commonpeople1: (Margaret)
Barack Obama's Dreams from my Father

Barack Obama, Dreams of my Father, 1995
Barack Obama’s first book is more like a novelised autobiography than a straightforward memoir. First of all, it’s divided into three acts, like a conventional novel – beginning with his upbringing in Hawaii (idyllic childhood), past his baptism by fire in Chicago’s poor communities (Barack playing one of John Grisham’s young lawyers against insidious corruption at all levels ala The Wire), culminating in his trip to Kenya in search of the final pieces to the jigsaw he calls “father” (a tour de force graced with humor and insight not amiss in one of Zadie Smith’s familial comedies.) His search for all the pieces that will complete his father’s story is an indirect search for his own self – a strong, self-assured, intelligent, multi-cultural, well-travelled person it turns out to be that unsurprisingly defeated America’s Republicans. This memoir's strongest message is that Obama can't be placed in a box - he's too much the man which America should become in the 21st century.

I wish my book club had discussed this book after the announcement of his Nobel Prize for peace; it would have accentuated even more the divide in our group as to the book’s qualities. Some (like myself) enjoyed Obama’s story, despite some corny self-mythologizing passages, because we sensed the big heart behind the pen. Others felt it was too calculated (the formal three-act structure a good example), smartly envisaging an eventual place for himself in the White House. I don’t think that's the case: Obama wouldn’t have been so candid about his use of cannabis, for example, if he wanted one day to be president (the memoir was written in 1995, when just to smoke but not inhale was a bullet to the foot.)

This memoir is an easy, enjoyable read and a good reminder that America chose the right guy.

Wrong Turn

Sep. 12th, 2009 09:50 pm
commonpeople1: (Kevin)
Rose Tremain's The Road Home

Rose Tremain, The Road Home, 2007
What a big disappointment. I loved Rose Tremain's Music & Silence as well as her recent short story, "The Jester of Astapovo", so I was looking forward to reading this award-winning novel. What I found instead was a cliché-ridden rags-to-riches tale of an immigrant, Lev, from an indeterminate Eastern European country who decides to try his luck in London because he can't find work back home and has a family to support. The first few chapters promise a look at London's world of struggling immigrants, but soon Lev is on his feet at the expanse of the story's plausibility and the narrative flounders.

Tremain pulls no stops with the generalisations when she paints some of the English as consumerist pigs and the theatre world, especially, as a cesspit of shallow pretentious idiots. Tremain gets it so wrong with most of her characters that I'm amazed she got an award for this and that people even like the book! There are glimmers in some passages of the Tremain I like, as well as a compelling character (mostly) in Lev, but it all keeps disappearing under the plodding, insipid narrative. Here's to hoping for a return to form in her next work.
commonpeople1: (Meire)

Joybooth
Originally uploaded by nequest
A few days ago, [livejournal.com profile] goldmund wrote that she'd downloaded DOSBox and was now playing classic sci-fi Dos games on her computer. One in particular which she mentioned, A Mind Forever Voyaging, caught my attention because I'd never heard of it before, and because she highly praised it as a game more interested in exploration as well as carrying some political themes resonant with today. I got all nostalgic for the games I used to play as a kid - from text-based adventures like Oregon Trail to the graphic-based ones from Sierra and LucasArt - so I decided to download a few of them.

A Mind Forever Voyaging is indeed a great game - in fact, it's more of a science fiction novel disguised as a game, your role being the adventurer that needs to unravel its story. When you download it, you get a PDF document of an 80s magazine that came with the game, with articles set in the future (Princess Diana is in her 70s and is the Queen of Britain, for example). Very reminiscent of Watchmen, actually, and that eerie feeling of the future seen through a parallel universe mirror.

Apart from the fun of playing again a game that relies on my own imagination, I'm really enjoying the sci-fi elements that have come true - the main one being the world being interconnected through an online system!

