"Hotel Pastis"

Hotel Pastis by Peter Mayle

Simon Shaw is a highly successful (i.e.very wealthy) ad executive in London, whose current marriage has dissolved in a cloud of resentment and recriminations. He is tired of his ex's constant grasping for more money and the shallowness of colleagues at his advertising agency; in fact he's tired of the whole spinning money-making machine (though not so much the money) and is ready for a change when he meets a savvy, French woman with an interesting idea.

Simon begins the process of disentangling himself from life in the city and together with Nicole (the French woman, who is conveniently gorgeous and available as well as savvy) and his faithful sidekick, Ernest, opens a hotel in the south of France. While this is all happening a group of locals are making plans for a heist that will thicken the plot and complicate things for Simon et al. 

The most interesting character is Ernest. He started out as Simon's chauffeur and over the past ten years has become his personal assistant, valet and friend. He takes care of Simon's expensive cars, he cooks and he does pretty much whatever else needs attending to, all with common sense and a healthy dose of wry wit. There's a vulnerability written into his character that makes him both likeable and memorable.

The others, Simon and Nicole especially, are not-very-interesting stereotypes who never stand up from the page as real people. I had little to no understanding of Nicole's personality even as I turned the last page of the book, and though I had all kinds of information about Simon's life, he too remained remote as a person. 

The various settings are great, all fancy homes, offices and restaurants in London and New York, both wonderful places to be if you can afford their bright, beautiful sides. Then of course once the story moves to France every scene is inevitably perfect. The sheer "Provence-ness" of it should be enticement enough to read the book.

The plot is (predictably) a little predictable but it makes for a pleasant light reading experience, a fun bit of escapism and sometimes that's exactly what we're looking for. I didn't love it, but it did entertain me and that was all I wanted right now.

"Ex Libris - Confessions of a Common Reader"

Ex Libris - Confessions of a Common Reader by Anne Fadiman

The front flap of this book describes Anne Fadiman as "the sort of person who leared about sex from her father's copy of 'Fanny Hill'" and "who once found herself pouring over a 1974 Toyota Corolla manual because it was the only written material in her apartment that she had not read at least twice". I was tickled to find someone whose reading obsession looked similar to mine.

I too got some basic education from a copy of Fanny Hill, not my father's but one a friend and I found in her mother's apartment when I was thirteen. A memorable education but not one I'd recommend. And like Fadiman I've found myself reading the most absurd things when nothing else was available. In Doctor's offices I've read business magazines, children's books and pamphlets on illnesses I don't have. I've read manuals for electronics, appliances and cars, odd volumes of encyclopedias and just last week I read through a credit card application brochure because it was the only piece of paper in a cheerless little hospital waiting room. Desperate isn't it?

Fortunately no desperation is required for "Ex Libris". It's a joy to read, a veritable treasure trove of bookishness. Written as a series of essays over a number of years it chronicles the authour's experience with books in conjunction with life events. It's intriguing and yet so natural you wonder how you could ever have looked at the books you've read in any other way.

The stories here include: how she and her husband merged their libraries, what books she relegates to her "odd shelf", her opinion on writing in margins and dog-earring pages, her passion for inscriptions, something she calls "you-are-there" reading, books about food, and a chapter on her literary heritage. Each one is interesting on it's own but together they are something special. The lucky reader is steeped in books. It's very satisfying.

The writing too is something special. The publisher says she writes "with remarkable grace" and I can't think of any better way to say it. Her writing is light and fun but also grounded in solid intellect and education. I do suggest keeping a dictionary handy; I found 34 words to look up. At first I thought she was throwing words around a bit pretentiously, but I've changed my mind. She doesn't seem pretentious at all. I think she's simply using the words she knows. I hope I'm not misreading her.

The bonus with this book is a long list of titles to add to your tbr (unless of course you have read them all, and if you have why aren't you spending your time on something smarter than my poor little blog?). There's a whole section on 'books about books', the Dom Pérignon of genres for those with serious book thirst.

I was quite taken with a line she quoted from Thomas Mcauley (of whom I had never heard): "What a blessing it is to love books as I love them.". He has hit the nail on the head (do people still say that?). I am grateful for the books I have and those I can borrow from libraries and friends, but I have never thought to offer thanks for the way I feel about books and reading. How different would my life have been if I hadn't had Dickens, Austen, Lewis or Cather to lose myself in when I didn't want to be found? How much trouble did I stay out of because in my youth I spent every spare minute with, as my mother used to say, "my head stuck in a book"?  I might have lost myself in other things and had a very different life. My need to read has enriched my life in countless ways and I am indeed grateful.

If you love books, you'll find Ex Libris irresistible. Get a hard cover copy if you can - you'll probably be using it a lot.

Time Was Soft There (A Paris Sojourn At Shakespeare & Co.)

