I could cry salty tears;
Where have I been all these years ?
Little wow, tell me now :
How long has this been going on ?
There were chills up my spine,
And some thrills I can't define.
Listen, sweet, I repeat :
how long has this been going on ?
If you ever want to know what Audrey Hepburn's singing voice sounded like, don't watch My Fair Lady, because you'll be listening to Marni Nixon.
There are a number of films in which Audrey H actually sang (using her own voice, even), but one of my favourites is Funny Face, where she sings the Gershwin classic "How Long Has This Been Going On".
Her singing voice? Never going to carry off My Fair Lady. Not in a million fits. Heck, she barely managed to carry off "How Long Has This Been Going On", which was a wee bit out of her range...
Oh, yeah, this post was supposed to be about Tintin, wasn't it?
Well, much like Audrey's character belatedly discovering kissing, I have belatedly discovered Tintin.
I've always known the Tintin books were around. Some of my classmates used to read them when I was at school. They were often at houses I'd visit. Things like that. But, for some reason, I could never be bothered reading them.
No, it's more than that - I wrote them off without giving them a chance.
For some reason I cannot explain, I looked down on Tintin and Tintin readers. I assumed they would be boring and a waste of my time. This is in spite of the fact that I read most comic books voraciously and have always enjoyed things like the Asterix series. Thinking back on it now, I have no idea why I decided against giving Tintin a chance...
Well, the other day I picked up a Tintin book in Estonian (long story) and was completely taken by the art. It's quite brilliant - both simple and highly detailed at the same time. Then I borrowed a couple of Tintin books in English and I noticed that a) the plots are a lot of fun, and b) the translators have the same sense of humour as whoever translates Asterix.
I had a bit of an Audrey moment, wondering: "Where have I been all these years? How long has this been going on?"
These books are a really fun read, with really good artwork. And they've been around for years. And I could have been reading them ages ago if I hadn't been so darn stubborn for no good reason.
Never judge a book by the fact that you're a snob, I guess.
Monday, December 7, 2009
Thursday, December 3, 2009
"I am Prince Caspian..."
So, I watched the Disney Prince Caspian movie last night. I had intended to catch it at the cinema, but didn't get around to it in time. I rarely bother to rent DVDs these days, but the planets aligned for a DVD night when I remembered this was a movie I wanted to watch.
Now, I've read the entire Chronicles of Narnia at least twice (okay, not The Last Battle, which I barely managed to get through once - for some reason Lewis decided that he was sick of couching allegories in adventure stories and decided to see if anyone would notice if he just wrote an allegory, and the answer was: yes). Some of the books, like The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe, Voyage of the Dawn Treader and The Silver Chair, I've read many times.
Prince Caspian, while never one of my favourite books in the series, is something that I have read on more than one occasion. I have easily read it as often as The Magician's Nephew and The Horse and His Boy - both of which are books I can remember quite clearly. But it turns out I can't remember Prince Caspian at all.
I sat down to watch this film, and suddenly thought: "Wait a minute, who's in this story apart from Caspian and the Pevensies? What do they do?" and at no point did it start coming back to me.
I could remember that the book is set several hundred years after Wardrobe, that the Stone Table is now under a mountain, and that, at the end of it, Peter and Susan are told they're too old to come back to Narnia. That was it. I kid you not. Even as the film was progressing I kept thinking, "I don't remember this at all!" Granted, there were probably some parts that were added to the story so I wouldn't remember them, but I spent most of the film being genuinely surprised by the plot. Even though some of the character names were familiar, I realised it was because they were characters who cross over with Voyage of the Dawn Treader.
It absolutely astounds me that I can have such a poor recollection of a book I've read multiple times. I would have thought I'd remember it at least as well as The Horse and His Boy, but nope. I wonder why? It's not like it's a particularly boring book... but then, what would I know? I can't remember the darn thing.
Now, I've read the entire Chronicles of Narnia at least twice (okay, not The Last Battle, which I barely managed to get through once - for some reason Lewis decided that he was sick of couching allegories in adventure stories and decided to see if anyone would notice if he just wrote an allegory, and the answer was: yes). Some of the books, like The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe, Voyage of the Dawn Treader and The Silver Chair, I've read many times.
Prince Caspian, while never one of my favourite books in the series, is something that I have read on more than one occasion. I have easily read it as often as The Magician's Nephew and The Horse and His Boy - both of which are books I can remember quite clearly. But it turns out I can't remember Prince Caspian at all.
I sat down to watch this film, and suddenly thought: "Wait a minute, who's in this story apart from Caspian and the Pevensies? What do they do?" and at no point did it start coming back to me.
I could remember that the book is set several hundred years after Wardrobe, that the Stone Table is now under a mountain, and that, at the end of it, Peter and Susan are told they're too old to come back to Narnia. That was it. I kid you not. Even as the film was progressing I kept thinking, "I don't remember this at all!" Granted, there were probably some parts that were added to the story so I wouldn't remember them, but I spent most of the film being genuinely surprised by the plot. Even though some of the character names were familiar, I realised it was because they were characters who cross over with Voyage of the Dawn Treader.
It absolutely astounds me that I can have such a poor recollection of a book I've read multiple times. I would have thought I'd remember it at least as well as The Horse and His Boy, but nope. I wonder why? It's not like it's a particularly boring book... but then, what would I know? I can't remember the darn thing.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Don't Panic!
Hmm...
I'm having some trouble tracking down an Australian television advertisement from the 1980s. I always thought you could find almost anything on line, but this is eluding me at present.
It was an ad put together by one of the cancer councils (I think) and probably belonged in the same stable as Sid the Seagull's "Slip Slop Slap" campaign (I think) and would have aired about the mid-late 1980s (I think) and involved a cartoon mole (as in the animal) telling us to keep an eye on the moles on our skin (as in, a melanocytic nevus).
From what I can recall from childhood, it went something like this:
Mole sticks his head up through the sand at the beach: "Don't panic! I'm not the sort of mole you have to worry about. But the moles on your skin? Some of them can make you sick. Real sick. So, if you catch a mole changing shape, changing colour or growing bigger - get it looked at, quick as you can. Oh, and try a little less sun".
Having difficulty finding any evidence that this campaign actually existed, though.
Hmm...
I'm having some trouble tracking down an Australian television advertisement from the 1980s. I always thought you could find almost anything on line, but this is eluding me at present.
It was an ad put together by one of the cancer councils (I think) and probably belonged in the same stable as Sid the Seagull's "Slip Slop Slap" campaign (I think) and would have aired about the mid-late 1980s (I think) and involved a cartoon mole (as in the animal) telling us to keep an eye on the moles on our skin (as in, a melanocytic nevus).
From what I can recall from childhood, it went something like this:
Mole sticks his head up through the sand at the beach: "Don't panic! I'm not the sort of mole you have to worry about. But the moles on your skin? Some of them can make you sick. Real sick. So, if you catch a mole changing shape, changing colour or growing bigger - get it looked at, quick as you can. Oh, and try a little less sun".
Having difficulty finding any evidence that this campaign actually existed, though.
Hmm...
Thursday, November 12, 2009
My Job Doesn't Exist
I had a strange epiphany the other day (I must admit, though, that most of my epiphanies are a bit strange).
I come to the sudden, yet undeniable conclusion that my job doesn't exist. Or, at least, it shouldn't. It's not real, you see. Very little I do is real.
It's all Flashforward's fault. I was trying to explain to the characters in the TV show that they were creating self-fulfilling prophecies. They were collecting things to put on a board because in their visions of the future these things were on the board. But the problem with that is it becomes some sort of weird paradoxical cycle. The reason why the items were on the board in the future is because the items were on the board in the future. They could very well mean absolutely nothing, but they've managed to hook themselves into that existential cycle.
The characters in the TV show didn't listen to me (they never do), but I suddenly realised that I do exactly the same thing every day. You know, most people don't need the services I offer them until I tell them they do. Then, suddenly, they need something I can supply.
The world existed quite happily without iGoogle, EndNote, electronic databases, Delicious and LibGuides. No one really cared about all the wonderful tools they could have been using to do things they weren't doing.
Suddenly, an academic librarian like myself says: "but, wait, people need blogs! If they only knew how effective blogs could be, they would want them!" So, I invent a blog, tell everyone to look at it, convince them it's a Good Thing and something they not only Want, but Need... And now it's a part of my job to find things to put in blog posts.
EndNote and other bibliographic software programs are useful, but they aren't really necessary. I help people believe they need such things in order to study well. Then people need me to help them use EndNote. Or Google Docs. Or Connotea.
I'm finding the things we believe we will need in the future, then helping people need them today. And so much of my job is wrapped up in supporting things that, frankly, mean nothing in the grand scheme of things.
I feel like I'm training a unicorn to fly a spaceship - treading a strange line between fantasy and science fiction, and hoping nobody notices the fact that you don't need an interactive web-based guide to grow food for your children.
Truth be told, what we will really need in the future isn't any of these things. They'll all turn to dust before we realise it. No, the things we'll need in the future are the same things we needed in the past: the ability to cultivate food that will nourish us and build shelters that will keep us warm and dry.
These are things I can't do and can't teach anyone else to do either. But they're real. So much more real than most of what I do in my day.
Next time some librarian tries to tell you how useful the latest gadget is, tell them you're better off learning how to spin cotton into thread. It's true.
But, on the other hand, that gadget is probably really cool and quite useful, so still pay attention.
I come to the sudden, yet undeniable conclusion that my job doesn't exist. Or, at least, it shouldn't. It's not real, you see. Very little I do is real.
It's all Flashforward's fault. I was trying to explain to the characters in the TV show that they were creating self-fulfilling prophecies. They were collecting things to put on a board because in their visions of the future these things were on the board. But the problem with that is it becomes some sort of weird paradoxical cycle. The reason why the items were on the board in the future is because the items were on the board in the future. They could very well mean absolutely nothing, but they've managed to hook themselves into that existential cycle.
The characters in the TV show didn't listen to me (they never do), but I suddenly realised that I do exactly the same thing every day. You know, most people don't need the services I offer them until I tell them they do. Then, suddenly, they need something I can supply.
The world existed quite happily without iGoogle, EndNote, electronic databases, Delicious and LibGuides. No one really cared about all the wonderful tools they could have been using to do things they weren't doing.
Suddenly, an academic librarian like myself says: "but, wait, people need blogs! If they only knew how effective blogs could be, they would want them!" So, I invent a blog, tell everyone to look at it, convince them it's a Good Thing and something they not only Want, but Need... And now it's a part of my job to find things to put in blog posts.
EndNote and other bibliographic software programs are useful, but they aren't really necessary. I help people believe they need such things in order to study well. Then people need me to help them use EndNote. Or Google Docs. Or Connotea.
I'm finding the things we believe we will need in the future, then helping people need them today. And so much of my job is wrapped up in supporting things that, frankly, mean nothing in the grand scheme of things.
I feel like I'm training a unicorn to fly a spaceship - treading a strange line between fantasy and science fiction, and hoping nobody notices the fact that you don't need an interactive web-based guide to grow food for your children.
Truth be told, what we will really need in the future isn't any of these things. They'll all turn to dust before we realise it. No, the things we'll need in the future are the same things we needed in the past: the ability to cultivate food that will nourish us and build shelters that will keep us warm and dry.
These are things I can't do and can't teach anyone else to do either. But they're real. So much more real than most of what I do in my day.
