Showing posts with label books. Show all posts
Showing posts with label books. Show all posts

Saturday, May 03, 2008

My summer of love (reading)

My sophomore year of high school we read the book, "Lord of the Flies." Each night we were assigned a chapter or so to read for homework and the next day we'd have a quiz on what we read. I kept getting into trouble because I'd show up to class without having read the chapter and would just wing the multiple choice test, but if asked any questions about what happened I would fail miserably. I finally got tired of it and went home and read the entire book in one sitting. That impressed my English teacher.

Then we had an assignment to bring in a poem of our choice to read out loud to the class and discuss it. I chose the poem, "We Real Cool" by Gwendolyn Brooks.

We real cool.
We left school.
We lurk late.
We strike straight.
We sing sin.
We thin gin.
We jazz June.
We die soon.

My English teacher commented that he always wondered what it meant to "jazz June" and why the month of June was significant. My 15 year old virgin self stated bluntly - "June is a girl. We jazz June. Get it?" I think that even further impressed my teacher.

By the end of the year he had recommended me for the honors English program. Just a handful of sophomores were chosen and we were required to take an excellerated summer literature class which required us to read a bunch of classics. That summer I had little time to do anything else but read:
  • The Grapes of Wrath
  • Farewell to Arms
  • The Catcher in the Rye
  • Cry the Beloved Country
  • Julius Cesar
During the heatwave I'd be in my pool with a book propped up on the edge - reading every minute of the day that I wasn't in class or working. And I absolutely loved it. It was one of the best summers I have ever experienced.

So today when I read the list of the 50 best cult books, I couldn't help but smile. One of the books I read from that summer - a banned book at the time - appears on the list - "Catcher in the Rye." As a teenager I could not relate to the book at all. (Only in my 20's could I begin to relate.) I couldn't understand why adults wouldn't want us reading it and thinking that somehow we'd become psycho killers as a result - and I still don't understand the banning of books. It's too Fahrenheit 451 (which I thought for sure was on the list but it is NOT).

Hunter S. Thompson also makes the list with his book, "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas." As does "On The Road" by Jack Kerouac, and "The Bell Jar" by Sylvia Plath.

Just like when the New York Times list of best books comes out, this list makes me want to run out and read every single book on the list.

Wednesday, January 09, 2008

Okay, Okay, Okay

Photo by: sheeshoo

"Okay, Okay, Okay" is what the painters told me after I pointed out what I expected and they were in no way "finished" as they declared at 3 PM. If my unprofessional eye can see dripping paint, uneven lines, and areas that need patching, then what does that say for the painting professionals I hired to paint my house? When I was met with "Oh we can't do that" I whipped out my contract which detailed the work that was promised.

It's a fine art - negotiating. It's a hassle and can be exhausting, but it has to be done and I'm realizing I'm quite good at it. You could say I've been honing my negotiating skills recently by dealing with the roofer, plumber, contractor, gardener, and painters. Can you tell I'm a homeowner?

Being a woman people just assume that I'm not the head of the household and don't hold the purse strings (but the saying is purse, not wallet right?)- "Why don't you talk it over with your husband" which I use to my advantage. "Oh that's way too much. My husband would never agree to pay that much." Little do they know that ultimately it's my decision on who I go with and what I feel is fair. I hope no future contractors are reading this blog because that would give away part of my strategy. But isn't it always like that when people underestimate you and you turn a presumed or perceived weakness into a strength?

(For working women out there I highly recommend the book Play Like a Man, Win Like a Woman: What Men Know About Success that Women Need to Learn by Gail Evans.)

Even though it is a chore, I have to admit that it can be fun - a challenge. For example, when someone says it's the lowest they can go, I throw out a number I think is fair and when they accept my offer that was much lower than their "lowest" offer - it feels good. I'm not unreasonable, so if someone tells me it's their final offer, it feels great to negotiate additional services for the same price.

All this said, I've been interviewing for a position that is a great opportunity for me and fits with my experience and life. They're planning on making me an offer next week and then the fun starts - the negotiating begins! Everything I've gone through so far just serves as practice for what's to come. Wouldn't it be great if my prospective future employer were to just say to me, "Okay, Okay, Okay"?