Time Was Soft There - a memoir by Jeremy Mercer

Mr. Mercer was a journalist for the Ottawa Citizen when he got into a sticky situation over a broken promise concerning a name he was not to publish. The injured party was threatening repercussions so Mercer decided it was a good time to get out of the country for awhile. He wound up in Paris, and eventually on the doorstep of "Shakespeare & Co.", an English bookstore on the Left Bank, just across from Notre Dame.

The elderly proprietor of the bookstore, unkempt, unconventional George Whitman, ran his shop as part store, part hostel for down and out writers/artists who needed a place to sleep till they got on their feet. George's motto was "Be not inhospitable to strangers lest they be angels in disguise". Living conditions were well below basic, so no one stayed there who had anyplace else at all to go. Cockroaches, grime and practically non-existent plumbing would not be appealing to anyone who could afford better.

George was a mentor, in a rough sort of way, to his guests, a complicated curmudgeon who would ride roughshod over a thin skin. But for anyone who would pay attention, he was full of stories about writers whose names you will know, books, life, people. There wasn't much on which he didn't have an opinion. And sometimes he had some pretty good advice.

Mercer says "Watching him live was a daily lesson in parsimony", which could have it's good and bad aspects. Saving money on haircuts by using matches to burn your hair to the desired length seems a little extreme, but if you spit out the bones in his philosophy there's some pretty good meat to chew on:

"'People all tell me they work too much, that they need to make more money.', George told me. 'What's the point? Why not live on as little as possible and then spend your time with your family, or reading Tolstoy or running a bookstore? It doesn't make any sense.'"

There's a lot going on in this book and it's a hard one to put down. Still there is a peacefulness about it that comes from Mercer's writing - I do love a book written by a good journalist. They know how to say big things with few words - and from the laid back lifestyle he adopted at the shop.

There are friendships, romances, personality clashes, hope, despair, George's reconnection with his estranged daughter, and his tempting views on communism - true communism, not the Russian or Chinese varieties. In George's words: "Communism just means thinking about the community first." Idealistic, but we could all do with a noble ideal or two.

Running through the entire story are the books. Books being read and books being written. Old books and new books. Books being discovered for the first time and long-time favourites being reread. Books, glorious books! Wouldn't you just love to drown in them?

In the event I've been unclear, I love this book. Do read it and let me know what you think. I think it's a treasure.

PS - When I looked up George Whitman online, I was saddened to hear that he passed away just before Christmas this past year, in his nineties. I'm sure he will be greatly missed by the many grateful people who found shelter and breathing room under his roof. George's daughter, Sylvia, now carries on the great tradition of Shakespeare & Co.

"England For All Seasons"

England For All Seasons by Susan Allen Toth

This is Toth's third book about England. I've read only this one but it's plain to see that she is completely in love with the place. She and her husband, James, have spent a lot of vacation time there staying in different areas and immersing themselves in their surroundings, exploring and walking until they really know the area they're in.

They stay in apartments or cottages that put them in the center of their chosen destination, searching out local concerts, bookstores, fairs, theaters and restaurants. They visit whatever churches, museums, country houses and ruins may be in the area and they walk the woods, cliffs and beaches until they feel they know the place. The next time they may choose another section of England or maybe Wales or Scotland.

As travel books go, I liked this but it was missing a key part of what makes a travel book so enjoyable for me: there was very little written about their encounters with local people. It's those stories that make a travel story come alive. I like to read what real people's lives are like in a other places, how they spend their days, what they work at and do for fun, what they cook for breakfast. Toth gives us great descriptions of the various places they stay, but I wanted to rub shoulders with the people too.  

She talks a lot about the gardens they visited, it seems to be one of their favourite things, and a lot too about the castles and ruins. Some of the museums they toured sound amazing and times they spent on the coast, any coast, made me want to be there with them. All of that was wonderful.

There were one or two sections I found boring where I had to push through a section of details about some museum exhibit till I got to another section that would hold my attention. It wasn't a problem with the writing; it's really quite well written and enjoyable to read. I just wasn't interested in some of the things she was. I came out feeling like I knew England better though and over all it was a very good read.

"Tunnels"

Tunnels by Roderick Gordon and Brian Williams

Will Burrows, 14 years old, is a lot like his father. He loves digging for archeological finds and spends all his free time working with his dad in a series of tunnels beneath the city of London. Then strange things begin to happen. Weird looking people are showing up too often wherever Will and his Dad happen to be. An object is found that is unlike anything ever seen before. And one day, Mr. Burrows is simply gone with no explanation. Will and a friend set out to find him and discover a whole world they never new existed, a world where their lives are in constant danger.

The story moves along quickly with lots of action and some surprising turns, one so unexpected my jaw actually dropped. I didn't think any authour could still surprise me like that. This is a page-turner, one that has my granddaughter absolutely hooked and now I see why. Eventually this will be a series of six; she's read four now and is on pins and needles (oh dear, I've dated myself with that expression haven't I?) waiting for the fifth.

