Penseive

The other day, for the first time since it was set up, I looked at this blog from an outside perspective (as in, not in the site where you write the new posts) and realised that it's ugly as sin and needs a serious paint/re-structuring work. Well, I guess that can now wait til next year.

Spent yesterday waiting about four hours for the relevant persons in my team to turn up in order to work, in the wonderful East Croydon, and used the time productively to finish Tim by Colleen McCullogh, who, as the front cover proudly states in letters nearly as big as the title, was the author of The Thorn Birds. Which I'd never heard of, but I do remember watching the movie Tim on a saturday afternoon many years ago as it had a really young Mel Gibson and Pipie Laurie (who by appearing along side Paul Newman in The Hustler has entered my personal hall of legends). I think this must have been my motivation to buy the book since there's not much else to recommend it (and also that it can't have cost more than 10p in it's condition - always a bonus).

The story lies in the burgeoning romance between a middle-aged straightlaced middle class spinster and a working class simpleton with the body of a greek god. It's an enjoyably sweet and optimistic tale told with some very realistic characterisation. The practicality practised by the central characters (excepting the eponimous Tim) is portrayed as classic Australian thinking and which reminded me of Nevil Shute's A Town Like Alice (an often recommended favourite for those in need of a Good Read). Except that unlike Shute's book, McCullogh didn't have the same evenness of prose or actually narrative, since she often fades into long parables of mental retardation and has a distractingly clumsy use of English.

I never thought that I would be the kind of person who would (or could) spot if a book was well written or not (even in spite of the BA in English Literature) but the strange repetition of specific adjectives over short periods and some entertainingly ugly phrases meant that I found myself keeping track of some of the uglier phrases. One sentence that stood out a giant among men was 'How beautiful she was, he thought, seeing the lines and sagging skin but not finding them ugly or undesirable.' I don't know why I found this so awful, maybe it's the harsh mix of the two thinkers behind that image, but it struck me as too funny to ignore.

Having said all of that, I was happy to be reading the book. But I don't think I could recommended it further. In spite of Piper Laurie. And The Thorn Birds, whoever they maybe.

OK, while finding links for this post (a lot more difficult than I'd expected - how can you get away from the bogstandard sites? wow, I lack originality) I just discovered this was a first book. Which explains most of my criticism and now I feel very harsh. Oh dear...

I refused to leave my bookside vigil until I had finished Oryx and Crake. It was bizarre, it was clever, it was very very upsetting. The story may be simple but that allowed the starkness of the truth behind the logic to shine through even more unerringly. I found myself revolted from meat, and packaging, and league-tabled universities, and emotionally-bereft logic. I still am (well, obviously - I only finished the book three hours ago).

But bollocking hell - the library's not yet open and I'm trying to stop this odd craving I have to read Nick Hornby's About a Boy (based on how much I liked both High Fidelity and the film). I've also got my fingers crossed that they a have a copy of the Murakami book that I lost as it's driving me up the wall not knowing what happened.

Am I just dim or something? I couldn't find a single to thing to read on Christmas eve while I was hiding in my room to avoid socialising when I decided that I would finally begin Oryx and Crake by Margeret Atwood, since it's been on loan for nearly three months and all the others on my table now belong to me. So on the 24th December I begin to read a book of futuristic doom based on our current trend for genetic interference. Very seasonal.

Still, now that the presents are open I can continue to learn about the correct use of the apostrophe by reading mum's (surprisingly positively received) book, Lynn Truss's Eats, Shoots and Leaves. And hence, must edit the previous post's punctuation. Is the inner stickler in me going to finally be freed? (Yeah, well, sod the infinitive rule.)

The Book, the Film and the T-shirt by Matt Beaumont

Yay! Managed to finish this book on the way to work and found it a lovely read. A funny take on the different personalities and their interactions in the superficiality led world of advertising and film making. Still, most of the insights could work in any industry. It was incredibly enjoyable if not particularly memorable or deep - a Bridget Jones's Diary type read.

Incidentally, I bought Eats, Shoots and Leaves for mum's Christmas present - as a kind of joke - and started reading it on the way home from Ella's friend's girlfriend's housemates' Christmas party. In which I fitted in as much as that title hopefully suggests. Still, the book was really interested. Or at least the first 15 pages I managed between Earls Court [NO APOSOPHE - thanks Ms Truss!) and Gunnersbury (damn Ken Livingstone. Sometimes).

By far and away the best point about my job is the various journeys I have to make each morning - and recently the train journeys to Hemel Hempstead and Romford have meant that I have the time to read. So it's not much of a surprise that I finished Northern Lights this morning since it's an absolutely addictive book. Well written and exciting I think it was the realistic manner in which it depicted the adult world which really caught my attention. There is truth in Lyra's statement when she shouts to the scientists preparing to surgically separate her from her daemon, her soul, 'Why? Why are you doing this? Help us! You shouldn't be helping them!' Especially on a day when Ian Huntley was found guilty of the Soham murders.

Already started the next book Matt Beaumont's The Book, the Film and the T-Shirt which I was given for Christmas last year by Paula and Jonno and should definitely read before we spend Christmas together again. Count of Monte Christo is not coming along at all...

I have finally accepted the fact that I will never see my copy of Wild Sheep Chase again. I had been using bizarre and fitful optimism to justify my wait but both phoning and visiting the various involved companies (along with a few very uninvolved such as Great Eastern Rail who apparently don't go to Hertford) but the last fateful visit on Wednesday to the Lost Property Section of Liverpool St Station put paid to my last hopes. So I decided to start Philip Pullman's Northern Lights on my long journey to Paris to visit Anjali. I only had the there and back part of the visit to read since we spent so long both talking and walking but am already deeply deeply hooked. Tara and I planned to see the play His Dark Materials soonish but I'm now determined to wait until I'm finished.

It's not only my old love of mysteries which is keeping me going but the beautiful and lasting images of the deamons that has really caught my imagination. I hope there's more to come!