Monday, December 17, 2007

The Diving Bell and the Butterfly

When was the last time you saw a movie that changed the way you look at life?
Not since "The Joy Luck Club" and "English Patient" have I been so moved by a film. The story itself is remarkable and full of heartbreak and hope. The film is mesmerizing with beautiful images woven throughout it. The image of the hair blowing in the wind with a U2 song blaring, had me sobbing. It's just one example of a small detail so full of sensory and symbolic imagery set off by an awesome, perfectly chosen soundtrack that touched me so deeply, without explanation.

Initial hesitation to see the movie

When I heard about this movie my first thought was, "Depressing." It sounded similar to "My Left Foot" which I loved, but I wasn't sure I was in the mood for a depressing movie. Then I heard an interview with the director, Julian Schnabel (also a painter) on the radio, about the movie. (Thank God for artists. They make the world more interesting.) That's when I decided I had to see the movie.

Although it's a sad story, it's also life affirming.

I'm currently reading the book that the film is based on.

The True Life StoryIn December 1995, Jean-Dominique Bauby, the 43 year old editor of French Elle magazine, suffered a massive stroke that left him completely and permanently paralyzed.

(A photo of the real life Jean-Dominique Bauby.)

A victim of "locked in syndrome" his brain is still intact and he can think, hope, imagine, and dream, but his brain stem no longer communicates with his spinal chord which leaves him paralyzed from head to toe, imprisoned in his own body, unable to move or speak. He describes the feeling as a giant invisible diving bell holding his whole body prisoner. His only means of communication is done by blinking his left eye. His imagination allows him to transcend his ordeal and take flight like a butterfly. Jean-Dominique Bauby went on to write his memoir entitled, "The Diving Bell and the Butterfly" in which he painstakingly dictated it letter by letter as the alphabet was recited to him, signaling the correct letter with the blink of his left eye. The book took about 200,000 blinks to write and each word took approximately two minutes.He died just days after the French publication of his book.

Rave Reviews
"The sentences soar, unburdened by self-pity or despair, and the progression of short, lyrical chapters begin to resemble the beat of wings." - The New Yorker

"The most remarkable memoir of our time - perhaps of any time." - Cynthia Ozick

"Mesmerizing." - Newsweek

"Read this book and fall back in love with life..." - Edmund White
Trivia
  • Johnny Depp was originally cast to play the lead role of Jean-Dominique Bauby in the film, but then was wrapped up in The Pirates of the Carribbean movie and was unavailable.
  • The actress Emmanuelle Seigner, who plays the common law wife and mother of Jean-Dominique Bauby's children, also sings on the soundtrack. She's the lead singer of the band Ultra Orange & Emmanuelle (since 2006). She's also married to famous director Roman Polanski (since 1989), and they have two children together.

Soundtrack
I read that a soundtrack album just came out December 11th via Hollywood record that won't actually have a physical release (you can only get it digitally in stores). Here's a list of the songs used in the movie.

  1. "Theme for 'The Diving Bell & the Butterfly'" by Paul Cantelon

  2. "La Mer" - Performed by Charles Trenet (opening credits)

  3. "Je Chante Sous La Pluie" (French adaptation of "Singin' in the Rain")

  4. "Chains of Love" - Performed by the Dirtbombs

  5. "Concerto for Piano in F Minor, BMV 1056 - Largo" (J.S. Bach)

  6. "Napoli Milionaria" (Nina Rota)

  7. "All the World is Green" - Performed by Tom Waits

  8. "Pauvre Petite Fille Riche" (Vline Buggy/Hubert Giraud)

  9. "Lolita Love Theme" (Robert J. Harris)

  10. "Ultra Violet (Light My Way)" - Performed by U2 (Lourdes flashback/Day scenes)

  11. "Don't Kiss Me Goodbye" - Performed by Ultra Orange with Emmanuelle (Lourdesflashback/Night scenes)

  12. "Pale Blue Eyes" - Performed by the Velvet Underground

  13. "Happy Birthday to You" (Patty & Mildred Hill)

  14. "Quatre Cents Coup" - title track from the Francois Truffaut film

  15. "Ramshackle Day Parade" - Performed by Joe Strummer & the Mescaleros (End credits song #1)

  16. "Green Grass" - Performed by Tom Waits (End credits song #2)

Saturday, October 20, 2007

Quote of the day

“Any network that can be used to share cat pictures can be used to bring down a government.” - Henry Jenkins (founder and director of MIT's comparative media studies program)

More insight from Henry Jenkins on our cultural revolution in his book Convergence Culture.