I've created a folder in my iTunes with ambient music given to me by [livejournal.com profile] desayuno_ingles (Loscil, Tim Hecker, Vidna Obmana) as well as albums from a Finnish friend currently staying with us (Grizzly Bear, Clark, Here We Go Magic) and it's become my soundtrack as I explore this world superimposed over my desktop image of planet Earth.
commonpeople1: (Volodya)
Sebastian Barry's The Secret Scripture

Sebastian Barry, The Secret Scripture, 2008
This Booker prize short-lister and winner of the Costa and Irish Novel of the Year award had all the ingredients to be a great read. An Irish centenarian once famed for her beauty decides to write a secret diary after decades in a mental asylum. Meanwhile, her recently widowed and bereaved doctor is drawn to the mystery of her arrival and presence in the asylum, leading him into an investigation of her past and, to a certain extent, Ireland's great dark secrets. Unfortunately, and sadly, the story doesn't quite hang together despite an easy going (and page turning) narrative. Clumsy dialogue and half-fleshed characters never come alive, the story is full of cliches explored more successfully before by other authors and films, and the ending has a twist you see coming a mile away - the sort of contrived finale that snuffs the life out of any story rather than generate great emotion or understanding. It's a good enough story if you want a hint of melancholia that will disappear within the week.
commonpeople1: (James)
The Heart is a Lonely Hunter, Carson McCullers

Carson McCullers, The Heart is a Lonely Hunter, 1940
This unusual little book caught me completely by surprise - if I'd known how good McCullers was, I'd have picked her up a long time ago! In a nameless American town, deep in the empoverished South, four lives become intertwined thanks to a solitary mute, Mr Singer. There's little Mick, a tomboy about to enter puberty and abandon tree climbing for dresses, who enjoys visiting Mr Singer's room to play chess or just talk (he's a boarder in her home.) There's also Dr Copeland, the town's black doctor, who dreams of bringing revolution to America's race divisions and is uncomfortable with every white person apart from Mr Singer. The group is completed by Jake, an angry drunk also frustrated with the state of America, and Biff, the recently widowned owner of a local bar. These four characters are seduced by Mr Singer's silence - they believe he understands/cares for everything they tell him. They can be themselves because he doesn't judge. They project onto him the image of a person that doesn't exist.

But who exactly is Mr Singer? From what I could read between the lines, he's a "queer" man that's had his heart broken by the sectioning of his friend Spiros. There's the Nazi's rise to power in the background as well as the struggles of American workers (whites and blacks brought together in their efforts to keep afloat, though it's clear who has the worse end of the stick). But it's also a coming-of-age story, a call to arms for bringing change to America and a portrait that captures the South's mood at the time. I suppose it's the kind of book read widely in American high schools because of its themes. It's one novel that everyone should read: in this period of economic crisis, it's more timely than ever.
commonpeople1: (Bobby)
The Facts Behind the Helsinki Roccamatios, by Yann Martel

Yann Martel, The Facts Behind the Helsinki Roccamatios, 1993
This is a collection of four short stories (in large font, double-spaced, to make the book appear longer than it is) written by Martel before he became famous for his Booker-prize winning novel The Life of Pi. Four short stories that he got published and praised for when he was just starting out as a fiction writer - the kind of collection that fans of the writer might want to check out, but which isn't really an essential read for anyone else.

The first story, which takes the name of the collection, is the best one. It's about two friends who decide to deal with a virus (AIDS) that is killing one of them by playing a storytelling game. The last story, of a grandmother who knows how to build magical mirrors, is also quite good - I read it out loud to my boyfriend and had him in stitches. The other two were alright, but forgettable - one of them was a long structure gimmick that had no meaning; and the other floundered around in the telling of a musician's tale of anonimity and undiscovered genius (maybe how Martel felt about himself before he hit the big time.)
commonpeople1: (Xander)
I have inspired a gay porn star to start a bookclub (NSFW) for his fans, a la Oprah Winfrey. His first choice is Blood Meridian by Cormac McCarthy.

If you see anonymous comments over here from disgruntled porn fans who'd rather tootsie trade than read, you'll know why.
commonpeople1: (Rita)
A Winter Book, Selected Stories by Tove Jansson

Tove Jansson, A Winter Book: Selected Stories, 2006
This is a collection of short stories by the Finnish author and illustrator Tove Jansson, better known as the creator of the Moomins. Tove grew up in Finland and spent most of her life in a remote island in the Finnish gulf, first with her artist parents and then with her lifelong partner. The nearly-autobiographical stories in this collection cover her tomboyish childhood, where life is ruled by the adventures the island provides, to her old age, when she has to leave the island for good due to health reasons.