Next time some librarian tries to tell you how useful the latest gadget is, tell them you're better off learning how to spin cotton into thread. It's true.
But, on the other hand, that gadget is probably really cool and quite useful, so still pay attention.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Scary Stuff
We need to better educate our kids:
http://searchengineland.com/uk-report-1-in-3-kids-think-top-search-rankings-most-truthful-27428
Sadly, they only listen to music videos. Anyone know how we can convince Robbie Williams to create a music video about search engine rankings?
http://searchengineland.com/uk-report-1-in-3-kids-think-top-search-rankings-most-truthful-27428
Sadly, they only listen to music videos. Anyone know how we can convince Robbie Williams to create a music video about search engine rankings?
Magnetic Recording
Favourite quote for today:
"Magnetic Recording. Although the principle of magnetic recording is over sixty years old, it is only during the past few years that the modern tape recorder has reached perfection. Recording on magnetic tape is the most accurate and versatile means of reproducing sounds today. It is used almost universally for making master recordings of music from which disks will be pressed for public sale; in another form it is used for recording television; and in still another. it is the heart of the data retrieval systems of the modern computers."
Stack, E.M. (1966) The language laboratory and modern language teaching. New York: Oxford University Press.
This book is older than our library and isn't catalogued - it's from the days before we were a university in our own right, and just a branch of the University of Queensland. I found it on our shelves and insisted the folks downstairs put a barcode in it so I could check it out. On the front, there's an imprint from an old tape spool.
Among it's many features, it includes a whole chapter on magnetic tapes - as in, the what, why and how of using tapes, channels and speeds to create magnetic recordings.
It's somehow wonderful. A snapshot of a world that briefly existed and will never return. It's completely useless for my thesis, but I can't help but like it.
Sadly, I know the minute I return it the book will probably be "decatalogued" (as far as any book which isn't on the catalogue can be decatalogued) and probably thrown out. We just don't have space for this sort of thing.
And yet, we've had it on the shelves for all these years...
"Magnetic Recording. Although the principle of magnetic recording is over sixty years old, it is only during the past few years that the modern tape recorder has reached perfection. Recording on magnetic tape is the most accurate and versatile means of reproducing sounds today. It is used almost universally for making master recordings of music from which disks will be pressed for public sale; in another form it is used for recording television; and in still another. it is the heart of the data retrieval systems of the modern computers."
Stack, E.M. (1966) The language laboratory and modern language teaching. New York: Oxford University Press.
This book is older than our library and isn't catalogued - it's from the days before we were a university in our own right, and just a branch of the University of Queensland. I found it on our shelves and insisted the folks downstairs put a barcode in it so I could check it out. On the front, there's an imprint from an old tape spool.
Among it's many features, it includes a whole chapter on magnetic tapes - as in, the what, why and how of using tapes, channels and speeds to create magnetic recordings.
It's somehow wonderful. A snapshot of a world that briefly existed and will never return. It's completely useless for my thesis, but I can't help but like it.
Sadly, I know the minute I return it the book will probably be "decatalogued" (as far as any book which isn't on the catalogue can be decatalogued) and probably thrown out. We just don't have space for this sort of thing.
And yet, we've had it on the shelves for all these years...
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Enough to give you the willies
Okay, I apologise for the really bad pun in the title. You'll have to read the rest of this blog entry to work out why it's so bad, but trust me, it's horrible.
Prometheus: bringer of fire, benefactor of mankind, poor sap doomed by the gods...
The legend of Prometheus, so it goes, was that he was a Titan - which is kind of like a cousin to the gods, but not a god - who decided to take pity on poor, miserable, snivelling little mankind and give them the gift of fire. Until Prometheus came along food was always raw, night was always dark and winter was always cold.
With fire came science, art and all kinds of figurative sparks. Mankind stopped huddling in the dark trying to keep warm, and instead made vast leaps and bounds towards civilisation.
However, Zeus (king of the gods and all round jerk - I'm sorry, but that whole Leta and the Swan thing will have me forever despising the ol' Zeus) was not happy. He didn't particularly want mankind to have fire. He was quite happy to have them huddling in the dark. So he punished Prometheus for his audacity.
I half recall that, prior to the punishment, there was a bit of defiance on Prometheus' part. Something along the lines of:
Zeus: "Mankind shall never have fire if I have anything to do with it!"
Prometheus: "I'll give mankind fire if I want to! What are you going to do about it?"
It probably needs to be mentioned occasionally that annoying the gods never ends well. In fact, if there is one piece of advice I can feel confident in giving to every living being, regardless of race, creed or position in the space-time continuum, it is this: don't annoy the gods.
To punish Prometheus for having the gall to defy him, Zeus had him chained to a cliff on a remote island. Every morning a vulture would come along, rip open his guts and eat his liver. Every night the liver would grow back and the guts would heal up so it could all happen again. I believe this was not a pleasant experience, and Prometheus was doomed to suffer it for all eternity.
So, remember, kids, don't annoy the gods.
Now, where I work, we have a statue of Prometheus not far from the reference desk. He's large, he's made of brass, he has a pained expression on his face, he appears to be chained to the wall... and he's naked.
Quite obviously naked, in fact - especially in profile. He's not one of those old-fashioned, classical male nudes with their modest accoutrements*. No, he's one of the new, modern male nudes who are a little more obvious.
Now, the interesting thing about this (as Prometheus' sculptor would tell you) is that most people these days don't know how to look at a male nude. A female nude is fine - we see those all the time in "art" - but a male nude... Well, that's a naked guy standing in the room, right? That sort of thing just isn't on. Especially not in Australia.
The first few times you see our Prometheus, it's a bit of a shock. Then you get used to him. Eventually, you stop registering the big brass naked guy chained to the wall.
Well, until someone decides to "decorate" him. Tonight, I had the dubious privilege of removing a paper frog from Prometheus' appendage. Sadly, it was attached with chewing gum, so I had to spend a little bit longer trying to get rid of that, too.
Just part of a day's work, really. So far I've taught a colleague how to use blogger, consulted the special collections librarian regarding the picture collection, given a training session to a post-grad student, answered questions at the reference desk, made arrangements for the new training room, worked on my Master's project and cleaned chewing gum of a statue's willy.
And what did you do today?
*Bonus points go to whoever can correctly explain how the word "accoutrements" is being used ironically in this sentence.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Word: Curses...
I would just like to say:
Darn you, Microsoft Word! Darn you to Heck!
May whoever changed your flaming bullet function so that it will not easily convert to a multilevel list after having been started as a single level list find the glue on his best pair of shoes is failing.
I do not want to re-write my list! I admit I wasn't paying attention when I first began this bullet point fiasco, but my needs are not exorbitant. All I want is to be able to change the list level based on my tab movements. All I want is to be able to highlight my current list and change the type of bullets from single level to multi-level so that such a thing may happen.
Why can this not be done? The old Word used to do it. Open Office does it with ease. Why am I doomed to manually push each new level to the point I desire without using my handy keyboard short cuts?
While I'm at it, may whoever changed the menus so that keyboard shortcuts I know and love are not longer logically related to the functions I desire find they left their favourite pen in their pocket when they did the washing.
It's not efficient, people! It's just not.
Darn you, Microsoft Word! Darn you to Heck!
May whoever changed your flaming bullet function so that it will not easily convert to a multilevel list after having been started as a single level list find the glue on his best pair of shoes is failing.
I do not want to re-write my list! I admit I wasn't paying attention when I first began this bullet point fiasco, but my needs are not exorbitant. All I want is to be able to change the list level based on my tab movements. All I want is to be able to highlight my current list and change the type of bullets from single level to multi-level so that such a thing may happen.
Why can this not be done? The old Word used to do it. Open Office does it with ease. Why am I doomed to manually push each new level to the point I desire without using my handy keyboard short cuts?
While I'm at it, may whoever changed the menus so that keyboard shortcuts I know and love are not longer logically related to the functions I desire find they left their favourite pen in their pocket when they did the washing.
It's not efficient, people! It's just not.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Word of the Day: Unicursal
Unicursal is, apparently, a mathematical term, but we shan't hold that against it.
In addition to mathematical what-nots, 'unicursal' is also used to describe a kind of maze, which makes it cool and interesting. Some may argue that, as a mathematical term, it was already cool and interesting. Those people are sad and deluded, but useful to have around so we shan't insult them too much.
'Unicursal' is an adjective which means Having, traversing, or being on one course or path (OED), and is apparently also used as a noun without taking on a nominative form, which is just dodgy if you ask me. You shouldn't be able to say "I'm following a unicursal at the moment and won't be able to speak to you until I finish", although I'm sure it's the sort of thing people would say all the time - seeing the propensity amongst human beings to forget that adjectival words are meant to describe the noun in the sentence, not be the noun.
Basically, the word 'unicursal' describes situations where there is only one path or direction to follow. A figure in which the whole is transcribed in one route - a maze in which there are no branches to follow and no wrong turns to take.
If my interpretation of the concept is correct, one should be able to undertake a unicursal route within any "true" maze, even if it is not technically a unicursal maze. I remember reading once that a "true" maze (according to the precepts of some obscure maze designing school) is one in which you could follow the wall and it would take you through every point of the maze and back out again. This is the origin of the theory that, if you get lost in a maze or a labyrinth, you should put one hand against a wall and follow it and you will eventually get out. These are also known as "branching" mazes - to separate them from island mazes, in which the walls don't all touch.
I have been in a number of branching mazes and one or two island mazes ("false" mazes?), and I can tell you that the branching mazes feel different, somehow. The island mazes just felt strangely random - as though there was no rhyme or reason to them - while the branching mazes felt like a controlled environment. It's almost as though you can feel the design. Even when you take the short-cuts, go up the wrong path, get horribly lost and somehow manage to get right through the maze without ever finding that damn target in the heart of the thing, you still feel as though you're following something. There's more of a sense of purpose to your movements. Plus, you always have that confidence that if you just follow the wall you'll eventually get out...
'Unicursal' is also used to describe any number of shapes created by a continuous line, such as the unicursal hexagram and a number of designs popular in Celtic themed art. Apparently, the Celts had quite a thing for unicursal patterns.
I suppose one could quite happily use the word 'unicursal' to describe any metaphoric journey in which someone could only follow one path - with no chance of branching off in any direction.
See if you can use it sometime this week.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Finish What You Started - Tarzan, Lord of the Jungle and A Princess of Mars
As mentioned at some point, I have actually managed to finish a few of my half-finished reads since beginning Project Finish What You Started. Just not many. Oh, and I keep forgetting to write up a review, which was part of the project, so generally speaking the project hasn't been a raving success.
In fact, not only hasn't it been a raving success, but I've also started and stalled in the middle of at least three or four other books since I decided to make a dent in the already large number of works I haven't finished. I kinda suck at this.
Anyway, I managed to knock off a couple of Edgar Rice Burroughs books along the way, so I may as well review 'em both and get it over with.
Many long years ago I had picked up a couple of Tarzan books at a library weeding sale, and promptly forgotten that they existed. Then, one holiday, I picked up one of them to see what this Tarzan business was all about.
It was Tarzan, Lord of the Jungle, which is the eleventh book in the series. To be perfectly honest, the eleventh book is not the best introduction to Tarzan. I got about halfway through it, but didn't really "get" it, and then moved on to other books.