Saturday, April 07, 2007

After Sylvia

In 1963 when the famous American poet Sylvia Plath committed suicide, her husband Ted Hughes, (British Poet Laureate from 1984 until his death in 1998) was with another woman, Assia Wevill who was pregnant with Hughes' child. Their love triangle was no secret, however the details about what happened to his mistress, Assia Wevill, who six years later in 1969 gassed herself and her four year old daughter Shura (allegedly Hughes was the girl's father) in her kitchen in the same fashion as Plath, were almost erased from history.

For some mysterious reason, the press refrained from reporting the tragedy. Only one local paper, the South London Press, violated what amounted to a hush-up. Even there, the story was at the bottom of page 13, and omitted any hint of an intimate connection between the poet and the deceased.

A new biography called: A Lover of Unreason: The Biography of Assia Wevill was published in Dec. 2006, and for the first time ever it tells the story of the woman that the poet, Ted Hughes tried to hide, with details about their eight-year relationship, which contributed to the ending of his marriage to Sylvia Plath. The book's title is from Assia Wevill's self-composed epitaph: "Here lies a lover of unreason, and an exile." Yehuda Koren and Eilat Negev, the two authors that wrote this book claim that it took them 20 years to write it by painstakingly doing all the research needed by interviewing those closest to Plath, Hughes and Wevill, including a rare interview that was granted by Hughes himself.

I can't wait to get the book in my hands and tear through it. I've always loved Sylvia Plath's poems and I found her suicide to be a tragedy in the nth degree. I thought the story ended there, but now I find out there's more - an entire chapter that goes on and eerily repeats itself in the end with an almost carbon copy suicide by "the other woman" and murder of her four year old daughter.

Here are some tidbits I've read so far from reviewers and those who've read the book:



  • Assia Wevill was born in Berlin, the daughter of a Russian-Jewish father and a German Lutheran mother, and grew up in Tel Aviv, Israel.

  • Five week after meeting, Hughes hurried to a London advertising agency where Wevill was working, scribbled a note and left it with the receptionist. It said: 'I have come to see you, despite all marriages.' Wevill couldn't resist the thrill of responding, but she wanted to do it in striking, memorable fashion. From her office window, she noticed that a gardener was mowing the lawn below and found her inspiration. She went down, picked up a single blade of the freshly cut grass, dipped it in Dior perfume and sent it to Hughes.

  • Wevill's husband took an overdose of sleeping pills after he found out about the affair, but survived.

  • Assia Wevill was sleeping in Sylvia Plath's bed recovering from an abortion, just 2 days after Plath's suicide. Apparently Wevill had an abortion partly it seems to avoid scandal.

  • At the time of Sylvia Plath's death, Ted Hughes was granted custody of their two children, (although Plath's mother petitioned for custody). Their daughter Frieda was three, and their son Nicholas was barely one year old. (Frieda followed in her parents footsteps and is an acclaimed writer. Nicholas remains out of the public eye and is a Marine Biologist in Alaska.)

  • In a diary entry, Welvill blamed the ghost of Plath for making her suicidal.

  • Ted Hughes tried to keep the suicide of Assia Wevill from his mother because he thought the news might affect her recovery (from a knee operation). However, his mother eventually did find out. She suffered a thrombosis, lapsed into a coma and died three days later. Hughes was certain that Wevill's suicide was the final blow.

  • Throughout his life, Hughes warded off biographers and journalists and asked his friends to refrain from mentioning him in interviews or in their memoirs. When his archive at Emory University in Atlanta, Georgia, was made available to the public in 2000, it was devoid of Wevill's presence in his life: none of the numerous letters they exchanged, the notes, drawings or photos, were there.

  • In the rare instances where Ted Hughes agreed to provide biographical details, Welvill and Shura were never mentioned. He claimed that after Plath's suicide and until his marriage to Carol Orchard in 1970, he raised his children assisted only by members of his family or a local woman who helped with the daily chores - that for all those years, he was looking for a permanent feminine figure but "the right woman failed to materialise". In fact, Wevill lived with him in what she called Plath's "ghost house", 23 Fitzroy Road, London, and then in Ireland and Devon, and mothered his two children.

