The 2012 Elizabeth Taylor Centenary is in full swing!  LibraryThing members have been reading Taylor’s first novel, At Mrs. Lippincote’s, and the Virago Modern Classics Readers Facebook page has attracted over 65 “likes” in 3 weeks.  Things are also shaping up nicely to extend events beyond LibraryThing and Facebook, into the literary blog community.  Whichever platform you prefer, there’s an Elizabeth Taylor birthday party waiting for you!

I’m really excited about the support received from fellow bloggers.  Thank you!!   Bloggers are lined up to host monthly reads for all but a few months of the year.  Here’s the reading list, with hosts as of today (pssst … click here if you’d like to sign up!):

1. At Mrs. Lippincote’s (1945)
2. Palladian (1946) – hosted by Rachel @ Booksnob
3. A View of the Harbour (1947) – hosted by Simon @ Stuck In a Book
4. A Wreath of Roses (1949) – hosted by FleurFisher
5. A Game of Hide and Seek (1951) – hosted by BuriedinPrint
6. The Sleeping Beauty (1953) – hosted by Laura @ Musings
7. Angel (1957) – hosted by Alex @ Luvvie’s Musings
8. In a Summer Season (1961)
9. The Soul of Kindness (1964) – hosted by Heaven-Ali
10. The Wedding Group (1968) – hosted by Harriet Devine’s Blog
11. Mrs Palfrey at the Claremont (1971) – hosted by Verity @ Verity’s Virago Venture
12. Blaming (1976)

There are several reviews of this month’s book, At Mrs. Lippincote’s, available via the Elizabeth Taylor Centenary page on this blog.  The book also generated lively discussion in the LibraryThing Virago Modern Classics Group.  We loved this bookish quote about Oliver, a boy in the novel:

Oliver Davenant did not merely read books. He snuffed them up, took breaths of them into his lungs, filled his eyes with the sight of the print and his head with the sound of words. Some emanation from the book itself poured into his bones, as if he were absorbing steady sunshine. The pages had personality.

In The Other Elizabeth Taylor, biographer Nicola Beauman tells us Oliver’s character was based on a boy Elizabeth taught in 1930:

The precociousness was true to life, but Oliver Knox was a grave, self-contained good humoured little boy whom Betty enjoyed being with very much and who, like his namesake in At Mrs Lippincote’s, was always charmingly irreverent, always conscious of the absurd but serious au fond (‘he always said he woudl be a judge when he grew up, & I always felt he was practising on me,’ Elizabeth would write).

Most members enjoyed the book; below are some excerpts from our book chat:

• A beautifully written novel. Elizabeth Taylor’s amazing attention to detail in her depiction of the minutiae of everyday family life brings her characters and their world to life.
• It’s such a clever portrait of a marriage and those surrounding it, so perceptive and witty about people, all that I love about Taylor.
• Taylor writes incredible descriptions and wonderfully precocious children. It’s a really naturalistic, “slice-of-life” novel that see-saws from the humorous to the cynical.
• I am enjoying the evocation of times passed and finding it is making me philosophical and reflective about life styles and changing times. … Elizabeth Taylor writes about the brown satchel in which he kept his payments – I can see it in my mind’s eye right now!  This vignette led me to reflect upon our understanding of the period details in this delightful book. I find myself having to re-read every now and then to realise the full meaning of a description.

But not everyone liked it, some found the characters shallow and the plot too slow.  And some picked up on very fine details:

Did anyone notice how often wasps appeared in the book—usually to be killed or at least swatted at? In the first instance, Roddy kills one, and Julia protests. … Wasps suggest industriousness, organization, perhaps community? … In the second instance, several wasps come to swarm around a dish of apples, and Roddy first “swish{ed} about with his table napkin” and then “gave a smart clap now and then” which caused an occasional wasp to drop stunned to the carpet. Still not sure what to make of these vignettes, but my inner Literary Reader says they aren’t in there accidentally.

It was a lot of fun, and there’s more to come next month.  Rachel, our February host, wrote this week about how she discovered Elizabeth Taylor. And Buried in Print served up loads of insights on At Mrs Lippincote’s and generally waxed effusive about this fine author.

Be sure to visit Booksnob next month to chat about Palladian!

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Human society, they claimed, was a sort of monster, its main by-products being corpses and rubble. It never learned, it made the same cretinous mistakes over and over, trading short-term gain for long-term pain. It was like a giant slug eating its way relentlessly through all the other bioforms on the planet, grinding up life on earth and shitting it out the backside in the form of pieces of manufactured and soon-to-be-obsolete plastic junk. (p. 243)

Snowman, formerly known as Jimmy, lives in relative solitude, sleeping in a lean-to and scavenging for food and water in a city destroyed by a disaster.  He wears a watch, although it no longer functions, and covers himself with a bed sheet as protection from the sun’s harsh rays.  Snowman also watches over the “Children of Crake,” a group of … what are they?  People? Aliens?  And how did all this come to pass?