Then, a couple of years ago, I suddenly caught Tarzan fever. I can't really explain it, but I just fell for the character big time. I started collecting the movies and researching the history of the character (I think, at last count, I had at least fifteen Tarzan films from different eras - not including the first RKO serial) and decided to go back to where it all began - Edgar Rice Burrough's Tarzan of the Apes. One library in town stocked it, and I held onto it for much longer than I should have.
I was fascinated by the difference between the Tarzan of the novels and the Tarzan of the films, and suddenly more interested than ever in seeing where the books took the character. As there were no more Tarzan books in the library, and I couldn't locate the ones I owned, I hopped onto the Interwebs. I had already read ERB's The Lost World, and I thought I might try one of his other series while I was spending money. So, I ordered Tarzan Returns (which became one of my favourite books of all time) and A Princess of Mars - the first book in the John Carter series.
Tarzan Returns was a corker of a book, and someone would make me very happy if they would film it as a mini series (as long as they did a decent job). A Princess of Mars didn't really do it for me, though. I took it with me on a camping trip, thinking an ERB novel would be a great way to while away the time. However, It wasn't exactly gripping. I got about a third of the way into it, but then put it down and didn't bother picking it up again.
Until I decided to Finish What I Started.
I managed to pick up the story again fairly well after ignoring the book for a year:
Civil War cavalryman John Carter escapes Indians by hiding in a cave, when gets mysteriously transported through space by some kind of magical mental deportation thingy. He finds himself stark naked on Mars, where he discovers he has superpowers due to the fact that he was raised on Earth, with Earth gravity, and the lesser gravity of Mars makes him super strong and capable of leaping over tall buildings in a single bound (remember, folks, ERB thought of it first). Well, maybe not tall buildings, but he can still jump fairly high.
He encounters one of the Martian species - a race of big, green giants with four arms and hearts hardened by years of battle and senseless brutality. He accidentally manages to kill a Martian chieftain, and is given the rank and station of the fallen chief. He is then adopted by the Green Martians as a half chieftain/half pet thing while they work out if their bizarre code of honour allows them to kill him without getting into a "proper" fight first. They take him back to their "city", which turns out to be the ruins of a city built by a race which died out long ago.
While there, he encounters a Red Martian - a girl from another Martian species that is more or less human - only red. She is, of course, a princess and, of course, naked - as are they all (I can't help but wonder if ERB did the naked thing just for the sake of pulpy book covers, but I expect the excessive nudity might make filming the book difficult). The girl is the captive of the Green Martians, who treat her unkindly (because that's how they treat everyone). John rushes to her rescue, "accidentally" killing another Green chieftain as he does. By this time, he has managed to teach himself how to speak Martian (not dissimilar to Tarzan teaching himself to read), so he can communicate with the girl...
Oh, blah, blah, blah. He falls in love with her. She keeps him at arms length. There are battles between different factions of both Green and Red Martians. The would-be lovers argue over cultural differences. They get separated and despair of ever seeing each other alive. John manages to make friends with at least one Martian in every camp. There's a big battle with a warlord which involves a daring rescue of the princess. The 19th Century cavalryman manages to fly Red Martian fighter-jets without difficulty. He gets the girl and saves the day. They get married and live happily ever after...
Except the big machine that controls the weather is sabotaged, and everyone starts dying from lack of oxygen. Our hero races to the machine to save his beloved family, only to feel a strange tug on his being, as he is magically mentally teleported back to his body on Earth, which has been lying in a death-like state in a cave in Arizona for ten years. He now has new magical powers, that seem to involve not aging, and longs to find a way to teleport himself back to Mars.
It all sounds terribly exciting, doesn't it? And yet, somehow, it reads like Wells' The Time Traveller without the good bits.
Now, Tarzan, Lord of the Jungle was a different matter. There were many things in the novel I understood now, having read the first two books in the series, and the rest of it didn't need much explanation because I knew what to expect from this world.
It had been too many years since I started reading the book, so I had to go back to the beginning, but this time 'round I found it a fun book to read.
There are these two Amercian hunters on vacation in Africa - one's a middle aged jerk, and the other is a nice young man who is starting to realise his friend is a jerk. There's also a band of Arabs making their way to the hidden city of Nimmr (what is with the secret hidden cities in the middle of Africa? Wasn't Opar enough?), accompanied by their slaves who are looking for a chance to escape and get back to their tribal homes - which, conveniently enough, are located not far from the ancient hidden city of Nimmr. It's the intention of the Arabs to steal all of Nimmr's treasure and, possibly, the most beautiful woman in the world (according to the legends).
The two Americans have a falling out and go their separate ways. The jerk manages to tick off everyone in the jungle (including Tarzan), so his hired men abandon him in the middle of nowhere and he survives by accidentally stumbling onto the group of Arabs (who have also managed to tick off Tarzan). The nice young man is well supported by his hired men, but manages to get himself lost after a lion attack and a lightning storm. He survives by accidentally stumbling onto the ancient hidden city of Nimmr.
Nimmr, as it turns out, is actually one of two cities in a well defended and easily missed valley in the middle of the heart of Africa - both of which are populated by knights and ladies of the medieval variety. Apparently, during the crusades, a group of knights managed to find their way to this valley. They then got into a disagreement as to whether or not they had completed their crusade and found the Holy Thing They Were Looking For. One group said they had found it, and wanted to declare "mission accomplished" and go home. The other group wanted to keep going and refused to let those quitters go back. They set up camp at one of the only two ways out of the valley and refused to let anyone pass. To spite them, the quitters set up camp at the other exit and refused to let anyone pass at that end, either.
And so, for several centuries, generation after generation of inbred knights lived their medieval lifestyle in this hidden valley while holding two things as being absolute truths: The outside world is full of evil Saracens who must not come in, and those dudes on the other side of the valley are stupid losers who must not pass.
When James (the nice young man) stumbled into Nimmr, he had a hell of a time trying to convince them he wasn't a Saracen. Then he had a hell of a time trying to convince them the Saracens aren't surrounding them and they aren't coming. Then he had a hell of a time trying to convince them that the crusades were long over and the rest of the world has sort of moved on. In the meantime, he managed to fall in love with the princess (as you do) and get himself accepted as one of the knights (as you do). The princess was, of course, the most beautiful woman in the world...
Meanwhile, the Saracens actually were coming in the form of those nasty, sneaky, thieving Arabs. They managed to break into the other city on the other side of the valley while everyone was playing tournaments in the middle of the valley. However, the kind of the other city kidnapped the princess, which prompted James to rush to the rescue, which revealed the whole "the Saracens are coming!" thing...
Meanwhile Tarzan was busy jumping around between the various groups, rescuing people who needed rescuing, threatening people who needed threatening, and eventually bringing his own "army" (the Waziri) to chase off those nasty, sneaky, thieving Arabs.
It should probably be pointed out that this book was written in 1927, and isn't exactly politically correct by today's standards. If you aren't American or English (or maybe French), the Tarzan novels will probably not be on your list of "books that treat my racial/religious group with respect".
I can't remember how it ended. The bad guys got their comeuppance, of course, and the various estranged lovers (there were also a couple of star-crossed lovers in the Arabs' camp) found a way to be together, and Tarzan went back to roaming about the jungle looking for things to do. Does it really matter exactly how these things were accomplished?
In fact, not only hasn't it been a raving success, but I've also started and stalled in the middle of at least three or four other books since I decided to make a dent in the already large number of works I haven't finished. I kinda suck at this.
Anyway, I managed to knock off a couple of Edgar Rice Burroughs books along the way, so I may as well review 'em both and get it over with.
Many long years ago I had picked up a couple of Tarzan books at a library weeding sale, and promptly forgotten that they existed. Then, one holiday, I picked up one of them to see what this Tarzan business was all about.
It was Tarzan, Lord of the Jungle, which is the eleventh book in the series. To be perfectly honest, the eleventh book is not the best introduction to Tarzan. I got about halfway through it, but didn't really "get" it, and then moved on to other books.
Then, a couple of years ago, I suddenly caught Tarzan fever. I can't really explain it, but I just fell for the character big time. I started collecting the movies and researching the history of the character (I think, at last count, I had at least fifteen Tarzan films from different eras - not including the first RKO serial) and decided to go back to where it all began - Edgar Rice Burrough's Tarzan of the Apes. One library in town stocked it, and I held onto it for much longer than I should have.
I was fascinated by the difference between the Tarzan of the novels and the Tarzan of the films, and suddenly more interested than ever in seeing where the books took the character. As there were no more Tarzan books in the library, and I couldn't locate the ones I owned, I hopped onto the Interwebs. I had already read ERB's The Lost World, and I thought I might try one of his other series while I was spending money. So, I ordered Tarzan Returns (which became one of my favourite books of all time) and A Princess of Mars - the first book in the John Carter series.
Tarzan Returns was a corker of a book, and someone would make me very happy if they would film it as a mini series (as long as they did a decent job). A Princess of Mars didn't really do it for me, though. I took it with me on a camping trip, thinking an ERB novel would be a great way to while away the time. However, It wasn't exactly gripping. I got about a third of the way into it, but then put it down and didn't bother picking it up again.
Until I decided to Finish What I Started.
Princes of Mars
I managed to pick up the story again fairly well after ignoring the book for a year:
Civil War cavalryman John Carter escapes Indians by hiding in a cave, when gets mysteriously transported through space by some kind of magical mental deportation thingy. He finds himself stark naked on Mars, where he discovers he has superpowers due to the fact that he was raised on Earth, with Earth gravity, and the lesser gravity of Mars makes him super strong and capable of leaping over tall buildings in a single bound (remember, folks, ERB thought of it first). Well, maybe not tall buildings, but he can still jump fairly high.
He encounters one of the Martian species - a race of big, green giants with four arms and hearts hardened by years of battle and senseless brutality. He accidentally manages to kill a Martian chieftain, and is given the rank and station of the fallen chief. He is then adopted by the Green Martians as a half chieftain/half pet thing while they work out if their bizarre code of honour allows them to kill him without getting into a "proper" fight first. They take him back to their "city", which turns out to be the ruins of a city built by a race which died out long ago.
While there, he encounters a Red Martian - a girl from another Martian species that is more or less human - only red. She is, of course, a princess and, of course, naked - as are they all (I can't help but wonder if ERB did the naked thing just for the sake of pulpy book covers, but I expect the excessive nudity might make filming the book difficult). The girl is the captive of the Green Martians, who treat her unkindly (because that's how they treat everyone). John rushes to her rescue, "accidentally" killing another Green chieftain as he does. By this time, he has managed to teach himself how to speak Martian (not dissimilar to Tarzan teaching himself to read), so he can communicate with the girl...
Oh, blah, blah, blah. He falls in love with her. She keeps him at arms length. There are battles between different factions of both Green and Red Martians. The would-be lovers argue over cultural differences. They get separated and despair of ever seeing each other alive. John manages to make friends with at least one Martian in every camp. There's a big battle with a warlord which involves a daring rescue of the princess. The 19th Century cavalryman manages to fly Red Martian fighter-jets without difficulty. He gets the girl and saves the day. They get married and live happily ever after...
Except the big machine that controls the weather is sabotaged, and everyone starts dying from lack of oxygen. Our hero races to the machine to save his beloved family, only to feel a strange tug on his being, as he is magically mentally teleported back to his body on Earth, which has been lying in a death-like state in a cave in Arizona for ten years. He now has new magical powers, that seem to involve not aging, and longs to find a way to teleport himself back to Mars.
