This English edition was actually a translation from the Swedish translation of Gerpla. I'm reading it alongside the Icelandic original because the laThis English edition was actually a translation from the Swedish translation of Gerpla. I'm reading it alongside the Icelandic original because the language in Gerpla—Halldór's self-created medieval Icelandic—is so complex and stylized that it would be pretty difficult for me to read it on its own within the given time frame. (Halldór said that he could have taught himself Chinese six times in the time it took him to develop the language spoken by the characters in this book.)
This version conveys the plot, obviously, as well as a lot of the latent humor and subtext of the story and situations. But the linguistic qualities of Halldór's writing definitely do not come across. So I am very much looking forward to Philip Roughton's new English translation of the book, which will be released by Archipelago Books in September 2016. ...more
Background reading for Gerpla by Halldór Laxness. Not honestly a fantastic piece, but it'll be interesting to have this story in mind while reading GeBackground reading for Gerpla by Halldór Laxness. Not honestly a fantastic piece, but it'll be interesting to have this story in mind while reading Gerpla, which involves the same characters and some of the same plot points, but also makes a great deal of changes.
Having indulged in a Heyer on my outbound trip from Iceland to Maine, I decided to keep things symmetrical and read another on the way home. But whileHaving indulged in a Heyer on my outbound trip from Iceland to Maine, I decided to keep things symmetrical and read another on the way home. But while The Convenient Marriage has some of Heyer's typical delights, this one really didn't do it for me. Maybe it's just a matter of over-exposure at this point, but it didn't feel as fresh as some of her other works, and a good deal of the novel (maybe even the last third) is imminently skim-able. A lesser version of These Old Shades (not itself my favorite, but still better), with some rather tired Shakespearean-style comic relief. ...more
Years ago, in preparation for a class project in a YA Lit class in library school, my professor asked me who my hero was. (The having of a hero appareYears ago, in preparation for a class project in a YA Lit class in library school, my professor asked me who my hero was. (The having of a hero apparently being a given.) I told her that I didn't really have heroes and she was aghast. "No heroes?" she asked sadly, before brightening just as quickly and asking, "What about Elenore Roosevelt?"
After reading My Life in France, however, I am happy to report that I am as close to having a hero as I've ever been. Julia Child: left-leaning, wayward daughter to her conservative parents, left home to pursue work with the Office of Strategic Services (the precursor to the CIA), lived in multiple countries in South Asia. Met the love of her life, with whom she shared a love of travel and good food, never had kids. Stumbled upon her life's work in her late thirties, learned a foreign language fluently (and several others semi-conversantly) in her late thirties, made a splendid success of herself in her forties. Had a wacky high-pitched voice to match her wacky, high-pitched personality. Could make fun of her height (over six feet) and her 'gargoyle feet' without seeming to feel secretly bad about those qualities. Clearly enjoyed her wine. Not embarrassed to be goofy. All about making a refined or otherwise inaccessible medium/field (French cuisine) accessible and interesting to a general audience without talking down to them. Self-motivated, ambitious, curious, unapologetic, and a big fan of making mistakes in public (that is to say, on air) and then learning to live with them.
Yes, I'd say that Julia Child is at the very least going to be my emotional-professional-spiritual guide going forward, if not simply being referred to as my absolute most favorite person I've never met ev-er.
Following a rather grueling month of translating projects at school and facing a very long journey from Iceland to Maine, I decided it was obviously tFollowing a rather grueling month of translating projects at school and facing a very long journey from Iceland to Maine, I decided it was obviously time for a 'fun read' and was persuaded, by thisvery enjoyable and informative post about Georgette Heyer's inadvertent creation of the Regency Romance genre, to pick up The Corinthian.
As with many of Heyer's books, this one presents a number of variations on themes and characters that she would pick up again and again throughout her career (although it was, to be fair, the originator of many of these themes). Here, our May-December romance is comprised of a large, "sleepy" hero who favors dandy-ish fashion and yet is no one to be trifled with; Richard, we're told, is apparently a renowned "whip" (he's good with horses), a fearsome boxer, and is very handy with his pistols—although we never see the latter two talents in action. We also have his young(er), plucky heroine who has a knack for getting into trouble, who rallies the hero out of his boredom and staid habits, and who favors boys' clothing. There are also stolen jewels, murder, masked bandits, and Bow Street Runners in the mix. It's all a lot of fun, although not nearly as sharp with the dialog or as delightfully convoluted as The Masqueraders, for instance. But it was a great way to while away a long journey, and it's interesting, I think, to see how Heyer got started in a genre she'd go on to perfect. ...more
There's a Muriel Sparkesque quality to The Heart of the Country which I've felt simmering beneath the surface of a couple of Weldon's other novels, alThere's a Muriel Sparkesque quality to The Heart of the Country which I've felt simmering beneath the surface of a couple of Weldon's other novels, although it isn't always fully articulated. Here, however, you have much of the same interrupted tension, the same subtext of 'let me just tell you what happens now, so that we can dig into how it happens instead.' It's a habit in Spark's novels that I just love and I think Weldon also uses it to great effect. What's interesting, however, is that while Spark usually still has a huge jolt in store for the reader (often in the form of an untimely, unexpected, and somehow unfair or just totally random death) at the moment of her 'spoilered' climax, Weldon seems to allow the tension to build up and then just sort of peter out without ever really boiling over. This isn't true in all of her novels (see Puffball, a study in climactic 'oh-my-god'ness), but I think it's definitely present here, and I do recall a similar fading out in The Spa.
If this sounds like a criticism, it isn't. Weldon's conclusions, or anti-conclusions, as the case may be, challenge our readerly desire for closure, I think—our tendency to want to see things wrapped up and tidy and settled. But sometimes, the story just ends. It isn't a pat, done-deal, and it isn't necessarily 'satisfying' in the way that maybe we want our narratives to satisfy. It's all about being in the moment with Weldon.
There was another aspect to this novel that really stuck out to me. Namely, in certain of her novels, it is difficult to separate Weldon the author from her narrators, even if her narrators seem to be rather different from her in their circumstances (convicted arsonists in psychiatric wards, for instance). And I tend to think that it becomes the hardest to differentiate between authorial commentary and narrator POV when the subject at hand is women—specifically women who are not doing better for themselves. Women who have been conned in love, taken advantage of, or haven't learned to fight their inevitably unfair circumstances tooth and nail. Weldon (and/or her characters, I suppose) just has no sympathy for these women and she allows terrible, unjust, cosmic sorts of things to happen to them as a seeming punishment for their foolishness. It can be caustic and darkly funny, and it can be rather scathing and brutal.
I'm not taking her to task for her feminism or lack thereof because firstly, plenty of others have gone down that path before me. But leaving that aside, I don't actually think she's obligated to be subtle (good thing, because she definitely isn't), and moreover, I believe that her grandiose judginess can be read with a dose of irony and satire and is also being manipulated in the service of very salient points. She wields a hell of a wrecking ball, Ms. Weldon, and god help you if you're caught within its reach. ...more