Snowman’s entire life is set sometime in a near future, that bears some resemblance to the world we know today.  The story takes us back to Snowman’s childhood, when his father worked for one of many corporations using science to “improve” the world.  Through genetic engineering, they seek to evolve human and animal life to advanced forms, free from perceived weaknesses.  But of course that comes with a price to people and society.  Snowman and his best friend Crake spend their days in typical boy/teen pursuits, like videogames, but even these have a somewhat sinister aspect.  As they grow up, their paths diverge — Crake is more scientifically minded, and is recruited by a renowned university — but they meet up again in their 20s, along with Oryx, a beautiful woman they have both admired for years.

Along the way, Margaret Atwood leaves tiny clues, so the reader begins to envision what will happen, and how Snowman ends up as possibly the last remaining human on earth.  It’s both gripping and highly disturbing.  Atwood considers her work “speculative fiction,” not science fiction.  And Oryx and Crake has the requisite dystopian and apocalyptic elements.  It’s not my usual fare, but she is so good at it, I could easily imagine Snowman’s world, and see the path to it from the world I know today.  In writing Oryx and Crake, Margaret Atwood said she intended to give one answer to the question, “What if we continue down the road we’re already on?  How slippery is the slope? What are our saving graces? Who’s got the will to stop us?”  And frankly, her answer is bleak.  It could be a wake-up call.  Or we could all just continue down the road we’re already on …

Welcome to another Sunday!  I hope the weekend is treating you well.

Something happened to me this week that has never happened before:  I read two 5-star books back to back.  I was traveling on business with two longish flights, so I came prepared.  I didn’t expect my travel time to be so pleasant!

The first book was Hisham Matar’s In the Country of Men (read my review).  I finished this on my outbound flight and was completely swept up in this story of a Libyan boy whose father disappeared.  I had to restrain myself a bit on the flight, holding back audible gasps and tears.  I finished my second book, Molly Keane’s Good Behaviour, on my return flight.  It was very different from the first.  Where I loved Matar’s book for its plot, I marveled at the amazing writing in Good Behaviour (read my review).  I couldn’t put it down!

I even had time to spare on my return flight, thank goodness I brought my kindle!  Before touching down on home soil, I started Jane Austen’s short epistolary novella, Lady Susan.  I finished it yesterday, and found it mildly enjoyable (3 stars).  At 100 pages, this book was so short I can’t quite muster a full review.  It’s one of Jane Austen’s early works, and it shows. While it fell flat for me in places, there are clear signs of the talent she would later bring to her full-length novels.  It’s a good warmup to Emma, which I plan to re-read in February.

I don’t travel very often in my job, and I don’t especially enjoy it, but these two books made the experience much better!

Next up is Oryx and Crake, my last book for Orange January.

What are you reading this week?

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As Aroon grows into a young woman, she sets her sights on Hubert’s best friend Richard.  She wildly misinterprets his behavior towards her, and convinces herself they are lovers. She fails to see what’s obvious to the reader: Richard and Hubert are much more than friends.  When Richard suddenly goes off to Africa, Aroon continues her delusion, sure he will return for her one day.  When a letter finally arrives, she is at first disappointed — until she finds a way to infuse each paragraph with hidden meaning.

Inevitably, the family’s fortunes change.  They have lived way beyond their means, with a bad habit of stuffing every bill into a drawer.  Their solicitor knows the score and tries to help, but Mummie and Papa are compelled to maintain the illusion of wealth and society, so their irresponsible spending continues unchecked.  Even in the most intense and private situations, good behaviour rules:

When the last speechless hand-grip was completed, Papa, Mummie, and I were left in the hall, with empty glasses and the empty plates; funerals are hungry work. We exchanged cool, warning looks — which of us could behave best: which of us could be least embarrassing to the others, the most ordinary in a choice of occupation?  (p. 113)

Good Behaviour landed Molly Keane firmly on my favorite authors list.  Her characterizations are classic examples of an author showing, not telling. At an early age Richard is “caught” reading poetry in a treehouse.  Richard and Hubert go to great lengths to be together alone.  Slowly, the reader comes to realize they are gay.  It’s brilliantly done.  She conveys emotion with similar skill.  When Aroon goes to a party alone and finds she’s been paired with an older, misfit of a man, her pain is palpable.  And yet there are also moments of delightful wit, such as Mummie’s visit with neighbors, when she finds the primary bathroom already in use.  Her host directs her:

‘You’ll have to try the downstairs. I’ll just turn out the cats. They love it on a wet day.’ I could imagine them there, crouched between the loo and the croquet mallets and the Wellington boots and the weed killer.  (p. 157)

My Virago Modern Classics collection includes several more books by Molly Keane (who also wrote under the pseudonym M.J. Farrell).  I can’t wait to discover more of her talent.