I must admit I wasn't expecting such a good book, mainly because my recent experience with books for younger readers has been, let's say, less than satisfying. For one thing so many of them are about vampires. In fact most of what I see online and in stores are paranormal romances. I can take the romance as long as there is more to the plot than just that, but I am heartily sick of vampires. I don't want to watch them, read about them or even hear about them any more. I'm vampired up to here (indicating top of head)!

Another reason I've been avoiding Y.A. novels is the writing style. I don't like it when books are dumbed down for anybody. Young readers are young, not dumb, and too many writers treat them like they can't be trusted to handle intelligent writing. I was glad to find within a page or two that these authours give their readers credit for some intelligence by giving them good writing to read.

As for the plot itself, there are a few too many slimy things, slugs, vomit and foul smells for me, but I'm not young and was always queasy about such things anyway. These writers know their audience and do a great job of telling this story for them.

For those who are considering this book for their kids I should tell you there are a few spots where God's name is used as a curse word. Two or three at most I think. That won't be an issue for everyone, but if it is for you at least you know beforehand.

I probably won't read the rest of the series simply because the story doesn't appeal to me, but that's only if my granddaughter doesn't ask me to. If she wants me to read them so we can talk about them later, I will. There's not much I won't do to get them reading more.  Otherwise it's back to "Old Adult" books for me, but I am open to trying more Y. A. books now. This one was a nice surprise.

"A Room With A View"

A Room With A View by E.M. Forster

This is the second book I've read with dailylit.com, and it was a totally different experience than the first. I read War and Peace in installments because I figured, from having attempted it before, that I wouldn't finish it and I'm happy to say Daily Lit was able to keep me on track and get me through to the end.

A Room With A View was another matter entirely. I loved the story, the writing and the characters but didn't enjoy reading it in installments at all. I always wanted more and was irritated by having to stop at the end of the sections. I longed for pages to turn. It's a delightful book, but delightful books need covers and pages which Daily Lit could not supply.

The story has a young woman and her chaperone visiting Italy, where they become friends with other tourists at their hotel. One young man traveling with his father take liberties with the young woman, but she and her chaperone decide to speak to no one about it and to simply pretend it never happened.

They return to their home in England and life carries on as usual with our heroine becoming engaged to a rather pompous man, and I use the term "man" loosely. He's really quite a jerk. Things get complicated when the other man, the liberty-taking young man from Italy, moves into the neighbourhood. I won't tell you any more except to say that it's very entertaining.

Here are a couple of my favourite lines:

“I see you looking down your nose and thinking your mother's a snob. But there is a right sort and a wrong sort, and it's affectation to pretend there isn't."

“…in which people who care for one another are painted chatting together about noble things--a theme neither sensual nor sensational, and therefore ignored by the art of to-day.”

I particularly like that last one because it so nicely explains my problem with modern publishing. I don't want every book I read to focus on the sensual or sensational, but that's what sells so that's what gets published. There are exceptions of course, but not many. I guess that's why I end up reading so many older books. But back to the matter at hand...

I saw a fairly recent movie made from this book and liked it, but the book itself is a thousand times better. I have to get a copy soon and read it again when I can hold it in my hands and turn pages all I want. This one is a keeper and I want it on my shelf.

And, I have to re-think my use of Daily Lit. I'll probably just use it for books I might not otherwise make myself pick up. You know the ones - we want to read them but we don't look forward to investing the time or the energy they'll require. One of my goals this year is to get one of "those" books crossed off my tbr, so I'm choosing Middlemarch. I'm hoping it won't be any more of a challenge than War And Peace was. I guess time will tell.

"A Christmas Blizzard"

A Christmas Blizzard by Garrison Keillor

I'm not sure what to say about this one, except that it sure isn't your average Christmas story. It's not sappy or corny or cliche. It's... well let's say it's different.

More than anything it reminded me of Cold Comfort Farm. Odd things happen without any previous hint that things are going to get weird. When I'm in the right mood, or I know it's that kind of book, I find that sort of thing funny, but I wasn't in the right mood till about page 20 so till then I just thought it was a strange story. After that, I enjoyed it.

The story is about James Sparrow, a wealthy man living with his wife in a Chicago highrise. She loves Christmas but is sick with the flu; he wants to avoid Christmas by going to their Hawaiian vacation home. To complicate matters James gets a phone call from his home town saying his Uncle Earl is probably dying.

James wants to head for Hawaii right away because a storm is coming and he doesn't want to be storm-stayed but a sense of family duty has him flying toward North Dakota and Uncle Earl instead. He ends up stranded there and this is when things begin to get weird. A wolf talks to him and there are other unusual things but I don't want to give too much away. Just be ready for anything when you read it.

This is my first book by Garrison Keillor but it's piqued my interest so I'm going to check out some of his other writing. There's quite a list of titles on the "Also by Garrison Keillor" page, a couple of which sound interesting so I expect I'll be posting more about him sometime in the coming year.