It all sounds terribly exciting, doesn't it? And yet, somehow, it reads like Wells' The Time Traveller without the good bits.
Tarzan, Lord of the Jungle
Now, Tarzan, Lord of the Jungle was a different matter. There were many things in the novel I understood now, having read the first two books in the series, and the rest of it didn't need much explanation because I knew what to expect from this world.
It had been too many years since I started reading the book, so I had to go back to the beginning, but this time 'round I found it a fun book to read.
There are these two Amercian hunters on vacation in Africa - one's a middle aged jerk, and the other is a nice young man who is starting to realise his friend is a jerk. There's also a band of Arabs making their way to the hidden city of Nimmr (what is with the secret hidden cities in the middle of Africa? Wasn't Opar enough?), accompanied by their slaves who are looking for a chance to escape and get back to their tribal homes - which, conveniently enough, are located not far from the ancient hidden city of Nimmr. It's the intention of the Arabs to steal all of Nimmr's treasure and, possibly, the most beautiful woman in the world (according to the legends).
The two Americans have a falling out and go their separate ways. The jerk manages to tick off everyone in the jungle (including Tarzan), so his hired men abandon him in the middle of nowhere and he survives by accidentally stumbling onto the group of Arabs (who have also managed to tick off Tarzan). The nice young man is well supported by his hired men, but manages to get himself lost after a lion attack and a lightning storm. He survives by accidentally stumbling onto the ancient hidden city of Nimmr.
Nimmr, as it turns out, is actually one of two cities in a well defended and easily missed valley in the middle of the heart of Africa - both of which are populated by knights and ladies of the medieval variety. Apparently, during the crusades, a group of knights managed to find their way to this valley. They then got into a disagreement as to whether or not they had completed their crusade and found the Holy Thing They Were Looking For. One group said they had found it, and wanted to declare "mission accomplished" and go home. The other group wanted to keep going and refused to let those quitters go back. They set up camp at one of the only two ways out of the valley and refused to let anyone pass. To spite them, the quitters set up camp at the other exit and refused to let anyone pass at that end, either.
And so, for several centuries, generation after generation of inbred knights lived their medieval lifestyle in this hidden valley while holding two things as being absolute truths: The outside world is full of evil Saracens who must not come in, and those dudes on the other side of the valley are stupid losers who must not pass.
When James (the nice young man) stumbled into Nimmr, he had a hell of a time trying to convince them he wasn't a Saracen. Then he had a hell of a time trying to convince them the Saracens aren't surrounding them and they aren't coming. Then he had a hell of a time trying to convince them that the crusades were long over and the rest of the world has sort of moved on. In the meantime, he managed to fall in love with the princess (as you do) and get himself accepted as one of the knights (as you do). The princess was, of course, the most beautiful woman in the world...
Meanwhile, the Saracens actually were coming in the form of those nasty, sneaky, thieving Arabs. They managed to break into the other city on the other side of the valley while everyone was playing tournaments in the middle of the valley. However, the kind of the other city kidnapped the princess, which prompted James to rush to the rescue, which revealed the whole "the Saracens are coming!" thing...
Meanwhile Tarzan was busy jumping around between the various groups, rescuing people who needed rescuing, threatening people who needed threatening, and eventually bringing his own "army" (the Waziri) to chase off those nasty, sneaky, thieving Arabs.
It should probably be pointed out that this book was written in 1927, and isn't exactly politically correct by today's standards. If you aren't American or English (or maybe French), the Tarzan novels will probably not be on your list of "books that treat my racial/religious group with respect".
I can't remember how it ended. The bad guys got their comeuppance, of course, and the various estranged lovers (there were also a couple of star-crossed lovers in the Arabs' camp) found a way to be together, and Tarzan went back to roaming about the jungle looking for things to do. Does it really matter exactly how these things were accomplished?
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Ugly websites are not to be trusted...
Hmm...
I think I'm starting to turn into some kind of design snob.
I found a very useful article on Krashen's Input Hypothesis using Google, which took me directly to the pdf, so I had to trace the thing backwards to find out what journal it came from.
Having found its "home", I'm suddenly wracked with doubt over the validity of the article because, well, the website is ugly.
It's some sort of US/Chinese linguistic thingy that looks for all the world like it's trying to sell me a dodgy language course.
You know the kind of site I mean? Whoever designs them clearly believes in dazzling people with pointless colours and big balloony fonts, and deep down you just don't know if there's actually any substance there at all...
I'm looking at this site and thinking: "What are you trying to sell me and why should I start backing away?" rather than: "My, this looks like a place where I could find information to aid my scholarly pursuits."
And yet, it's an online journal with issue numbers and everything - supposedly even peer reviewed - and the articles (once you get out of the web page), seem pretty sound...
It's just ugly, and for some reason I instinctively mistrust it.
I think I'm starting to turn into some kind of design snob.
I found a very useful article on Krashen's Input Hypothesis using Google, which took me directly to the pdf, so I had to trace the thing backwards to find out what journal it came from.
Having found its "home", I'm suddenly wracked with doubt over the validity of the article because, well, the website is ugly.
It's some sort of US/Chinese linguistic thingy that looks for all the world like it's trying to sell me a dodgy language course.
You know the kind of site I mean? Whoever designs them clearly believes in dazzling people with pointless colours and big balloony fonts, and deep down you just don't know if there's actually any substance there at all...
I'm looking at this site and thinking: "What are you trying to sell me and why should I start backing away?" rather than: "My, this looks like a place where I could find information to aid my scholarly pursuits."
And yet, it's an online journal with issue numbers and everything - supposedly even peer reviewed - and the articles (once you get out of the web page), seem pretty sound...
It's just ugly, and for some reason I instinctively mistrust it.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Nothing more to say?
I swear I haven't read anything new in the last few weeks. Everyone seems to be saying the same things, only in different words.
I could happily sum up the last few articles I've read on Extensive Reading/Narrow Reading and Repeated Reading thus:
"He said this. She said that. I did a study using a statistically insignificant group of people and a dodgy methodology. I found nothing conclusive, but it looked like this and that are both possibly true".
Is this because nothing new has happened in the field? Or is it because everyone keeps citing themselves?
I could happily sum up the last few articles I've read on Extensive Reading/Narrow Reading and Repeated Reading thus:
"He said this. She said that. I did a study using a statistically insignificant group of people and a dodgy methodology. I found nothing conclusive, but it looked like this and that are both possibly true".
Is this because nothing new has happened in the field? Or is it because everyone keeps citing themselves?
Matching Books to Readers?
So, following yet another tangent that probably won't help me with my thesis, I borrowed a book called Matching Books to Readers, which is actually aimed at teachers of lower primary classrooms - the K-3 set.
I tell myself there's some cross over because I am looking at reading programmes and language learning and there is always the suggestion that using the books/programmes children use to learn a first language can help with learning a second language (which is half true and half bunk - children have an advantage that SLL don't have, in that they already speak the language with some skill before they try reading it)...
Anyway, the thing that struck me about the book more than anything else was its design. It's a larger page size than most of the other books I've been using. The font is bigger and "softer". There are more pictures. Oh, and the vocabulary is simpler (something not really part of the design, but hey). The other book I've used which was aimed at primary school children was very similar in its design.
This reminds me of books I used to use when I was studying Education, and I've finally noticed something: books written for teachers of different levels are designed differently.
You go and take a look at a book that's intended for a primary school teacher - not for them to use in class, but for their own education. Then look at a book aimed at a high school teacher, and one aimed at a university lecturer. There's a definite change in look, tone and complexity of language across the levels.
This is interesting, because a 48 year old teacher is a 48 year old with at least one university level degree, right? It doesn't matter what year they teach, they're still an educated adult. Why would book designers assume one 48 year old university graduate needs bigger, prettier fonts and more pictures than another 48 year old university graduate, just because the students they teach are at different ages and stages of education?
Why does John Smith, Year 2 teacher, have a bigger page with a larger text size than John Smith, university lecturer?
I tell myself there's some cross over because I am looking at reading programmes and language learning and there is always the suggestion that using the books/programmes children use to learn a first language can help with learning a second language (which is half true and half bunk - children have an advantage that SLL don't have, in that they already speak the language with some skill before they try reading it)...
Anyway, the thing that struck me about the book more than anything else was its design. It's a larger page size than most of the other books I've been using. The font is bigger and "softer". There are more pictures. Oh, and the vocabulary is simpler (something not really part of the design, but hey). The other book I've used which was aimed at primary school children was very similar in its design.
This reminds me of books I used to use when I was studying Education, and I've finally noticed something: books written for teachers of different levels are designed differently.
You go and take a look at a book that's intended for a primary school teacher - not for them to use in class, but for their own education. Then look at a book aimed at a high school teacher, and one aimed at a university lecturer. There's a definite change in look, tone and complexity of language across the levels.
This is interesting, because a 48 year old teacher is a 48 year old with at least one university level degree, right? It doesn't matter what year they teach, they're still an educated adult. Why would book designers assume one 48 year old university graduate needs bigger, prettier fonts and more pictures than another 48 year old university graduate, just because the students they teach are at different ages and stages of education?
Why does John Smith, Year 2 teacher, have a bigger page with a larger text size than John Smith, university lecturer?
Thursday, October 8, 2009
The Song o' Cap'n Sam
I blame my boss for this one. It shall be sung upon request, but everyone has to join in on the chorus.
It's Cap'n Sam, Cap'n Sam
The Pirate Librarian
He'll tell you what you need to know
And help you if he can
Oh, come me hearties and listen to me
And I'll tell you a tale of the library
And a pirate who gave up the seven seas
To captain a reference desk.
His pirate heart was courageous and true
But he loved to answer a question or two
And so he decided the best thing to do
Was to give up the ocean
And all that commotion
And captain a reference desk.
It's Cap'n Sam, Cap'n Sam
The Pirate Librarian
He'll tell you what you need to know
And help you if he can
Back in his days as a bloodthirsty brute
He'd ask lots of questions to track down his loot
But then he decided a better pursuit
Was helping out eager young minds.
He went back to school and he got a degree -
A Masters in the Science of Libraries -
And moved to a city that's by the sea
And found some employment
That gives him enjoyment
By helping out eager young minds
It's Cap'n Sam, Cap'n Sam
The Pirate Librarian
He'll tell you what you need to know
And help you if he can
A pirate librarian's life can be hard
There's lots of bad habits you have to discard
And there are some lib'ries from which he was barred
For running the customers through.
And some of his co-workers thought he was rude
His language was salty, insulting and crude -
His jokes about wenches were awfully lewd
And his reputation
Spread throughout the nation
For running his customers through.
It's Cap'n Sam, Cap'n Sam
The Pirate Librarian
He'll tell you what you need to know
And help you if he can
Then he found work in a strange little town
Where lots of peculiar librarians are found
Magicians, snake charmers and jugglers abound
And a gorilla named Algernon.
And no body minds if he's violent and crude
Or cares if he's heavily pierced and tattooed
And now he's a happy piratical dude
And he's sharing a flat
With a shelver called Matt
And a gorilla named Algernon.
It's Cap'n Sam, Cap'n Sam
The Pirate Librarian
He'll tell you what you need to know
And help you if he can
And now if you go to that town by the sea
And happen to visit the library
Don't be surprised if a pirate you see
When you go to the reference desk.