Some of the stories don't stand up for themselves; they seem like sketches that bridge other stories or paint just one aspect of the author, but without tension or much narrative drive. Others, however, are like Zen paintings on the relationshion between humans and nature, perfect glimpses of a life dedicated to the outdoors as a way of discovering the interior. Tove's writing is full of anecdotes which are slightly quirky and probably good representations of Finnish humour. There's a certain innocence to her stories that makes A Winter Book as warm and bright as a dreamed summer.
commonpeople1: (Zack)
No Name

Wilkie Collins, No Name, 1862
I can't remember the last time I read a novel as enjoyable as this one, a page-turner ground on strong characters and a thought-provoking theme. No Name tells the story of two sisters, Norah and Magdalen, who fall into poverty after they discover they have no claim on their parents' inheritance, thanks to a technicality in the will. The girls' entire estate is left to a distant, and greedy, uncle who decides to only give them 100 pounds from the estate. Norah, the eldest, accepts her fate and finds work as a governess in London. Magdalen, however, takes matters into her own hands and plots an intricate revenge on the uncle with the help of a con artist.

Wilkie Collins was a friend of Charles Dickens and this novel was published in its time as a serial, much like Dickens' work. Each chapter carries enough plot twists and cliffhangers to keep you interested on the story, as well as colourful characters - scoundrels, greedy rich men, scheming housekeepers - that are memorable and beg the question: why hasn't this been turned into a BBC series yet?!

Cheguei!

Dec. 25th, 2008 10:29 am
commonpeople1: (Rita)
Brasilian Santa


I'm in Brasil. Santa brought me only books this year. Sausage dogs are love. I must remain Zen for the days ahead.

Feliz Natal!
commonpeople1: (Randolf)
From Hayden March

THANK YOU FOR YOUR MAIL BACK TO ME.MY LATE CLIETS NAME IS MR.JAMES CARVALHO.SINCE YOU BEAR THE SAME NAME I DECIDEDE TO PRESENT YOU AS THE NEXT OF KIN TO MR JAMES CARVALHO.THE CITI BANK LONDON CONTACTED ME ABOUT THIS DEVELOPMENT.I ONLY NEED YOUR CONTACT DETAILS SO I CAN FORWARD IT TO THE CITI BANK LONDON AS THE ORIGINAL NEXT OF KIN OR BENEFICIARY TO MY LATE CLIENT WILL.
BEING HIS ATTORNEY,I WILL MAKE SURE I GET ALL THE NECCESARY DOCUMENTS TO BACK YOU UP.I WILL FORWARD TO YOU THE DEATH AND THE DEPOSIT CERTIFICATE.I WILL ALSO GO TO THE BRITISH HIGH PROBATE COURT TO GET THE AFFIDAVIT OF CLAIMS IN YOUR NAME.SO PLEASE I NEED YOUR INFORMATIONS SO I CAN PRESENT IT TO THE CITI BANK LONDON.YOUR FULL DETAILS IS REQIURED TO HELP MAKE THE TRANFER OF THE MONEY INTO A SAFE NOMINATED ACCOUNT YOU WILL PROVIDE.WE ARE GOING TO SHARE 70% AND 30% WILL BE MAPPED OUT FOR EXPENCES TO MAKE THE TRANSFER A SUCCESS.YOUR PHONE NUMBER IS NEEDED FOR EASY COMMUNICATION
I AWAIT YOUR REPLY
MY REGARDS

Dear Mr March,

I've thought long and hard about the money which Mr James Carvalho Senior left me and I've decided to take an unexpected route: I hereby declare that I would like all the money to go to charity! 70% of the money (my allotment) should go to Cancer Research UK, Terence Higgins Trust, Shelter, Amnesty International, The Salvation Army, The Red Cross, Greenpeace, Shelter and the British Museum, all divided equally. I would be grateful if the 30% of the money allocated to you would go to charities too, of your choice, though I understand that this may not be entirely possible due to the legal and administrative work you have put into this matter so far.

How are things with you, anyway? I hope all this kerfuffle isn't taking too much of your time and you've been able to nip out of the office and do a bit of Christmas shopping (aren't the weekends downtown just dreadful?) Things are OK with me. I noticed last night that there was no cold water in my apartment; the matter seems to have continued this morning. I'm worried because I'm hosting my bookclub meeting tonight and it's going to be embarrassing if someone wants to flush the toilet but there's no water. Luckily, my landlords are part of my bookclub so I'm going to ask them to look into the matter. We are discussing Wilkie Collins' novel No Name tonight; it's absolutely brilliant and I highly recommend it as a holiday read (even though I'm only halfway through). It's my turn to suggest the next novel but I'm undecided if I should pick The Valley of the Dolls or Gay Blades. What do you think?

Thank you very much for all your help in this matter. I hope it isn't too hard for you to distribute the money amongst the charities. As a goodbye gesture, please find attached a photo of James Carvalho Junior, my pet mouse. Isn't he cute?