  • In a letter to his close friend Lucas Myers, Ted Hughes reflected on his part in the deaths of his wife and lover, confessing that with Plath it was his "insane decisions", while in Wevill's case it was his "insane indecisions".

  • When Hughes granted the authors a rare interview in London in October 1996, they wrote, "Hughes said Plath's death 'was complicated and inevitable, she had been on that track most of her life. But Wevill's was avoidable.' Perhaps this was why he tried to erase her from his life. "

  • It dawned on Wevill that being at Hughes' side at the time of Plath's suicide had contaminated her forever, and that he would never marry her. "I have lived on the dream of living with Ted - and this has gone kaput," she wrote in her suicide note to her father. "There could never be another man. Never."

  • In Wevill's suicide note to her father she also wrote that her daughter Shura had become the core of her existence, and she was quite certain that if left motherless, the four-year-old, pampered child would be a second-class citizen in the Hughes household. Also that she was afraid that Shura was too old to be adopted, and did not wish her to grow up alone as a foster child, an orphan. Her murderous act was thus the outcome of a distorted over-responsibility: "Execute yourself and your little self efficiently," Wevill had written in her diary three days before.

  • Hughes' infidelity was notorious, and even while in a relationship with Weville, Hughes was also having affairs with at least 2 other women; one of whom he later married - Carol Orchard, a nurse. They remained together (despite his continued affairs over the years), until his death.

  • On March 23, 1969, Assia Wevill took her own life and that of her daughter in a manner that closely reenacted Plath's suicide. Dragging a mattress into the kitchen, Assia sealed the door and window. She then lay her sleeping child down on the mattress (some say quilts and blankets) and dissolved some sleeping pills for herself in a glass of water. Taking the pills, she turned on the gas stove, and lay down next to her daughter.

  • In a letter Hughes wrote, "Assia was my true wife and the best friend I ever had."

  • Hughes died of a heart attack on October 28, 1998, while undergoing treatment for colon cancer.

  • Weville's friends say at least the new biography means Welvill at last has a voice after years of being a footnote in literary history.

Saturday, February 10, 2007

Recommended reading - "Holding On" aka "Love Me Do"

This morning I was sitting in a nail salon flipping through "O" magazine when I came across an article written by Ann Hood about marriage, love, loss, and holding on.

She writes about her old habit of giving up easily and moving on - including her first marriage, friends, homes, and jobs. "I leave movies that are boring and parties that aren't fun. Once in college, I left a waitressing job after an hour because they recycled the rolls from the breadbaskets. I leave the places I've called home with an ease and efficiency that is hard for some people to understand."

But that all changed in her second marriage. "I had promised my husband and all those people at my wedding that I wouldn't leave, but whenever we had a disagreement or a full out fight, I imagined packing my bags and getting on Amtrak to Penn Station. Sometimes, I said it aloud: 'I'm leaving! I'm going back to New York!' But after a while my husband, who is calmer and even more sensitive than I, pointed out that I had to stop threatening to do that. When you're married, he reminded me, leaving means divorce and emotional damage. He had no intention of leaving me, he said."

"Both of us had parents who had stayed married to each other forever, and happily. Somehow they had worked out their differences. Was I really going to uproot my family and our lives because my husband liked to spend Saturdays cleaning instead of loafing? Or a dozen other reasons...both small and large? The truth was, despite all this, I had no intention of leaving him either."

She writes about having their first son Sam, and then their second baby a few years later, a daughter they named Grace. "Arriving back at our little red colonial house after a week away, seeing Sam and Grace and Lorne waiting for me on the stoop with flowers in their hands, shouting 'Welcome home!' sweeping them into my arms, made me understand why people stick things out."

She gives us a peek into her family life and raising two small children:
"This is where I was three years ago: busy taking Sam and Grace to school, to ballet, to the rehearsal for Oliver, to play dates. They layered potatoes for potatoes au grain and apples for apple crisp. They set the table together, deciding which color Fiestaware plate each of us should get: Sam always took purple and Grace always took pink and Lorne and I got whatever they decided for us. After dinner we put on a bad dance tape and together we did the chicken dance and the macarena and the twist. At night, I read them Greek myths or Roald Dahl books. They fell asleep holding hands, and Lorne and I would stare down at our happy sleeping children."

And then an unexpected tragedy:
"Then, on a hot April day, Grace spiked a fever and died thirty-six hours later from a virulent form of strep. She was five years old."