He'll answer your queries with quiet command
And a flash of his smile and a wave of his hand
The most dashing librarian in all the land
And it gives him pleasure
To help you find treasure
When you go to the reference desk.
It's Cap'n Sam, Cap'n Sam
The Pirate Librarian
He'll tell you what you need to know
And help you if he can
It's Cap'n Sam, Cap'n Sam
The Pirate Librarian
He'll tell you what you need to know
And help you if he can
It's Cap'n Sam, Cap'n Sam
The Pirate Librarian
He'll tell you what you need to know
And help you if he can
Oh, come me hearties and listen to me
And I'll tell you a tale of the library
And a pirate who gave up the seven seas
To captain a reference desk.
His pirate heart was courageous and true
But he loved to answer a question or two
And so he decided the best thing to do
Was to give up the ocean
And all that commotion
And captain a reference desk.
It's Cap'n Sam, Cap'n Sam
The Pirate Librarian
He'll tell you what you need to know
And help you if he can
Back in his days as a bloodthirsty brute
He'd ask lots of questions to track down his loot
But then he decided a better pursuit
Was helping out eager young minds.
He went back to school and he got a degree -
A Masters in the Science of Libraries -
And moved to a city that's by the sea
And found some employment
That gives him enjoyment
By helping out eager young minds
It's Cap'n Sam, Cap'n Sam
The Pirate Librarian
He'll tell you what you need to know
And help you if he can
A pirate librarian's life can be hard
There's lots of bad habits you have to discard
And there are some lib'ries from which he was barred
For running the customers through.
And some of his co-workers thought he was rude
His language was salty, insulting and crude -
His jokes about wenches were awfully lewd
And his reputation
Spread throughout the nation
For running his customers through.
It's Cap'n Sam, Cap'n Sam
The Pirate Librarian
He'll tell you what you need to know
And help you if he can
Then he found work in a strange little town
Where lots of peculiar librarians are found
Magicians, snake charmers and jugglers abound
And a gorilla named Algernon.
And no body minds if he's violent and crude
Or cares if he's heavily pierced and tattooed
And now he's a happy piratical dude
And he's sharing a flat
With a shelver called Matt
And a gorilla named Algernon.
It's Cap'n Sam, Cap'n Sam
The Pirate Librarian
He'll tell you what you need to know
And help you if he can
And now if you go to that town by the sea
And happen to visit the library
Don't be surprised if a pirate you see
When you go to the reference desk.
He'll answer your queries with quiet command
And a flash of his smile and a wave of his hand
The most dashing librarian in all the land
And it gives him pleasure
To help you find treasure
When you go to the reference desk.
It's Cap'n Sam, Cap'n Sam
The Pirate Librarian
He'll tell you what you need to know
And help you if he can
It's Cap'n Sam, Cap'n Sam
The Pirate Librarian
He'll tell you what you need to know
And help you if he can
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Trailers for Books?
This book apparently has a "trailer":
http://www.katherineneville.com/neville-fire-trailer2.htm
Funny, I always thought these things were called "ads"...
http://www.katherineneville.com/neville-fire-trailer2.htm
Funny, I always thought these things were called "ads"...
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Stephen Krashen Likes to Cite Himself
Stephen Krashen likes to cite himself. That sounds vaguely distasteful, really, but I suppose one day I'll probably be citing myself too.
It doesn't help that he seems to be the most prolific writer in his field, and that pretty much everyone else who has written on his topics has written with him as a co-author.
Still, it starts to get a bit ridiculous when you're reading an article Krashen co-authored in 2004, and it keeps citing the articles he wrote in 1989, 1991, 1997 and 2002...
It gets even more ridiculous when you're reading an article that wasn't exactly written by him, but they still cite all of his previous articles – and then you realise they co-authored a couple of those articles with him...
Seriously, can someone else please write about Extensive and Narrow Reading in Second Language studies? And, I know this might be hard, but could you try to avoid citing more than one article by Krashen? The universe needs the balance.
It doesn't help that he seems to be the most prolific writer in his field, and that pretty much everyone else who has written on his topics has written with him as a co-author.
Still, it starts to get a bit ridiculous when you're reading an article Krashen co-authored in 2004, and it keeps citing the articles he wrote in 1989, 1991, 1997 and 2002...
It gets even more ridiculous when you're reading an article that wasn't exactly written by him, but they still cite all of his previous articles – and then you realise they co-authored a couple of those articles with him...
Seriously, can someone else please write about Extensive and Narrow Reading in Second Language studies? And, I know this might be hard, but could you try to avoid citing more than one article by Krashen? The universe needs the balance.
Monday, September 21, 2009
Pamela, Or, Virtue Rewarded
I can't remember which exam was focused on 18th Century Literature. I think it might have been the Associate Diploma, but it could have been Grade Seven.Anyway, it kind of caught me napping because I'd never read an 18th Century novel, and suddenly I had to use one for a rather central part of an exam. I'd have to memorise a passage, read some of the book on sight at the whim of the examiner, and answer whatever questions the examiner might ask concerning the book.
Previously, I'd almost managed to get past the third chapter of Robinson Crusoe two or three times, but quite frankly the book refuses to be read. Have you ever tried reading Robinson Crusoe? The first few chapters are ridiculously boring. I mean, more boring than Island of the Blue Dolphin, which bored the pants off be both times I read it, but I still managed to finish the book (once when I was in High School, and once when I had to teach it for a class).
Anyway, since I didn't have the time to read several novels in order to have the luxury of choosing one, I just picked a title at random and decided to roll with it. My one criteria was that it not be Robinson Crusoe, so that left the field pretty open.
I ended up grabbing Pamela, Or Virtue Rewarded off the shelf for one reason and one reason only - I knew Richardson would give me something to talk about, and it seemed to be the only thing he had written that was less than sixty-seven volumes long. Okay, I'm exaggerating slightly, but have you seen how much space Clarissa takes up on a shelf?
Pamela, then became the first book I ever had to read for assessment purposes which I didn't finish. It wasn't from laziness - I just couldn't take it any more.
To give it its due, the book isn't boring. It's just very, very, very annoying.
I present a synopsis, but cannot guarantee my memory of events:
We have a sixteen year old girl, Pamela, who is employed by "Mr B.", a jerk she calls "my Master" throughout the entire book. I have no idea how old Jerkboy is, but he is probably at least ten years older than she is. Maybe much more. Jerkboy comes onto her in the garden (because a servant is little more than a whore, right?), and she refuses him. At this, she worries that she might loose her job. She writes to her parents who write back to say they're more worried she might loose her virginity, and she should probably chuck the job and come home.
At this point, she nobly chooses to stay working for Jerkboy so she can send money home to the folks, even though they clearly regard her "virtue" to be more important. Jerkboy comes onto her again, and again she refuses. He takes the next logical step and abducts her.
Having shoved her into some form of conveyance against her will, he whisks her away to his house in some unidentifiable locality where no-one will know where she is in order to rescue her. The next few chapters consist of her trying to escape and him trying to either seduce her or rape her. As his methods of seduction leave a little to be desired (somewhat closer to "you, pants off, now" than anything, well, appealing), there's a very fine line between the seduction attempts and the rape attempts. She bravely wards off the seduction (yeah, like that was hard), and manages to avoid the rape by fainting - which, I guess, takes all the fun out of it for Jerkboy.
Pamela is hampered in her attempts to escape by a) the fact that she is COMPLETELY USELESS, and b) Jerkboy's housekeeper, who seems to believe it is one of her duties to help Jerkboy deflower unwilling sixteen-year-old girls.
Meanwhile, the novel progresses as she writes letters to her parents, which she despairs of ever being able to send. At one point, she thinks she finally has managed to get word out of her predicament, but it turns out that Jerkboy manages to intercept the letters and read them.
Now, all this time, Pamela is still referring to him as "my Master", when I think any female character who wasn't written by an obnoxious fifty-one-year-old bloke (who thinks he's doing womankind a favour by giving them a good example to follow) would probably be calling him something like, say, "Jerkboy".
Oh, but wait - did I mention this was a Romance?
That's right, after abducting her, keeping her prisoner, intercepting her letters to her parents and repeatedly attempting to rape her, Jerkboy decides he can't live without her and she has proven herself to be virtuous enough to be his wife, so he proposes. She at first sees this as another plot to get into her pants, then takes all of five minutes to accept. The book then changes tack to talk about how wonderful Jerkboy is and how lucky she feels to have won him - and all along she still calls him "my Master".
It was at this point that I threw the book across the room and refused to read any more. I made sure the passages I had to cover for my exam came from the two thirds of the book I had actually read, and I found a synopsis of the damn thing so I could answer questions about the rest of the story without having to actually put up with one more sentence of Richardson's dross.
Turns out that, after deciding to spend the rest of her life with her beloved Jerkboy, Pamela discovered he had a child by another woman. So, as any good, dutiful wife would, she insisted on meeting this other woman, and TAKING HER CHILD to raise as her own - after all, who better to raise her husband's child than a virtuous, married woman, as opposed to some poor, wretched slut who didn't have the good sense to faint every time he tried to climb into her bed...?
Yeah, Pamela is never going to make it into my list of favourite books. I have to say I'm more likely to read chapter five of Robinson Crusoe than ever finishing Pamela.
But, hey, the story has a great moral, right? If you put up with someone unconscionably obnoxious for long enough, you may get to put up with them for the rest of your life! Yay!?
Sunday, September 20, 2009
H.G. Wells
Hey!
It's the Birthday of H.G. Wells! He's one of my favourite authors!
He's also dead, so I guess there's no point in sending a card...
It's the Birthday of H.G. Wells! He's one of my favourite authors!
He's also dead, so I guess there's no point in sending a card...
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Cataloguing people
At some point, a few years back, I read an article somewhere about a library that was playing with the concept of cataloguing people.
That is, they would put "living" resources in the catalogue, by listing people who were experts in the field or had relevant personal knowledge.
I really, really wish I could find that article now, but the only terms I can think of using are coming up with useless rubbish.
Do you know what you get when you try to look for "cataloguing experts"? You get people who are experts at cataloguing. Looking for "cataloguing people" gets you nothing but people who catalogue, and "catalogue people" gets you sentences like "after looking at a catalogue, people tend to browse the shelves..." Looking for similar phrases will provide you with similar results.
Nothing on cataloguing people, though.
That is, they would put "living" resources in the catalogue, by listing people who were experts in the field or had relevant personal knowledge.
I really, really wish I could find that article now, but the only terms I can think of using are coming up with useless rubbish.
Do you know what you get when you try to look for "cataloguing experts"? You get people who are experts at cataloguing. Looking for "cataloguing people" gets you nothing but people who catalogue, and "catalogue people" gets you sentences like "after looking at a catalogue, people tend to browse the shelves..." Looking for similar phrases will provide you with similar results.
Nothing on cataloguing people, though.
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Slessor
Two chronometers the captain had,I was going to write a "spoof" of this stanza for a post comparing two cookbooks I had bought recently, when it occurred to me that the number of people who knew Kenneth Slessor's poem well enough to recognise a spoof could probably be numbered on one hand... and they probably don't read this blog.
One by Arnold that ran like mad,
One by Kendal in a walnut case,
Poor devoted creature with a hangdog face.