Rant No. 1

I've decided this blog is a logical place to record the occasional rants that take place in my head. They usually happen when I feel I've finally heard or seen one too many stupid things. For example, the other night I was watching the News on tv. It was a couple of days after Christmas and the 3 or 4 inches of snow that had given us a white Christmas had disappeared with a couple of rainy days, a situation in no way unusual for our area - our Christmases are about 50-50 white and green/brown. One year I picked the last of the pansies for the Christmas dinner table. Another year the snow was so deep most city streets were impassable. The only time our weather is remarkable is if it stays the same for any length of time.

So I'm watching the news report and the announcer is standing outdoors reporting that the snow is all gone, a fact we all know from looking out our own windows. It seemed to be rather important to her so I kept listening. She spoke for several moments about the wetness of the streets, the patches of green where it had so recently been white and the general  un-Chrismasy-ness of it all. When I thought they were finally moving on to something that might actually be real news, they began showing footage of the outdoor skating oval. In a concerned voice the reporter told us that just a few days ago this oval had been filled with people enjoying the outdoor skating, but now, because of the rain, the ice was wet and could not be used.

Then, and I am not making this up, the camera took us to an indoor skating rink where people were being asked how they felt about having to skate here instead of at the outdoor oval. Were they terribly disappointed that the rain had created this situation? The people looked like they wanted to ask if the reporter was feeling alright, but with the camera aimed at them they gamely tried to answer the question. Eventually the camera returned to the reporter on the wet street where she re-stated everything we had just been told, which was pretty much nothing.

The entire report took at least ten minutes. Ten minutes to tell us rain fell yesterday and then more fell today. It wasn't even an unusual amount. I don't understand how anybody could think that was worthy of a news report (and they made us go through the whole thing again when it was time for the weather report). There are wars and disasters and crimes happening all around the world and we call a bit of rain news? A while back I watched a reporter standing on a quiet beach saying how big the waves were going to get in just a few hours, then at the end of that few hours he was back on the still quiet beach saying the storm hadn't materialized and these calm waters would remain calm. His intensity was laughable. Two news reports on a beach where nothing is happening.

When did ordinary weather become news? Hurricanes, sure. Tornadoes. Heavy snowfalls, ice storms, dangerous road conditions; anything with an actual story. But how is it news when nothing is happening? Are we so lamentably addicted to sensationalism that we have to create drama out of nothing? Aren't journalists embarrassed to talk so earnestly about nothing at all? I get embarrassed for them just watching, it makes them look so sad and desperate.

Please people. News is news. Severe weather is news. An ordinary rainy day on the east coast is not.

End of rant.

"Aunt Dimity's Christmas"

Aunt Dimity's Christmas by Nancy Atherton

This is apparently part of a series of "Aunt Dimity" books that I'd never heard of till now. I bought it online mainly because the title sounded sweet and Anne-of-green-gable-ish, the perfect formula for a Christmas story. It wasn't quite what I expected.

It started ordinarily enough, but took a surprising turn when the main character, Lori Shepherd, sat down in the study of her house with a blue book open on her lap and read as the deceased Dimity's handwriting began to appear on the page. Yes, indeed. Dimity is dead. She communicates with Lori by writing her thoughts on the blank pages of this one particular book. Not your typical Christmas story.

The plot built around this oddity is quite good. I liked the characters and thought them plausible and well written, and the story had no problem holding my attention. It was quite interesting but I think it could have been done successfully without the input of dear departed Dimity. I didn't find that she added much to the story.

Had I started this series at the beginning I'm sure I wouldn't have found this book so peculiar and if you are interested that's where I'd suggest you start because jumping in mid-stream with this one is just too strange.

A Merry Christmas To You!

The best words I have ever heard to describe what Christmas means to me come from two well known Christmas Carols, songs we know so well that it's easy to lose their meaning. The first is It Came Upon A Midnight Clear and I'm writing out the lyrics here in hopes that even one person may stumble upon this page and in a quiet moment be encouraged.

It came upon the midnight clear, that glorious song of old,
From angels bending near the earth to touch their harps of gold;
“Peace on the earth, good will to men, from Heaven’s all gracious King.”
The world in solemn stillness lay to hear the angels sing.

Still through the cloven skies they come with peaceful wings unfurled,
And still their heavenly music floats o’er all the weary world;
Above its sad and lowly plains they bend on hovering wing,
And ever over its Babel sounds the blessed angels sing.

Yet with the woes of sin and strife the world has suffered long;
Beneath the angel strain have rolled two thousand years of wrong;
And man, at war with man, hears not the love-song which they bring;
O hush the noise, ye men of strife and hear the angels sing.

And ye, beneath life’s crushing load whose forms are bending low,
Who toil along the climbing way with painful steps and slow,
Look now! for glad and golden hours come swiftly on the wing.
O rest beside the weary road, and hear the angels sing!

For lo! the days are hastening on, by prophet-bards foretold,
When with the ever circling years comes round the age of gold;
When peace shall over all the earth its ancient splendors fling,
And the whole world send back the song which now the angels sing.