That visit has remained with me ever since. Whenever I am faced with someone who holds the strings of my fate – an immigration officer, a professor – I can feel the distant reverberations from that day, my inauguration into the dark art of submission. Perhaps this is why I often find a shameful pleasure in submitting to authority. … And this is also why, when I finally think I have gained the pleasure of authority, a sense of self-loathing rises to clasp me by the throat. I have always been able to imagine being unjustifiably hated.  (p. 159)

When his father disappears one day in 1979, nine-year-old Suleiman’s life is forever changed.  Just a short time before, the same thing happened to his best friend Kareem’s father. Instead of spending long happy summer days playing with neighborhood boys, Suleiman tries to make sense of his world.  He acts out his emotions and uncertainty, turning on Kareem instead of offering support.

Under the Qaddafi regime, Libya had become a place where dissent was dangerous.  Counter-revolutionaries were rounded up for interrogation; some never returned. Suleiman’s mother Najwa tells him Baba is on a business trip, and consoles herself with “medicine” (alcohol, obtained illegally).  She has her own demons, having been forced by her family to marry when she was just 14. To protect Baba from investigators, Najwa and a family friend Moosa burn his books and papers. But Suleiman nearly gets caught in the web when a strange man begins asking him questions about Baba and his associates.  In one of the more horrifying scenes Suleiman, Najwa, and Moosa watch a public execution on television.  At the end, the TV broadcast returned to images of flowers and nationalistic music.  And life went on.

Suleiman grew into a man, but one with emotional scars that would never heal.  Hisham Matar writes convincingly, and from direct experience: his own father disappeared many years ago, and to this day Matar doesn’t know what happened to him.  When he describes the televised execution’s impact on Suleiman, you know he’s also talking about himself:

Something was absent in the stadium, something that could no longer be relied on. Apart from making me lose trust in the assumption that “good things happen to good people,” the televised execution … would leave another, more lasting impression on me, one that has survived well into my manhood, a kind of quiet panic, as if at any moment the rug could be pulled from beneath my feet. … I had no illusions that I or Baba or Mama were immune from being burned by the madness that overtook the National Basketball Stadium. (p. 198)

This book started slowly and quietly, but the tension steadily grew.  I was drawn into the family’s story, and felt quite emotional reading about how the events of 1979 affected Suleiman for the rest of his life.  This is a very powerful book deserving of its 2006 Booker Prize nomination.

From there, author Nancy Huston takes us back to 1945 one generation at a time, from Randall to Sadie to Kristina (all age 6).  She peels the onion of family relationships and secrets to show how they came to North America, and the physical and emotional toll wrought by the Nazi regime.  I can’t say much without spoilers, but their story was not at all what I expected.  Judaism and Nazi atrocities played a part, but in unusual ways.  And both the family tree and the inter-generational relationships were much more intricate than they first appeared.

I found Erra/Kristina the most interesting character, perhaps because she appeared in each generation’s story.  She arrived on the scene first as a staunchly independent elderly woman who dearly loves her great-grandson, and is appalled at some of his parents’ philosophies.  She despairs over their plans to surgically remove a birthmark.  Her fears seem irrational, but by the time Kristina appeared as a child, I understood the birthmark’s significance and her modern-day reaction was completely understandable.  Fault Lines was filled with revelations like this, that really drove home the importance of understanding the societal and familial forces that shape each generation.  This was a well-written, enjoyable, and thought-provoking novel.

The 2012 Elizabeth Taylor Centenary is gathering steam.  This week we expanded beyond the LibraryThing Virago Modern Classics Group by launching a Virago Classics Readers Facebook page.  Today I’m pleased to announce a series of monthly reads hosted by literary bloggers.

The success of this venture depends on you, fellow bloggers, both to read books and to host.  Hosting is easy. Rachel @ Booksnob helped me brainstorm about it this week. Here’s what’s involved:

• Advertise the monthly read on your blog a week or two before the month.  Encourage people to read the book, and to visit on a specific date when you commit to posting about the book and facilitating discussion in the comments.
• On the chosen date, share your personal thoughts on the book.  This can be a review or just that, thoughts.  Pose discussion question(s) and invite comments.
• Invite other bloggers to share their thoughts on the book.  We’ll be collecting links, probably through a Mr. Linky on my Elizabeth Taylor Centenary page.
• At the end of the month, post a wrap-up that points to that month’s set of links, and highlights what different people have said about the book.
• Feel free to get creative.  Anything goes: prepare a recipe mentioned in a Taylor novel, dress up your pet as your favorite character, you name it!