Which suddenly made me feel very sad, and prompted me to put off the post concerning cookbooks in favour of a post concerning Kenneth Slessor. For anyone who would like to read the whole poem, you can find it here.
It's actually an excerpt from a longer poem called Five Visions of Captain Cook, but invariably these five stanzas on the chronometers end up being published in anthologies, while the rest of the poem is left out. I don't believe I have ever read the whole poem myself, only various excerpts like "Two Chronometers".
Kenneth Slessor was an Australian poet who wrote in the first half of the 20th century. Yes, believe it or not, Australia does have more than one poet on the books.
I know about him because I took Speech and Drama classes as a child (and as a teenager, and as an adult), and had to cover Australian poetry on more than one occasion. Most people, though, have probably never heard of him. Just like they've never heard of Charles Harpur, Henry Kendall or Mary Gilmore.
I'd like to point out that Mary Gilmore is quite a noteworthy poet - literally. She's on the current Australian $10 note, on the opposite side to Andrew Barton (Banjo) Patterson.
Ah, you've heard of that one, have you? Waltzing Matilda, The Man from Snowy Mountain and Clancy of the Overflow are Australian poems you may actually know about?
Hmm.
Meanwhile, how many $10 notes have you seen in the last ten years? Did it ever occur to you to ask who the chick on the other side was?
Anyway, I mentioned those poets in particular because they are, believe it or not, quite "famous", as far as Australian poets go. Pick up any book on Australian poetry and you'll find a number of poems by these writers.
Slessor's "Two Chronometers" excerpt is the first poem in the most ubiquitous book of Australian poetry in existence - This Land, an anthology selected by another famous Australian poet, Judith Wright. You can pick up Wright's anthology in any second-hand book store or charity op-shop in the country, I expect. I think I saw six copies of it at the last book fair.
Oh, come on. Of course you've heard of Judith Wright. Why, she and Bruce Dawe are considered to be among the most important poets in Australian literature, and are practically responsible for every anthology of Australian anything that you've ever read...
What? Oh, sorry. I hadn't realised you've never read an anthology of Australian poetry. No, no, it makes perfect sense. Quite frankly, if it wasn't written by 'Banjo' Paterson or Henry Lawson, there's no reason why an Australian would even dream of reading Australian poetry on purpose.
What? You've never read any of their poems either? What about Waltzing Matilda? Surely you've read that one? No? You've just sung the chorus on occasion. Okay. That makes sense, too. No one would actually think a song about a homeless bum who steals a sheep and commits suicide would make a good national anthem if they knew the lyrics.
Look, it's not like Australian poetry is particularly bad. I think quite a bit of it is really good. That Slessor poem, for example, does lovely things with rhythm and pace and is a brilliant poem to recite. I mean, if you've read any British or American poetry, you wouldn't think the Australian poetry was in any way inferior...
Oh. You don't read poetry as a general rule. Okay. No, no. Don't worry about it. That's perfectly normal behaviour for an Australian. Poetry is, after all, for wusses and toffy-nosed gits who can't get a real job. I think it's pretty normal behaviour for most people in the Western World, isn't it?
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go somewhere and cry.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
"College"
Hmm...
A group of students just came into the library dressed as Captain Cook, a couple of sailors and a number of "aborigines" (white kids wearing a hell of a lot of body paint).
They posed in front of our model of the Endeavour and asked me to take their photo, before trundling out of the library again.
Aparently, it's some sort of "dress up for college" dare (ah, residential colleges - what strange rituals they inflict on their residents).
Three thoughts immediately came to mind:
1) That's an impressive amount of work for a dare
2) I'm counting every single one of them as statistics (under "other")
3) They probably should get beaten up in the car park - but they probably won't.
A group of students just came into the library dressed as Captain Cook, a couple of sailors and a number of "aborigines" (white kids wearing a hell of a lot of body paint).
They posed in front of our model of the Endeavour and asked me to take their photo, before trundling out of the library again.
Aparently, it's some sort of "dress up for college" dare (ah, residential colleges - what strange rituals they inflict on their residents).
Three thoughts immediately came to mind:
1) That's an impressive amount of work for a dare
2) I'm counting every single one of them as statistics (under "other")
3) They probably should get beaten up in the car park - but they probably won't.
Things Librarians Think About
Okay, so the theme is "Book Safari", and "safari" comes from the Arabic word safar, which means "journey", "trip" or "tour"...
It's not specifically African. It's not specifically savannah, or semi-arid - or even specifically land-locked...
In it's purest definition, it is simply a "journey"...
So why do I have so much trouble accepting the circumnavigation of New Zealand as a safari?
What is it about the word "Safari" that makes me immediately disqualify the waters surrounding Aotearoa as a location for such a thing?
It's not specifically African. It's not specifically savannah, or semi-arid - or even specifically land-locked...
In it's purest definition, it is simply a "journey"...
So why do I have so much trouble accepting the circumnavigation of New Zealand as a safari?
What is it about the word "Safari" that makes me immediately disqualify the waters surrounding Aotearoa as a location for such a thing?
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Ever Wonder...
*Spoiler Alert*
So, I've been reading Wonder Woman comics from the 60s lately.
Why, when I haven't actually finished any of the books I've started over the last three months?
I don't know. Half finished books just seem to be my thing these days. I think, one day, I'll probably have a bookmark part of the way through every book in my house (and probably a few in the library as well). Heck, I've even stalled part-way through Jane Eyre - although I'm not sure if it counts, as I've read it several times before.
At least I actually get through the trade paperbacks. I get plot, I get characterisation, I get art... and I get to the end. So, the other day I picked up Volumes 3 & 4 of the Diana Prince: Wonder Woman TPBs from my comic book shop, and they've been keeping me amused.
For those of you who might not know the history: during the 60s Wonder Woman was apparently boring the socks off all and sundry and the sales were pretty pitiful, so they decided to stop making the comics. Then someone suddenly noticed that, should they ever stop printing a Wonder Woman comic book, the rights for the character would revert back to the family of the creator. DC couldn't have this, so they quickly decided to bash out a "New Wonder Woman", so they could effectively try to ditch the old character without actually ditching the character at all.
How did they do this? Why, by getting rid of Diana's powers and entire supporting cast, and making Diana Prince - human woman, as opposed to Amazon Princess - the hero of the piece. Paradise Island was sent into some unreachable other dimension (which didn't end up being that unreachable, just harder to get to than usual), the invisible jet was gone, Steve Trevor was killed off and Diana quit the military, so she was no longer in uniform. She also lost the glasses. And gained a fashion sense. And a boutique.
Instead of her old support cast, she collected an old, blind Chinese man with the unlikely name of I-Ching, who taught her to be a martial arts expert. For the next couple of years, Diana Prince kicked butt all over the globe and in a couple of different dimensions - all without superpowers and armed with nothing more than highly trained human physical prowess and a keen sense of observation. Well, she may have had one superpower they never specifically mentioned - somehow, no matter how often she was thrown to the ground in a fight scene, she never got dirt on her white go-go outfits.
By the way, more female superheroes need to wear go-go outfits. So much practical than those skin-tight jumpsuits that couldn't hold a pocket in a million years - and definitely more practical than a strapless bustier, if you know what I mean.
It was, in a way, the exact opposite of what George Perez did with the character in the 80s, where he got rid of Diana Prince and more or less made Wonder Woman the sole identity of the character.
I've decided Dennis O'Neal should never be allowed near Wonder Woman. I've never read a single story he's written for the character (in any title) that didn't suck. He really has no idea how to write a female character at all - let alone a "powerful" female character. It's like there's something in his head that says "What? Wonder Woman? I guess it has to be another dating story. Who can she pine over this time?"
Pfft!
At least Mike Sekowsky actually realised the character could do more than swoon. I quite liked his take on the whole "martial arts marvel" character. A lot of the characters in his stories had the "just a girl" mentality, but you never felt as if the writer did.
I've read my share of Wonder Woman comics from the past five decades and it's interesting to see how the writers have handled the character. Until recently, they were all male, and it's been a strange exercise in seeing how a man interprets a female character.
A lot of writers (especially during the earlier years) had no respect for her, and you could tell. They wrote about a vapid, shallow 'thing' with a heart of gold and superpowers - not really enough depth to be considered a person. What motivation did she need, apart from the fact that her man would want her more? What greater thing did she have to fear than her man's displeasure?
"Oh, Steve!"
In a sense, O'Neal actually did her a favour by killing off Steve Trevor. He really was slowing her down. In a strange way, Perez did the same thing in the 80s when he had Steve pair off with Etta Candy, so he wasn't available to be Diana's love interest (read: shackle).
You often had the feeling that many of these early, male writers had to find ways to make the character more feminine in order to "balance" the fact that she was so strong. After all, what man could possibly want a woman who could lift cars? She had to be weak, somehow, or she would be completely undesirable. So, they made her vapid and slightly pointless. Sure, she could save the day, but at the end of the day, in some way, shape or form, she still needed to be saved herself.
That's one of the things I really liked about Sekowsky's tenure as WW's writer - she never really needed rescuing. Sure, she accepted help if it was offered and expressed gratitude when someone saved her butt, but deep down you knew (and, more importantly, she knew) that she could have gotten herself out of that pickle if she had to.
I think Sekowsky must have had more female friends than a lot of the other writers. Or maybe he just actually talked to his sisters/wife/daughters and knew they were capable of thinking and acting.
All I know is that the "New Wonder Woman" improved immensely after Sekowsky took over from O'Neal, and then got darn annoying after Sekowsky left.
Oh, and the way they ended that part of WW's history? It sucked. It was even worse than the way O'Neal started it. They could have had a big meaningful story explaining why she gave up her "New Improved" life to go back to living a dichotomy in which she could never hope to be a whole person... They could have spun the story out over a couple of issues to say a decent goodbye to the friends and "family" she had collected during her new life... They could have told one last "New Wonder Woman" story... But they didn't.
Instead they just shot I-Ching in the back and gave her amnesia - effectively wiping out her whole adventure in humanity. And they introduced an important new character with no warning - one that would disappear not long after she was introduced. On top of all that, the whole thing was squeezed into one, poorly written issue. I spent the whole fourth volume thinking, "this would have been better if Mike was still writing it", and the whole last issue thinking, "Okay, someone needs a good slapping."
But, you get that.
Sunday, July 19, 2009
Reading Books
Sometimes I wish my job was what people think it is.
Right now, I could really do with sitting around and reading a book all day. I'm in the middle of one at home, and I just keep thinking about it.
Surely a librarian should be able to claim a "book day" instead of a "sick day" and stay home and read?
Right now, I could really do with sitting around and reading a book all day. I'm in the middle of one at home, and I just keep thinking about it.
Surely a librarian should be able to claim a "book day" instead of a "sick day" and stay home and read?
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Things Librarians Try Not to Think About
I received this explanation for a system malfunction in an email this morning:
PS, the quote is cut and paste from the email - their spelling errors, not mine.
Services have been restored on the HPRC NAS servers. A full filesystem, due to core dumps from DMF software, caused the High Availability software to "flap". The filesystem is common to both servers, hence the service wouldn't start succesfully on either server, leading to the "flapping". Scripts are being written to avoidI have a feeling I don't even want to know what it means. Sadly, I think this was meant to be the "user friendly" version.
this particular problem in future.
