While travelling I read the following:

- The Penelopiad by Margaret Atwood

- The Secret History by Donna Tartt

The Penelopiad was a Christmas gift, which I received pre-Christmas. A nifty 'summer reading' catalogue from Brisbane's Better Bookstores either came in the post or fell out of a newspaper - I can't recall which. My partner sat down and happily circled books he would like to receive for Christmas from his mother. Unbeknownst to me, he circled a few things that she could purchase for me as well. Receiving Christmas presents is a new thing for me - having never received them as a child, I now get a reasonable amount of loot as an adult because I am vicariously part of a family that celebrates these things. What a scam!

The Penelopiad is part of a new series that I am very excited about: a re-writing of myths by celebrated authors. Canongate is the publisher. The first two releases in the series are this and The Weight by Jeanette Winterson (which I also read, post travel). Given that Canongate chose two of my favourite contemporary women writers to re-tell a myth of their choosing, and both chose myths from the Greek classical canon, I was won over without much hard work.

But on Canongate's list were a number of authors I had not heard of - including Donna Tartt. I scratched around in my little grey matter for anything - anything at all - to do with Ms Tartt and could find only: "sounds like chick-lit to me." Now, pretty much everyone knows I'm a judgemental elitist book (among other things) snob so we'll just move on from there. I have to admit though that I'm reasonably privy to chick-lit having enjoyed Helen Fielding's Bridget Jones and Rebecca Sparrow's the Girl Most Likely - mostly because my closest friend in the whole wide world is unremittingly and unapologetically a chick-lit / chick-film fan. I adore her for it.

In any event, there I was in one of Brisbane's Better Bookstores (if you ask me - Brisbane's Best Bookstore - Folio Books happily killing time when I hovered indecisively over the New Myth offerings. Turned subtly away by my partner, I discovered The Secret History by Donna Tartt which was reduced to barely a third of its retail price and about a group of classics students. So I bought it.

All this serendipitous intermingling of coincidences, connections and themes is confusing me and making this post awfully long.

Margaret's contribution was delightful. She vividly reimagined the world of Penelope and the world of Greek cosmology, drawing on feminist historiography (whether consciously or no - but probably consciously) to recreate Penelope's story and to tell the story of the 13 hanged maids. I was impressed and amused and engaged be the number of different styles Margaret used to tell the story - Homeric epic and first person narrative for Penelope, and Greek dramatic chorus and burlesque for the maids. Oh, it was wonderful - read it! It took me less than 9 hours (the flight from Brisbane to Bangkok including food eating, toilet trips and silly self-portrait photo shoots). In response to some of the reviews I've read which appear to complain about Margaret's feminist take on the story: (a) It's Margaret Atwood; and (b) If you want the male hegemonic version, read Homer's Odyssey. So there.

I also enjoyed Donna Tartt's The Secret History. A much more narrative driven, pseudo thriller, it was a great book to have while travelling - except that I became so involved in reading it that I wanted to finish the book, more than visit people and places. It also displaced me; Donna described places in such an evocative fashion that I was discombobulated by finding myself physically in humid Viet Nam while mentally I was in the solitary surrounds of a US college in winter.

The story is about a small group of college students - told from the perspective of one, more different than the rest. The students are the tiny class of an exclusive professor of classics. You know, at the beginning, that one of them is murdered by the others. You know, towards the middle, why and how. The gripping aspect is the unravelling of the characters and their motivations, and the sense of desperate belonging that the narrator experiences within the group. It also had me because I have an attachment to solitary cerebral life, and the sense of being more grounded in the world and literature of centuries past than the thrashing of the present day. Thucydides said it well in his Peloponnesian Wars, but I've forgotten the quote now. I'll dig it up. Donna's writing is clear and well-structured; her emotions well expressed. I look forward to the myth that Donna Tartt will choose to re-tell.

- Oanh

The Glory Days of Book Fest

We've been silent awhile, and I've got myself into this whole blogging business - so here's another one from the ranter.

The topic of today's rant is my fond memories of Book Festing - just the thing to lead me into the joy of it starting this Saturday 21 January for a crazy six days, culminating, as always, on Australia/Invasion Day.

I think Book Fests are for the true book lovers and hoarders, and all you sci-fi/fantasy nerds out there. I always see my favourite second hand book dealer there - he's usually finishing up as I start. I often see former boyfriends as well. If you're a nerd, you just date other nerds, okay? The only non-book reader I ever dated looked terribly disappointed and hurt when I ignored him because a book was more gripping at that point in time. The real problem was that he stayed hurt, as if it was some terrible blow that I should prefer to read. Weirdo.

I once share-housed with two sci-fi geeks. We all traipsed down together to Book Fest. I watched them rush in as the doors swung open, while I sat outside waiting for the crowd to die down. I want no part of that stampede! We who do not read so much sci-fi / fantasy have all the time in the world to browse and find excellent books. After Book Fest, they go home and pile up their finds, and like boys, compare who has the most D*cks (that's Philip K.). It's then my turn to bargain away from them any double ups they've collected, or beg and plead for any Stanislaw Lems they got.

My favourite pile is the "Penguin" file where I will, every year, pick up a copy of Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn's "Gulag Archipelago". When I am in the queue, with my fellow book-loving partner, he will say: "Um. Why do you have Solzhenitsyn again? You're never going to read it." And I say: "oh yeah." And cull it. This year, I promise not to pick up a single Solzhenitsyn tome. Cross my heart.

We cull other things we've collected as well. Culling is the fun bit. We make my must-have pile, his must-have pile, the oops-why-did-we-pick-these-up pile, the we-need-to-discuss-it-more pile, the maybes and the double-ups.

Conversations go (we're on a first name basis with most of our authors):

Me: Have we got this Graham (Greene)?

Him: Yep.

Me: How about this one?

Him: Yep.

Me: Do you remember if I already have this Thea (Astley)?

Him: Yep

Me: This Thea is newer looking that than one we have at home, isn't it?

He looks at me sadly. And then --

Him: Hey - you found Tom (Robbins).

Me: Yeah. Have we go it?

Him: No (in amazement).

Together: woo hoo!

And so ends another fabulous day at Book Fest.

We always try to resist going to the last day - it's half price off everything in the High Quality section (they mean how the book looks, not what it actually is - you find a lot more crap in the High Quality section then anywhere else); and a bag of books from the "unpriced" section for small change. We always fail and somehow end up there.

All together now - Yippee! Another Book Fest!

- Oanh