The other carol that means so much to me is O Little Town Of Bethlehem. There is one verse that answers all the questions I have ever had about Christmas. When I was a young girl and learning the harsh realities of life I used to ask what possible difference a baby born so many hundreds of years ago could make in my life today or in the lives of ordinary people all over the world. In these words I find the answer, that though Christmas began long ages ago, it did not end then:

How silently, how silently the wondrous gift is given,

So God imparts to human hearts the wonders of His heaven.

No ear may hear Him coming, but in this world of sin

Where meek souls will receive Him, still the dear Christ enters in.

And so, with meek souls everywhere I celebrate today, and with God's help everyday, the wondrous gift of love and light, Jesus.

God bless us everyone!

"Christmas On Mill Street"

Christmas On Mill Street by Joseph Walker

I loved this little book! There are similarities to the last one I read, "Wishin' And Hopin' ", and to the movie "A Christmas Story", but I guess that's inevitable if you read enough Christmas books and watch enough Christmas movies, which I do. 

This one is about young Sam Andrews whose family has recently moved to Utah from Arizona. He's trying hard to fit in at school, where the other boys are all talking about sledding down the hill to beat all hills.....Mill Street. It's a sharp drop with two very tricky turns, and before Sam really knows what he's doing, he hears himself agreeing to try it, though he has never been on a sled or even seen snow.

Sam has one hope that keeps him believing he can do it - the hope of getting a shiny new "Flexible Flyer" sled for Christmas. With a sled like that he knows he can do it. And besides, he has a secret weapon in Clara Morgan, a woman who gives the kids shivers, but who knows the secret of mastering Mill Street hill.

I've got two short Christmas books left that I hope to finish before the end of the year. I have a feeling that by next year I won't be able to remember any of these books from the others. I'm already getting the characters mixed up. There's an up side to that though - they'll all seem like "new" books again next year (one of the few perks of aging!).

If you get a chance to read this, do. It delivers everything that great cover promises.

" Wishin' and Hopin' "

Wishin' And Hopin' by Wally Lamb

The year is 1964 and Felix Funicello is a ten year old fifth grader living in small town Connecticut. He attends Catholic school where there are lots of rules and kids to break them. His parents operate a lunch counter at the local bus station which brings some interesting characters into his life, and at home he has two older sisters who tolerate him, but just barely.

Felix is like other boys; he has his ups and downs and makes good choices and the other kind. He knows and uses a few bad words, he's learning about things like french kissing and he laughs at dirty jokes even when he doesn't know what they mean.  He's smaller than the other boys his age but on the other hand he has something they don't have: his third cousin is famous actress Annette Funicello, whose posters line the wall at the lunch counter.

The story begins at some point in the fall and leads up to the Christmas Concert at Felix's school. If that sounds a little like "The Best Christmas Pageant Ever" by Barbara Robinson that's because it has a similar story line. In both you get some background on the families and become familiar with the characters, all leading up to the night of the big Christmas concert. This one is a little longer I think so you get to know the characters better and it's funnier too - to me that is, humour is a subjective thing - though both are quite entertaining with some hilarious moments.

A very enjoyable read - just don't share it with your kids as there is a bit of language and a couple of jokes you probably won't want them to learn. Do read it for yourself though. You'll fall in love with Felix and more important at this hectic time of year, it will make you smile.

"Corked"

Corked by Kathryn Borel

Philippe and Kathryn Borel are a father and daughter on a wine tasting tour of France, a trip proposed by Kathryn when she realized that she barely knew her dad. He had raised her trying to teach her everything he knew about wine, a subject in which she took no interest until she came to see that if she wanted to really know her father she should try to understand what he had spent his life doing.

I started the book with the expectation that it would be a quaint story in the same vein as Peter Mayles' Provence books. I was spectacularly wrong; it is anything but quaint. For one thing there's a lot of swearing and for another France and wine serve more as the backdrop to the working out of the father/daughter relationship.

Having said that, there is a great deal to learn about wine from this book. The descriptions of different wine regions, growing conditions, varieties of grapes and different methods of making and bottling wine are well explained and make for interesting reading. Surely it is everyone's dream to take a trip like that - two weeks driving through the French countryside tasting great wine at old family owned vineyards. It sounds close to perfect to me.

But that isn't the real story here. The real story is how Kathryn and her father connect, butt heads and finally get to a place of honest emotion and acceptance of one another. And that's emotion with a capital E. It gets raw and leaves you feeling like you've been through the wringer, but it's worth it. Knowing it's true and about real people gives you hope that just maybe the rest of us can work out our less-than-functional relationships too.

It took a few chapters to get into because at first it seemed too centered on Kathryn's feelings. In fact both she and her father were so self-centered that I almost gave up on it. The angst and self-analyzing got monotonous and Philippe was just plain obnoxious most of the time. But about half way through Kathryn got to me and I started to care. From that point on I couldn't put it down. She's an interesting writer, very articulate. She uses metaphors - a lot of them - that no one else would ever think of. Her writing is fresh and original and easy to read. 