PS, the quote is cut and paste from the email - their spelling errors, not mine.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Things Librarians Think About
Okay, here's a question:
If a person was born in New Zealand, grew up there, married and had kids in the country, and then, after almost thirty years as a New Zealander, moved to Australia where they bought a house, got a job, paid Australian taxes, etc...
If, after moving to Australia they started writing books, which they published through Australian publishing firms and sold largely in Australian bookshops and news agencies...
Would that person be a New Zealand author or an Australian author? And, if you were to have a book display that showcased Australian and New Zealand authors, and you were going to set up this display by having the Australian authors in one area and the New Zealand authors in another area, where would you put the books by that author?
On a related point, if they wrote children's books, and you were going to put together a display of Australian children's books, would you include their works?
If a person was born in New Zealand, grew up there, married and had kids in the country, and then, after almost thirty years as a New Zealander, moved to Australia where they bought a house, got a job, paid Australian taxes, etc...
If, after moving to Australia they started writing books, which they published through Australian publishing firms and sold largely in Australian bookshops and news agencies...
Would that person be a New Zealand author or an Australian author? And, if you were to have a book display that showcased Australian and New Zealand authors, and you were going to set up this display by having the Australian authors in one area and the New Zealand authors in another area, where would you put the books by that author?
On a related point, if they wrote children's books, and you were going to put together a display of Australian children's books, would you include their works?
Monday, June 15, 2009
Euro-English
I love it when people in Europe translate their own stuff into English.
This was on the skike home page, to answer the question "Where can I skike?" (a subsection under the question "what is to skike?"):
"In Cities not only on asphalt, also on cobblestones. Along stairs and non tightened ground stretch. Out in the open country on forrest ways - if it is allowed. Basically you can learn it allone. Just study the users manual and attached video, what comes along with every skike, carefully and follow the instructions."
"Non tightened ground stretch." You see, you just don't get descriptions like that from native English speakers. Let's not mention the spelling; it will spoil the fun.
I'm thinking of buying the red ones - purely because of the description:
"red - for all who are self confidentand who are able to harmonize eleganze and harmony!"...
This was on the skike home page, to answer the question "Where can I skike?" (a subsection under the question "what is to skike?"):
"In Cities not only on asphalt, also on cobblestones. Along stairs and non tightened ground stretch. Out in the open country on forrest ways - if it is allowed. Basically you can learn it allone. Just study the users manual and attached video, what comes along with every skike, carefully and follow the instructions."
"Non tightened ground stretch." You see, you just don't get descriptions like that from native English speakers. Let's not mention the spelling; it will spoil the fun.
I'm thinking of buying the red ones - purely because of the description:
"red - for all who are self confidentand who are able to harmonize eleganze and harmony!"...
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Problematic People
I had a "problematic" client at the desk this week. He had a problem, you see, and he had come to the desk with a particular solution in mind.
It wasn't the only solution. It wasn't the best solution. It wasn't even a particularly good solution. In fact, it was a terrible solution, due largely to the fact that it was impossible.
However, it was the solution he wanted, and the only one he was willing to accept. He made it perfectly clear that he thought poorly of us for being unable to offer him this solution, and he looked down upon all other proffered solutions with scorn and derision, declaring that they, too, were problems.
The problem, as he saw it, was the fact that we offered a book in electronic format when he would have preferred it to be in print. His solution was for us to magically create a print version for him, so that he could read it more conveniently.
I think he believed this was as simple as pressing "print" on the electronic book and having the entire thing shoot out of a printer for his reading pleasure. My attempts to explain the issues involving copyright and paper consumption fell on deaf ears. He was much more interested in expressing his disbelief that anyone would even want to look at an electronic book. My attempts to explain the benefits for distance education students left him similarly unimpressed.
I think the real problem was the fact that he didn't know how to work the thing - and he didn't want to. The fact that he would have to in order to read the book? Well, that was tantamount to a personal affront.
The really interesting thing about this client (to me) wasn't the fact that he would rather deal with a print book than learn how to use something electronic - you get that sort of thing all the time. It was the fact that he was a fairly young French guy, and I found these things made him more annoying.
His youth made me feel as if he simply wasn't trying hard enough. I felt like saying "Dude, you're what? Thirty-five? Learn a new trick." While, at the same time, his French accent, used with such grumpy tones, just made him sound petulant. By the time I had finished trying to serve him, I felt like slapping him.
I didn't slap him, of course. I tried to keep smiling and sounding like a nice professional librarian. I think it's important for people to know that their librarians might be smiling, but there's a good chance they still want to hit you over the head with a blunt object. It might encourage a firmer grip on reality.
It wasn't the only solution. It wasn't the best solution. It wasn't even a particularly good solution. In fact, it was a terrible solution, due largely to the fact that it was impossible.
However, it was the solution he wanted, and the only one he was willing to accept. He made it perfectly clear that he thought poorly of us for being unable to offer him this solution, and he looked down upon all other proffered solutions with scorn and derision, declaring that they, too, were problems.
The problem, as he saw it, was the fact that we offered a book in electronic format when he would have preferred it to be in print. His solution was for us to magically create a print version for him, so that he could read it more conveniently.
I think he believed this was as simple as pressing "print" on the electronic book and having the entire thing shoot out of a printer for his reading pleasure. My attempts to explain the issues involving copyright and paper consumption fell on deaf ears. He was much more interested in expressing his disbelief that anyone would even want to look at an electronic book. My attempts to explain the benefits for distance education students left him similarly unimpressed.
I think the real problem was the fact that he didn't know how to work the thing - and he didn't want to. The fact that he would have to in order to read the book? Well, that was tantamount to a personal affront.
The really interesting thing about this client (to me) wasn't the fact that he would rather deal with a print book than learn how to use something electronic - you get that sort of thing all the time. It was the fact that he was a fairly young French guy, and I found these things made him more annoying.
His youth made me feel as if he simply wasn't trying hard enough. I felt like saying "Dude, you're what? Thirty-five? Learn a new trick." While, at the same time, his French accent, used with such grumpy tones, just made him sound petulant. By the time I had finished trying to serve him, I felt like slapping him.
I didn't slap him, of course. I tried to keep smiling and sounding like a nice professional librarian. I think it's important for people to know that their librarians might be smiling, but there's a good chance they still want to hit you over the head with a blunt object. It might encourage a firmer grip on reality.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Finish What You Started - Fatal Remedies
Heh, I actually have managed to finish a few things I was partway through since commencing Operation Finish What you Started - I've just been too lazy to write the reviews I said I would.
So, anyway, here's one (brief, rambling and/or OTT though it may be):
Fatal Remedies, by Donna Leon.
I first encountered Donna Leon's Brunetti series when I was on vacation in Tasmania. I had made the unusual decision of not taking any books with me, but buying them from second hand shops and leaving them wherever I happened to finish them. The whole point of the exercise was to pick up something I wouldn't normally carry around with me - something written by an author I hadn't read before, and in a genre I don't usually choose.
The first one I happened to pick up was the second Brunetti book, Death in a Strange Country. It was a police procedural (a genre I don't usually read), by Donna Leon (whom I had never read) and it was one dollar from a thrift store (my kind of price).
I found myself quite taken with the story and the character of Commissario Guido Brunetti. I left the book in a bed-and-breakfast, as I had intended, but I found myself wanting more of the same, so I abandoned my plan to pick a work from a different genre and author, and deliberately set out to find another book from the same series. I ended up finding Aqua Alta in a second hand bookshop. It was $6.50, which was a bit more than I had intended to invest in this project, but it was a good read which got me to the end of my holidays.
When I got home, I decided to borrow another Brunetti book from the public library. I was slightly hampered by the fact that I didn't actually have time to go to the library in person, but I asked my mother to pick up something the next time she went in.
The result was Fatal Remedies. I don't know if it was because I was so swamped at work that when I went home I barely had the brain power to read magazines, or if it was because I was surrounded by so many other things to read and watch (during the holiday I also made the choice to abstain from television the entire time, and entertain myself with books and "the great outdoors"), but I found I was reading the book in fits, and quite often putting it down and forgetting to pick it up again.
As a result, the story didn't grab me quite as much as the other books. I don't know if it wasn't as gripping a story, or if I just didn't give myself the chance to be "gripped". It was interesting - and more of an exploration of Brunetti's character than the previous books - but it didn't seem quite as solid as Death in a Strange Country.
The story involved an act of vandalism on the part of Brunetti's wife, Paola - done as a political/social statement about sex-tourism. This act was potentially embarrassing for the commissario, but it got worse when the target of his wife's vandalism was found dead with a hate-note implying that the murder was also to do with the sex-tourism trade.
Of course, it would be a very boring police-procedural if things were quite so cut-and-dried. There are a few twists and turns along the way - all just barely bordering on the believable (but then, so were the other books). The end of the book wrapped up the case, but left the characters with some unresolved issues.
That's probably one of the more interesting things about Leon's books - the case itself is solved, but there are threads left unresolved. At the back of your mind, you know you will probably never hear about them again. The next book isn't likely to pick up those threads and resolve them for you. It still makes you feel as though there's something more to be read - like those formal gardens that have "rooms", where you can see the hint of something else through a passage way or past a hedge.
I haven't read another book in the series, yet. I probably will, though - just not when I have a hundred other things to do.
So, anyway, here's one (brief, rambling and/or OTT though it may be):
Fatal Remedies, by Donna Leon.
I first encountered Donna Leon's Brunetti series when I was on vacation in Tasmania. I had made the unusual decision of not taking any books with me, but buying them from second hand shops and leaving them wherever I happened to finish them. The whole point of the exercise was to pick up something I wouldn't normally carry around with me - something written by an author I hadn't read before, and in a genre I don't usually choose.
The first one I happened to pick up was the second Brunetti book, Death in a Strange Country. It was a police procedural (a genre I don't usually read), by Donna Leon (whom I had never read) and it was one dollar from a thrift store (my kind of price).
I found myself quite taken with the story and the character of Commissario Guido Brunetti. I left the book in a bed-and-breakfast, as I had intended, but I found myself wanting more of the same, so I abandoned my plan to pick a work from a different genre and author, and deliberately set out to find another book from the same series. I ended up finding Aqua Alta in a second hand bookshop. It was $6.50, which was a bit more than I had intended to invest in this project, but it was a good read which got me to the end of my holidays.
When I got home, I decided to borrow another Brunetti book from the public library. I was slightly hampered by the fact that I didn't actually have time to go to the library in person, but I asked my mother to pick up something the next time she went in.
The result was Fatal Remedies. I don't know if it was because I was so swamped at work that when I went home I barely had the brain power to read magazines, or if it was because I was surrounded by so many other things to read and watch (during the holiday I also made the choice to abstain from television the entire time, and entertain myself with books and "the great outdoors"), but I found I was reading the book in fits, and quite often putting it down and forgetting to pick it up again.
As a result, the story didn't grab me quite as much as the other books. I don't know if it wasn't as gripping a story, or if I just didn't give myself the chance to be "gripped". It was interesting - and more of an exploration of Brunetti's character than the previous books - but it didn't seem quite as solid as Death in a Strange Country.
The story involved an act of vandalism on the part of Brunetti's wife, Paola - done as a political/social statement about sex-tourism. This act was potentially embarrassing for the commissario, but it got worse when the target of his wife's vandalism was found dead with a hate-note implying that the murder was also to do with the sex-tourism trade.