She writes: "Some statistics say that fifty percent of couples who lose a child get divorced. Some statistics are even higher. It is easy to understand why. When your life is ripped apart, all the rules no longer apply. There is no order anymore: in your family, in your life, in the world. A week earlier, my mornings were all the same. I made my kids their lunches - ham on white bread, a yogurt, three cookies, and an apple for Sam; sliced cucumbers, cheese and crackers, blueberries for Grace - searched for clean underwear and matching socks, struggled to untangle Grace's hair and find Sam's homework, then drove them to school. Now, I didn't know what to do when I woke up. The life I had struggled so hard to create didn't exist anymore."

The aftermath:
"Eventually, Lorne went back to work. He put on his suit and went to his office. By my office was a tiny room off our dining room. It didn't provide any escape for me. Suddenly, the woman who ran away when things got tough had nowhere to escape to.

Our house filled with my friends. They held my hand and did our laundry and picked Sam up from school. They climbed into bed with me if they had to. In the evening, when Lorne returning from work, he came home to a house full of people. These are the kinds of things that tear grief-stricken couples apart. I craved for noise and conversation; he needed solitude. Lorne took comfort in sitting at Grace's grave and talking to her; I hated going there, hated the idea that my little girl was there, and avoided it. Church became a refuge for Lorne; but I hated God. The different ways two people grieve are enough to make them seem like strangers to each other. But losing Grace did the opposite for me. I saw the man I married as more precious."

The article caught my eye because of the photo of the family with small children, and the little girl in the photo (Grace) was blond and 1 year old at the time so she reminded me of Astrid. I could relate to the subject matter and what she wrote about maturing in a relationship. But then was thrown for a loop when she wrote about her daughter's death. That was completely unexpected. I had tears rolling down my cheeks. I had to stop and ask my manicurist for a tissue. When she looked up and saw that I was crying, I held up the magazine and said, "Oprah. There's a really sad article in here." After explaining what it was about my manicurist replied, "It's because you're a mother now. You feel things more deeply. When you hear about children or another mother's pain, you feel it too. I do the same thing. It makes me cry too."

More of the article:
"On a New Year's Eve six years earlier, we conceived Grace together. Except for the midwife, we were the only two people there when she was born. He's the one who put on the Simon and Garfunkel CDs and sat with me in the whirlpool until we climbed onto the king-size bed, with me pushing and Lorne coaching, brought Grace into the world. My husband is the person who, when Grace's head emerged, said, 'Here she is! She's the most beautiful baby in the world.' He cut her umbilical cord and walked with the midwife across the room and weighed our baby daughter. Together, we held her and said her beautiful name over and over, whispering it to her, announcing her to the world.

Lorne and I were by her side five short years later, in a cold room in an intensive care unit at the children's hospital, whispering her name again, this time desperately trying ti keep her from leaving us. I watched my husband climb onto the hospital bed, amid tubes and machines and monitors, press his lips to our dying daughter, and sing the Beatles' 'Love My Do'. We stood together, banished from her room, pounding on a Plexiglas window, as they tried one more futile time to save her life. We pounded on that window and together yelled her name: 'Grace! Grace!'.
We have been crying in each other's arms ever since. At first, after friends went home to their own families, we fell into bed together, exhausted and so filled with grief that we could only cry; words were too difficult, too meager. But slowly, our crying framed our stories. 'Rerember!' we would ask each other, using Grace's mispronunciation of 'remember'. Rerember that night she was born? The way she used to crawl, dragging one leg behind her? Rerember when she stuck the goldfish cracker up her nose? When she wouldn't leave the stage after she danced in a ballet of The Polar Express but instead stayed there, bowing and bowing, along in her white tulle?

These memories are ours, Lorne's and mine. We are the only people in the world who hold Grace's history. I used to think that leaving was the thing to do when times were hard. But having now lived through the hardest time, having made it because Lorne was by my side, holding me, and I was there holding him, I understand the virtue, the necessity of staying.

I am writing this on the eve of my eleventh wedding anniversary. Tomorrow night, Lorne will give me a gift. It will be our wedding picture cast in some new material. (Every year her husband makes her anniversary present out of their wedding picture, translated into paper or glass, or whatever material tradition deems that year's gift is.) I am holding a bouquet of white tulips; we are both grinning out at the world, our faces hopeful and happy; we are facing the future arm in arm."