I think this book is worth reading. The gut wrenching honesty and lack of ego needed to put this story out there in public are admirable. She has things she can teach us. As mentioned earlier, there is a lot of "language" so if that's a deal breaker for you, you may want to give this one a pass. If you can get past that, it's worth it.

In spite of the more or less happy ending, I found the last few lines of the story sad. Kathryn and her father joke that something they have in common is how much God hates them both. I know it's meant to be funny, but they've fought their way through such hard situations and come out stronger and closer to each other, and I feel so bad for them that they don't see their worth in God's eyes, how much He cares about them. To end it like that - this story that tells so well how the love between father and child survives the hard times and becomes a healing force in both lives - leaves me wanting more for both father and daughter.

"A Christmas Carol"

A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens

I am embarrassed to confess it, but I have never read this book until now. I've seen countless versions of the movie, some pretty good and some awful, but I put off reading it because I made the mistake of judging the book by it's movie. Every version I've seen has been a bit stuffy and preachy, and more than a bit over-the-top and maybe that's to be expected; it wouldn't be Hollywood if it wasn't overdone. And let's face it, Christmas movies are seldom subtle. In spite of that I watch one or more versions of it every year, but could never bring myself to risk reading the book and being disappointed with my beloved Dickens.

As it turns out, my fears were groundless. I loved the book. It wasn't stuffy or preachy or overdone. It was beautiful. The same lessons are there but it feels more sincere, more grounded. Another thing - and this was a surprise - the book was less old- fashioned than the movies. It felt like a more current story, much easier to put yourself in the middle of. The characters are more believable, the story flows better and the final chapter, where Scrooge wakes up on Christmas morning a changed man, is more convincing than any I've seen in movies.

The writing is typical, wonderful Dickens. No one can make a point like he can. After an eleven line description of Scrooge's... um, scrooginess, he says: "No wind that blew was bitterer than he...". You can feel the chill. Another passage I admire is "...every idiot who goes about with "Merry Christmas" on his lips should be boiled with his own pudding and buried with a stake of holly through his heart. He should!".  Harsh, but very witty.

I loved this so much I want to read it again already. I'll be adding it to the list of things I do every Christmas, because truly, how could anyone not want to be reminded of this at the close of each year:

"I have always thought of Christmas-time, when it has come round - apart from the veneration due it's sacred name and origin, if anything belonging to it can be apart from that - as a good time; a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time; the only time I know of, in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely, and to think of people below them as if they really were fellow-travelers to the grave, and not another race of creatures bound on other journeys. And therefore, uncle, though it has never put a scrap of gold or silver in my pocket, I believe that it has done me good, and will do me good; and I say, God bless it!"

If you've never read it - and I realize I may be the only one so foolish - then go out right now and get yourself a copy. Merry Christmas to you!

"Bachelor Brothers' Bed and Breakfast"

Bachelor Brothers' Bed and Breakfast by Bill Richardson

Finally, a Canadian book that isn't all darkness and angst and swearing. Ok there are a couple of swear words but overall this is a wonderful book. 

Hector and Virgil (who in my mind is the spitting image of the authour) are middle-aged twin brothers who have turned the house they grew up in into a bed and breakfast on Canada's west coast. The brothers are book lovers who see their home as a retreat for readers. Their guests are welcome to use the brothers' well-stocked library or to bring their own books with them. They cater to people like themselves, the "gentle and bookish and ever so slightly confused". That description alone had me hooked before I even started reading.

There is no plot, just a casual revealing of the brother's personalities and personal lives and the daily routines of the B&B. I have no objection to a good plot, but a book that is character driven has a much better chance of ending up on my "favorite reads" list and this is completely character driven. These endearing and oh-so-humanly flawed brothers move quietly into your world and make you wish they and their reader's retreat were real.

The chapters are written alternately by Hector and Virgil with letters from guests in between. Hector and Virgil write about their lives as innkeepers, their pasts and each other. The guest's letters tell their own stories and fill in details about the setting and the experience of being the brother's guests.

The lovely old house, the surroundings and the simple lifestyle the brothers offer their guests is nothing short of delicious. Reading the book is getting away for a quiet weekend, relaxing and comforting with enough humour to keep it fresh. Amazingly (because it happens often with books like this) it never becomes trite or even worse, cute. The brothers are quite realistic and that makes them all the more appealing.

The cover says "This quiet charmer is a bibliophiles delight" and that's exactly what it is. Other cover quotes say "a funny, cozy tale" and "a whimsically gentle fiction". I couldn't argue with those descriptions either, though the word "cozy" is dangerously close to "cute" and is recklessly overused in describing fiction. I love this book and I love it's witty, intelligent language. I was sorry to come to the last chapter but fortunately there is a sequel. It's called "Bachelor Brothers' Bed and Breakfast Pillow Book". A somewhat odd title, but hopefully it will be as good as this one was.