Of course, it would be a very boring police-procedural if things were quite so cut-and-dried. There are a few twists and turns along the way - all just barely bordering on the believable (but then, so were the other books). The end of the book wrapped up the case, but left the characters with some unresolved issues.
That's probably one of the more interesting things about Leon's books - the case itself is solved, but there are threads left unresolved. At the back of your mind, you know you will probably never hear about them again. The next book isn't likely to pick up those threads and resolve them for you. It still makes you feel as though there's something more to be read - like those formal gardens that have "rooms", where you can see the hint of something else through a passage way or past a hedge.
I haven't read another book in the series, yet. I probably will, though - just not when I have a hundred other things to do.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
Public Libraries and "other" languages
I went to my local public library the other day, and on a whim I went over to the "foreign languages" section to see if they had any Russian children's books that might be nice and simple for picking up some vocabulary (in case you weren't aware, I'm currently learning Russian and Estonian).
I was intrigued to note that there weren't very many books in the Russian section at all. In fact, one person could borrow the entire stock of books on the shelf and still have "room" to borrow a couple of books from the rest of the library.
Now, even if the other two branches had the same number of books on their shelves, when you consider the fact that the books were a mix of fiction, non-fiction, adult and children's books...
Well, let's just say the average Russian living in this town has very little reading material. I don't know exactly how many Russians we have (I personally know three, and they don't seem to know each other so either the Russian community here isn't very close-nit or there are enough for them to get their "fellow countrymen" fix without knowing every single Russian in town), but I'll wager there are enough of them to warrant a slightly better selection of books.
Let's put it this way: I borrowed a cook book. Just one. It was the only Russian cook book there, so no one else gets to make Russian pastries until such time as I could be bothered returning it.
And, yes, I know how the system works. The State Library has a collection of books in foreign languages, which it circulates to the local public libraries on request. All you have to do to get more Russian books is ask. However, you kind of have to know what to ask for. You can't just rock up to the library, see a book on the shelf you haven't read before and think: "Oh, yeah, I may as well try it". Is that not one of the great joys of a library?
I was thinking there needs to be a better system (that's my 'thing' these days: "we need a better system"). Perhaps, when someone signs up for a library card, they could have the option of marking their "home language" on their form. For every person who has that home language, the library ensures they have at least five "new" fiction books and five "new" non-fiction books cycle through the library branches each month. That way, theoretically, each registered library user would have a reasonably large selection to choose from.
Say, for example, there were 25 registered Russian readers in town - that would make 250 Russian books on the shelves). Would that make an untenable number of foreign language books? Yes, probably, but if you consider the fact that we have three branches in this town, and all of the books would rotate between those branches for a period of approximately three months before going back to the State Library to be sent to another town, then it seems a bit more reasonable. Also, there's no reason why they can't bring back the same books every couple of years, as long as they aren't all the same books.
And, yes, that may get a bit ludicrous when you put together all of the languages spoken by different people around town... but dammit, what are libraries for, if not to fulfil our unreasonable expectations?
I was intrigued to note that there weren't very many books in the Russian section at all. In fact, one person could borrow the entire stock of books on the shelf and still have "room" to borrow a couple of books from the rest of the library.
Now, even if the other two branches had the same number of books on their shelves, when you consider the fact that the books were a mix of fiction, non-fiction, adult and children's books...
Well, let's just say the average Russian living in this town has very little reading material. I don't know exactly how many Russians we have (I personally know three, and they don't seem to know each other so either the Russian community here isn't very close-nit or there are enough for them to get their "fellow countrymen" fix without knowing every single Russian in town), but I'll wager there are enough of them to warrant a slightly better selection of books.
Let's put it this way: I borrowed a cook book. Just one. It was the only Russian cook book there, so no one else gets to make Russian pastries until such time as I could be bothered returning it.
And, yes, I know how the system works. The State Library has a collection of books in foreign languages, which it circulates to the local public libraries on request. All you have to do to get more Russian books is ask. However, you kind of have to know what to ask for. You can't just rock up to the library, see a book on the shelf you haven't read before and think: "Oh, yeah, I may as well try it". Is that not one of the great joys of a library?
I was thinking there needs to be a better system (that's my 'thing' these days: "we need a better system"). Perhaps, when someone signs up for a library card, they could have the option of marking their "home language" on their form. For every person who has that home language, the library ensures they have at least five "new" fiction books and five "new" non-fiction books cycle through the library branches each month. That way, theoretically, each registered library user would have a reasonably large selection to choose from.
Say, for example, there were 25 registered Russian readers in town - that would make 250 Russian books on the shelves). Would that make an untenable number of foreign language books? Yes, probably, but if you consider the fact that we have three branches in this town, and all of the books would rotate between those branches for a period of approximately three months before going back to the State Library to be sent to another town, then it seems a bit more reasonable. Also, there's no reason why they can't bring back the same books every couple of years, as long as they aren't all the same books.
And, yes, that may get a bit ludicrous when you put together all of the languages spoken by different people around town... but dammit, what are libraries for, if not to fulfil our unreasonable expectations?
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Thursday, January 1, 2009
The Wheels of Chance, by H. G. Wells
This is a book review I wrote for a staff news letter some months back. I thought I'd pull it out and give it a bit of an airing over here.
A couple of months ago I was listening to a documentary on Radio National in which they read several passages from The Wheels of Chance, by H.G. Wells. As a teenager I had read several of Wells' science fiction novels, including The Island of Dr Moreau, which was written in the same year as The Wheels of Chance, but I had never bothered to look at his non-science fiction novels.
I was pleased to find a copy of this book was sitting on our shelves, so I checked it out… then promptly forgot to read it. I noticed it sitting on my desk the other day and decided I had better take it home – and I'm so very glad I did. Right from the opening chapter this book had me absolutely charmed. It's now one of my favourite books, and I'll be keeping an eye out for a copy of my own from now on.
The book was written in 1895 and is a contemporary novel – perhaps set a couple of years before the book was published. The story involves Mr Hoopdriver (his given name was never made clear) – a twenty-three year old draper's assistant who decides to spend his yearly two-week holiday cycling around the south of England. He has only recently bought a second hand bicycle, and he still isn't entirely sure how to ride the thing, but he has bought the clothes and accessories to be a cyclist and he is determined to enjoy himself.
Hoopdriver is something of a comical figure, and he takes more than one fall in the course of this short book, but he is also heroic in his way. On the first day of his journey he encounters another cyclist, the Young Lady in Grey, who flummoxes him by wearing "rationals" (bloomers), sending him crashing to the pavement. Throughout the book he crosses paths with this Young Lady in Grey and her ne'er-do-well companion, eventually coming to her rescue and spending a few days as her "brother" before his adventure comes to an end.
The book could be considered a social commentary, as well as a comedy, as it touches on a lot of aspects of English culture at the time. However, where other social commentaries might use a sharp, incisive humour to make their points, The Wheels of Chance treats its subjects with a loving touch, remaining gentle and charming throughout.
This is a book set in a time when safety bicycles (those with two wheels the same size, as opposed to "ordinary bicycles", which we think of as "penny farthings") were making travel possible for the common man and "untrammelled" woman. The freedom of movement they brought to women and the lower classes coincided with and contributed to the early feminist movement and the waning days of the traditional class system in England.
This book was published a year after Susan B. Anthony's famous statement celebrating the bicycle, calling the image of a young lady on a bicycle "the picture of free, untrammelled womanhood". This statement clearly influence Wells as he was writing this novel, as one of the characters is an authoress who has written a book called A Soul Untrammelled. Wells does seem to be laughing a little at the concept, but his humour is directed more at the young girl who has taken all her ideas of life from novels than the feminist literature itself.
Jesse, the Young Woman in Grey, has an idea of becoming a "Free Woman" and "Living Her Own Life", like the heroines in the popular novels. In the course of the book, she discovers that "freedom" usually costs something after all (money, for instance). Hoopdriver revels in the fact that a young man in a cycling suit could be a duke as well as a draper, and takes the opportunity to pretend to be someone else for a while. He eventually discovers that the man he actually is just might be good enough after all.
It's not a high romance, it's not a grand adventure, it's not a side-splitting comedy and it's not an incisive social commentary. And, yet, it is a romance, an adventure, a comedy and a social commentary. It is, as the subtitle says, an Idyll, and it is a very pleasant read.
A couple of months ago I was listening to a documentary on Radio National in which they read several passages from The Wheels of Chance, by H.G. Wells. As a teenager I had read several of Wells' science fiction novels, including The Island of Dr Moreau, which was written in the same year as The Wheels of Chance, but I had never bothered to look at his non-science fiction novels.
I was pleased to find a copy of this book was sitting on our shelves, so I checked it out… then promptly forgot to read it. I noticed it sitting on my desk the other day and decided I had better take it home – and I'm so very glad I did. Right from the opening chapter this book had me absolutely charmed. It's now one of my favourite books, and I'll be keeping an eye out for a copy of my own from now on.
The book was written in 1895 and is a contemporary novel – perhaps set a couple of years before the book was published. The story involves Mr Hoopdriver (his given name was never made clear) – a twenty-three year old draper's assistant who decides to spend his yearly two-week holiday cycling around the south of England. He has only recently bought a second hand bicycle, and he still isn't entirely sure how to ride the thing, but he has bought the clothes and accessories to be a cyclist and he is determined to enjoy himself.
Hoopdriver is something of a comical figure, and he takes more than one fall in the course of this short book, but he is also heroic in his way. On the first day of his journey he encounters another cyclist, the Young Lady in Grey, who flummoxes him by wearing "rationals" (bloomers), sending him crashing to the pavement. Throughout the book he crosses paths with this Young Lady in Grey and her ne'er-do-well companion, eventually coming to her rescue and spending a few days as her "brother" before his adventure comes to an end.
The book could be considered a social commentary, as well as a comedy, as it touches on a lot of aspects of English culture at the time. However, where other social commentaries might use a sharp, incisive humour to make their points, The Wheels of Chance treats its subjects with a loving touch, remaining gentle and charming throughout.
This is a book set in a time when safety bicycles (those with two wheels the same size, as opposed to "ordinary bicycles", which we think of as "penny farthings") were making travel possible for the common man and "untrammelled" woman. The freedom of movement they brought to women and the lower classes coincided with and contributed to the early feminist movement and the waning days of the traditional class system in England.
This book was published a year after Susan B. Anthony's famous statement celebrating the bicycle, calling the image of a young lady on a bicycle "the picture of free, untrammelled womanhood". This statement clearly influence Wells as he was writing this novel, as one of the characters is an authoress who has written a book called A Soul Untrammelled. Wells does seem to be laughing a little at the concept, but his humour is directed more at the young girl who has taken all her ideas of life from novels than the feminist literature itself.
Jesse, the Young Woman in Grey, has an idea of becoming a "Free Woman" and "Living Her Own Life", like the heroines in the popular novels. In the course of the book, she discovers that "freedom" usually costs something after all (money, for instance). Hoopdriver revels in the fact that a young man in a cycling suit could be a duke as well as a draper, and takes the opportunity to pretend to be someone else for a while. He eventually discovers that the man he actually is just might be good enough after all.
It's not a high romance, it's not a grand adventure, it's not a side-splitting comedy and it's not an incisive social commentary. And, yet, it is a romance, an adventure, a comedy and a social commentary. It is, as the subtitle says, an Idyll, and it is a very pleasant read.
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