Wishing you best regards and a merry Christmas,

James Carvalho

James Carvalho
Photo of James Carvalho Junior, attached to e-mail
commonpeople1: (Tess)
A few months ago, I joined my landlady's bookclub. The group lives on the same street as me and is made up mostly of women in their forties and fifties. Some of them are powerful members of Eastend councils; some are writers who have plays regularly broadcast on Radio 4 and in theatres across the country; and some are civil servants that know exactly what kind of work people do in Peter Mendelson's office. I'm the baby of the group.

Every month, one person picks a novel for the group to read. If you'd like the privilege of picking the next one, you offer to host the party the following month, which includes providing wine, cheese, bread, dips, crisps and olives. This month was Ali Smith's Hotel World, hosted by the playwright. We sat in her kitchen and disagreed about Smith's style while her husband and children sauntered in and out to stare at us with Saint Bernard eyes or whisk away bread sticks. When she found out I'd worked at the National Theatre, she got excited and asked me if I knew people in the Education department. Another weird coincidence: she went to Brasil with one of them, at the time I was in the department, and I later saw the photographs in the office. I also, at the time, created image galleries for her play on the National's website!

I'll be hosting the next bookclub meeting, in December, when we'll open bottles of champagne in Christmas' honour and I'll show them London's winter lights from my balcony. I need to buy wine glasses and fairy lights, think of what food to serve. We are now reading Wilkie Collins' No Name.

When it's sunny, I try to walk to work and take advantage of the free vitamin D available. Victoria Park's lake must have been unusually low yesterday because branches were poking out of the water, to the delight of the various birds that live in the park. It was like a tropical lagoon under cold, fluffy clouds. I wish I had brought pieces of bread with me to feed the swans.

My energy levels though have been very low and I haven't been sleeping well. It's as if I had vital organs removed overnight without my knowledge. This morning, I found many flowers and cards tied to a pipe underneath one of the train bridges east of London Fields. There were photos of a young beautiful man, and messages of love for his loss. One of them was from his sister; another one described that spot as the place where he "fell".

Mary Swann

Jul. 5th, 2008 01:09 pm
commonpeople1: (Steven Lubin)
Questions for Bones and Rags )

On Writers

May. 21st, 2008 07:55 am
commonpeople1: (Steven Lubin)
Margaret Atwood's Negotiating with the Dead

Margaret Atwood, Negotiating with the Dead, 2003
What makes someone a writer? What's the role of the writer in the world today? Should she write just for Art's sake or does she have a social responsibility? Is there a third way? And is there an underlying (and universal) psychological reason behind every writer's desire to put words to paper? Margaret Atwood answers all these questions, and more, in six essays which were originally lectures given at Cambridge University.

The great thing about Atwood is that she doesn't place herself, or anyone else, on a pedestal. Her tone is warm, familiar, self-deprecating and very witty. She weaves quotes and poems into her explanations which give you a better understanding of those original works and even make you wish to go out and buy some of them (I've added Carol Shield's "Mary Swann" to my wish list.) This is the second time I read this book and I feel that I've gained new insight into what happens inside my head when I write. If you are a writer, this book is a must.
commonpeople1: (Log Lady)
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Get rid of any bodies before they attract flies.
commonpeople1: (Rockasilly)
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That's me with Minnie Mouse, when I was 15 years old, July 1991. Growing up in Brasil, every kid dreamt of visiting Disney World. In the winter of 1991 (summer in the northern hemisphere), we signed up with a travel agency that specialised in taking teenagers on holiday to the U.S. It was the summer when E.M.F.'s "Unbelievable" was top of the charts, as well as C&C's Music Factory "Things That Make You Go Hmmm" (this song was playing in the hotel's bar when we arrived). My brother and I were to share a room with Guilherme and Fernando, two boys we grew up with. Other friends and neighbours (including my brother's girlfriend Roberta) were also in the group. The youngest person was probably 12, and the oldest 17.

Our mothers watched from a window in Sao Paulo's Cumbica airport as we walked into the Global Airline plane that would fly us to Florida. Apparently, not many of them were confident the plane would make it safely there. Judging by the age of the air stewards, and the rotting seats, they were nearly right. Fernando sat beside me and kept worrying about any shake in the plane; he was terrified of flying. When we hit a turbulent patch, I told him we were going to die.

When we got to our hotel in Orlando, my brother and the two boys started jumping on the beds and screaming. I lay on one bed, legs and arms spread out, trying to stop them. At night, they'd take ice from the hallways ice machines and play war. We had never seen ice machines before. The other hotel guests were not impressed.