"Up In The Old Hotel"

Up In The Old Hotel by Joseph Mitchell

There's a lot of reading in this book and very good reading it is. Joseph Mitchell was a reporter in New York city during the 1930's and 40's so he knows how to tell a story; "Up In The Old Hotel" contains 37 of them. It takes a while to get through this book but it's pleasant reading and interesting stories so I don't think you'll mind the time.

The people in these stories are (for the most) real. They are the everyday people he got to know on the streets and in the diners and taverns of the city. There are many of them, so I'll just highlight some that stood out to me.

First, meet the Rev. Mr. James Jefferson Davis Hall, a street preacher who doesn't approve of soda fountains, dry-cleaners or modern women. "They've gone hog-proud and hog-wild. Wearing britches, wearing uniforms, straining their joints for generations to come with high-heeled shoes...their mouths smeared and smiddled and smoodled with paint, and their cheeks and their fingernails." The Reverend spends his days answering calls - he gives out his phone number and invites people in trouble to call him - and his nights walking Broadway, standing in the doorways of bars and preaching the consequences of drinking.

Then there's Jane Barnell, the bearded lady who began her career at the age of four, when she was given away to a traveling circus. She's had four husbands and in public wears a veil and a scarf around her neck to hide the beard.

Mazie P. Gordon is the "bossy yellow-haired blonde" who works the sidewalk ticket booth at a movie theater seven days a week from 9 am to 11 pm. She knows everybody and hears all the neighbourhood gossip. After work at night she walks the bowry handing out cakes of soap and change to people who need them.

And there's Phillipa, a 9 year old girl with an IQ of 185 who has been writing music since she was three years old, and John Smith, who writes big cheques and  gives them out to people who are nice to him, untroubled by the fact that he has no money at all.

One of my favourites is Arthur Samuel Colbourn, head of the Anti-Profanity League. Arthur, know as the "No-Swear Man" has handed out over six million cards asking "Please do not swear, nor use obscene or profane language. These cards are for distribution. Send for some - they are free. "His address is included on the card.

One story, called "A Mess Of Clams" is about the day he went out with a "buy-boat" off Long Island that came back carrying 145 bushels of clams destined for various markets and restaurants in the city. Another story is about the KKK, and another about the rodents that live in and around the city.

One story was very different. It was a sad account of a lonely man living in a furnished room. Short, and unique in that the authour wasn't involved in the story in any way, it had a completely different feel, like fiction. Mitchell does say in the introduction that though most of the book is true, some is fictional. I don't think it will matter to you when you're reading, because in the end it's all just good. 

I recommend this one to anyone who's looking for something interesting to read; it's not a page-turner so if that's what you like it may not be for you.

Favourite quote: 
                 "...it takes almost a lifetime to learn how to do a thing simply."

"Bay of Spirits - A Love Story"

Bay of Spirits by Farley Mowat

Another great story from a master story-teller, this one subtitled "A Love Story". It's the story of his first meeting with a beautiful woman named Claire and how their feelings for each other developed, but it is another love story too, of his years living in and exploring the outports of Newfoundland. His appreciation for the people, waters and wildlife of Newfoundland bring this story to vivid life.

Farley Mowat can capture the flavour of a place and it's people beautifully. A picture may to be worth a thousand words, but with just a few lines Mowat breathes life into a place like most pictures couldn't. It's an amazing gift he has.

Speaking of pictures, Bay of Spirits contains some wonderful shots showing a way of life that is mostly gone now. There are beautiful harbours with square wooden houses sitting precariously on the surrounding rock, fishing boats and wharves that look like they've been there forever, whales, dogs and people. It's the people that got to me, the faces, weathered and lined and real; amazing people who built lives out of little more than rock and water and were satisfied with what they had.

There are so many stories in this book: names, places and history, a wealth of information and experience that brings the reader so close to being there you can almost smell it. The hospitable nature of the people and communities all along the Newfoundland coast took the authour into the houses and personal lives of families who were willing and eager to share what they had. Over countless meals of fish and bread, boiled dinners, cups of tea and glasses of rum, people's stories were told and friendships formed. These are priceless glimpses into what it means to be a Newfoundlander and though I was born and raised in another east coast province, the stories gave me a very satisfying sense of place and roots.

There were aspects of the book I didn't find as interesting as the people stories; I learned far more than I ever wanted to know about boats and fishing. I couldn't even begin to sort out the various watercraft mentioned: schooners, skiffs, ships, whalers, motor launchers, herring seiners, steamers, smacks, longliners, longboats, motor boats, destroyers, draggers, dinghies and dories. And as confusing as it got trying to figure out these things they were putting in the water, some of what they were taking out of the water also gave me pause: cod, haddock, herring, lobster, dogfish, wolf fish, lumpfish, sculpins, redfish, squid, flatfish, minnows, blue mussels, horse mussels, moon snails, rock crab and scarlet mud worms. Eww.