If you’d like to host, please use the contact form at the end of this post, and let me know your first and second choice book.  I’ll confirm your month as soon as possible.  I hope to hear from you soon!  (update 27 January:  just a few slots remaining!)

Reading List

1. At Mrs. Lippincote’s (1945) – no host required
2. Palladian (1946) – hosted by Rachel @ Booksnob
3. A View of the Harbour (1947) – hosted by Simon @ Stuck In a Book
4. A Wreath of Roses (1949) – hosted by FleurFisher
5. A Game of Hide and Seek (1951) – hosted by BuriedinPrint
6. The Sleeping Beauty (1953) – hosted by Laura @ Musings
7. Angel (1957) – hosted by Alex @ Luvvie’s Musings
8. In a Summer Season (1961)
9. The Soul of Kindness (1964) – hosted by Heaven-Ali
10. The Wedding Group (1968) – hosted by Harriet Devine’s Blog
11. Mrs Palfrey at the Claremont (1971) – hosted by Verity @ Verity’s Virago Venture
12. Blaming (1976)

Yes, I’d like to host a monthly read!

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Awfully curious to see where you’re planning to take the Taylor celebrations; it would be great if the platform was more inclusive somehow…

What a great idea!  Here’s a start:

As the name implies, this new Virago Classics Readers Facebook page is not limited to the Elizabeth Taylor Centenary, but will be a home for all sorts of Virago-ish reading events.  The page will also be a discussion forum, and a place to post photos and links.

I’m also hatching a plan to involve more bloggers in the Elizabeth Taylor Centenary.  Stay tuned for more details.

Meanwhile, if you use Facebook, click on the badge and “like” the page!

He and my mother had both been fifteen when I was born. She had died a year later, so he’d been left to raise me all by himself. It didn’t make him any more mature than any other twenty-six-year-old, though.  He practically fell on the floor and died when a song he liked came on the radio. He was always telling people that he was color-blind because he thought it made him sound original. He also didn’t look too much like a parent … I thought of him as my best friend, as if we were almost the same age. (p. 4)

Jules tries to make a living and support his habit by peddling merchandise at flea markets.  To stay one step ahead of their landlord they seem to always be on the move.  Baby knows how to fit her entire life into a small suitcase.  Despite all these disadvantages, Baby is smart and does well in school.  She seems determined to overcome the odds, but her world is turned upside down when Jules goes into rehab, and Baby into the foster care system. Over the next year, Baby moves in and out of care, is placed into a remedial program at school, and gets sucked into the unhealthy lifestyle on the streets of Montreal.

Baby narrates her story with an authentic twelve-year-old’s voice, and really got on my nerves for the first half of the book.  But as her personal hardships intensified, so did my sympathy, and I found myself pulling for her.  She was often left on her own for days at a time, and had to grow up far too quickly.  I understood why she did what she did, but wished I could influence her choices (I’m avoiding spoilers here).

Such a realistic and gritty story should have been “unputdownable.”  It thought it was an interesting and unique book, but had no problem setting it aside.  It may have just been my mood this past week; I still recommend reading this Orange Prize nominee.

I read this book for Orange January.  Come join the fun!

This weekend I’m celebrating my 5th blogiversary!  Well, “celebrating” might be too strong a word, but I did take notice.  And as I reflected on 5 years of blogging, and being a dog lover and all, it occurred to me that blog years might be roughly equal to dog years:
Early on, I was filled with a puppy’s curiosity and boundless energy. Then, like most bloggers, I experienced a sort of adolescent period, where I wondered what it was all about, and some days I just wanted to shut myself in my room for a while.

But with perseverance, my blogging reached middle age (35-40 in human years).  I’ve found my voice.  My blog has a clear purpose, and I understand my strengths and weaknesses.  And I feel pretty good about it.  I’ll never be one of those ultra-popular bloggers, but I read books I enjoy, and I enjoy sharing them with you.  And hopefully, if I’m like my sweet dog Lily (pictured here), as this blog heads into its “senior” years, it will continue to show the pluck and, er, doggedness of its youth.

Well, I think that’s about as far as the dog years metaphor can go!  It’s been a slow reading week so now I’m going to get back at it in hopes of having something bookish to say next weekend.

Have a great week!

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