We spent two weeks in Florida, visiting Disney World, Epicot Centre, Bush Gardens, Paramount and Wet 'n Wild (my favourite day). We pissed off a lot of Americans because, while we went on a ride, our guides would wait in line for other attractions. As soon as the guides got to the front, they let all of us go ahead of them. The other tourists stared at us in anger, biting back their outrage. Because of brasilian kids like us, Disney started sending tapes the next year to brasilian travel agencies for teenagers to learn how to behave in the U.S.

My favourie memory is riding above Disney World on a cable car, Fernando spitting on the heads of as many people as he could manage. As we were nearing the end, I noticed security guards waiting for us. Fernando begged me to tell them he was retarded, otherwise he'd get kicked out of the park. So I did, and he got away with it.
commonpeople1: (Rockasilly)
Becoming a Writer

Dorothea Brande, Becoming a Writer, 1934
Books that teach you how to write fiction are almost a genre unto themselves. Some are literary (A Passion for Narrative) and some are trash (How to Write a Blockbuster), but most usually recommend the same things: create a daily writing routine, study other authors, persist, etc. This slim book is a classic in the genre, published before World War II. The language is very formal, the recommended reading is of authors no longer popular, and the reader is given plenty of suggestions of what to do with a typewriter.

What I found interesting: creative writing classes existed even back then, and they were for both men and women; the duality between consciousness and unconsciousness was already of interest for those studying creative writing; and the main belief of teachers like Brande was that everyone could succeed as a writer (as opposed to the more popular view today that only a few elect have talent.)
commonpeople1: (Log Lady)
Heroes


BBC2 held a Heroes marathon last night - six uninterrupted episodes, with only a few breaks placed like pit stops for leg stretches and toilet visits. My ass hurts today. It was my chance to catch up with the "most talked about show this season" and see what all the fuss was about.

Heroes is very enjoyable and a good way to kill time in front of the television. It clearly wouldn't exist if Lost hadn't been a success, but I suppose that's OK; any attempt to bring sci-fi and high production values to TV is welcome, whatever its form or reason. Like a good soap, it hooks you in straight away, and has enough dose of lightness (the japanese hero Hiru) and darkness (the serial killer *shiver*) to keep proceedings addictive. The only downside is a child that can't act (the son of the schizophrenic stripper). Finding a good child actor is just as hard as winning the lottery.

I collected superhero comics throughout the 80s. I read both Marvel and DC, but occasionally dipped into anything different that made its way to Brasil (Akira for example.) Towards the end of the 80s, there was an attempt by a new American company to launch superheroes that broke away from tradition. These heroes were ordinary folk across the world who suddenly discovered they had superpowers, after a particularly creepy full eclipse. Their stories were basically a search for why they suddenly developed powers, coupled with their daily life struggles. Sounds familiar? I'd like to know if the creator of Heroes was also involved with these comics, or if he "borrowed" from them. Does anyone remember these comics? Do you remember what they were called? If they ever decide to sue the makers of Heroes, they'd make a killing in court.

If you could have the powers of one of the characters in Heroes, which one would it be?
That's easy: Hiro's power to bend the space/time continuum. I'd like to go back in time and change a few things; and it would also be amusing to win every game of Scrabble against [livejournal.com profile] suzi or get my monthly rent from bank vaults without a CCTV registering me. The sky is the limit with that kind of power.

*Laughs Muwahahahaha and pets white cat sitting on my lap*
commonpeople1: (Swim)
If you could be another person for a day, who would it be and why?

I'd love to be Mystique. Not so much because she's a badass that kicks butt and wants to rule the world, but because of her power to assume any human shape she touches. When I was 22 years old, my hairdresser invited me to his 30th birthday party. I arrived at a house chokefull of gay men, and I wondered what kind of commotion I would have caused if I had transformed myself into Cher, ala the Oscars.

It's actually a fun game to play when you are bored. Imagine yourself turning into Michael Jackson and walking into the number 6 bus in London; or saunter into notorious gay club Heaven after transforming yourself into David Beckham. The possibilities are endless, as well as the fun factor.

The only downside is that Mystique needs to touch the target person she wishes to simulate. This could prove a problem with high caliber celebrities who live in L.A. fortresses (exactly the kind of people who would be fun to play). If I were to be Mystique for a day, I sure hope I wasn't relegated to shapeshifting into Z-list British celebrities.

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