Several stories highlight Mowat's well known concern for animals of all varieties. On a storm-tossed ship he finds a dog left caged and unattended on deck, making sure the dog is fed and finding a safer place for him to ride out the storm. When whales are stranded in a harbour and the local people make sport of slaughtering them, he is moved to tears. In another incident, the community gathers and gleefully fires bullets into a stranded whale, stopping only when they run out of ammunition. Mowat is stunned and horrified: "It was beyond me even to imagine the mentality of men who would amuse themselves filling such a majestic creature full of bullets."

As the subtitle indicates, this is also the love story of Farley Mowat and Claire Wheeler. This beautiful girl steps onto his boat and with one smile, in his own words, "I was lost". He writes about making love on a deserted beach and romantic nights aboard his boat. It's a sweet love story.....until he reveals that he is a married man with two small sons. In a world where this happens every day it's not so shocking I guess, but it is a little bit shocking (isn't it?) that he doesn't mention having any qualms about it. He doesn't try to fight his feelings for Claire, but, pardon the pun, jumps right in. As he tells the story of their developing romance it feels as though we are meant to celebrate with him this finding of the love of his life. The only time he expresses any concern about his family is when it's time to go home and tell them he's leaving them for someone else.

Normally, of course, this would be none of my business. But here's the thing. A writer has to give his readers a reason to believe what he's telling them. What he reveals about himself helps you decide if you should trust the theories, philosophies and stories he's asking you to accept. Here, he's asking us to accept that he has a deep compassion for wildlife while he shows very little compassion for his own family. His apparent lack of feeling for his wife and children, his children for pete's sake, leaves the reader with the uncomfortable suspicion that he may not be as compassionate as he would have you believe. I'm not saying he had no compassion for his family, but he has chosen to express none here and that's all a reader has from which to form conclusions.

I love his writing style and admire his amazing skill as a story-teller, and I do recommend the book. But I need to be able to trust that true stories are true and I've got questions now, so I guess that leaves me not quite as firm a fan as I was before this book.

"Christmas On Jane Street"

Christmas On Jane Street by Billy Romp, with Wanda Urbanska

This is a nice little holiday read, perfect for when you need a quiet hour with a cup of tea in the midst of the all the Christmas chaos. I have a few of these small Christmas books that I like to re-read every year, but this one is new to me. The title was vaguely familiar though and I'm wondering if there might have been a tv movie with the same name. It's a pretty good plot for a holiday movie.

"Christmas On Jane Street" is a true story, and that always makes things a little more interesting, but the writing in this one was lacking a certain something that might keep it off my "favorites" list. I find I'm sometimes disappointed with stories that are told "with" an authour who is helping get it down on paper. They feel a little stiff to me.

Favorite or not, it's still a good story with all the requisite elements for a satisfying Christmas story: family relationships strained and restored, friendly neighbours coming to each others aid and children testing the boundaries and spreading their wings. It all adds up to a low level of sappiness that is more than tolerable in a Christmas story. If you can watch "It's A Wonderful Life" with it's off the charts sap level and enjoy it, you'll be fine with "Christmas On Jane Street".

The corner of Jane Street and Eighth in New York City is where Billy Romp, his wife and three children set up their Christmas tree stand every year. They live on the tree lot in a tiny camper from Thanksgiving to Christmas Eve and become part of the neighbourhood where they are welcomed and taken care of by local residents and shop owners. This is the best part of the story to me. It's reassuring, life-affirming to read how generous and helpful people truly want to be even when there is no material reward in it for them.

The story centers around Billy and his relationship with his oldest daughter. Like all parents he's having difficulty letting go of the tight control we keep over our kids when they are little and he feels the pain we all feel when they begin to step away from us and out into the larger world. I'll leave it at that and let you discover the rest for yourself.

I enjoyed this book. I do wish I had waited till tomorrow to read it though because our first big snowstorm of the season is coming and this would have been the perfect book for a snow day. I think it's time to move my Christmas books up from the bottom shelf and see what I can find for a lovely long day of reading and watching the snow fall. That sounds quite picturesque but in truth we usually get a wicked wind that drives the snow sideways past the rattling front window and we often lose our hydro in a storm. That, however, is reality and I don't think I'll consider it right now. Tomorrow will be here soon enough.

"How To Read Slowly"

How To Read Slowly by James W. Sire

I love this book! What's not to love in a book about reading? The authour's purpose is to help us read better for greater comprehension. He says "Our goal in reading carefully is not only to understand what is being said explicitly but to see why it is being said. We want to learn to recognize the world views of writers and speakers, and thus to know what their basic assumptions about life really are. It will help us decide what kind of attention to pay to their comments or proposals no matter how modest or immodest."

The second chapter deals with non-fiction, the next with poetry, then fiction and it wraps up with a chapter called "A Time To Read: Knowing What To Read and When". What I love about this book is that it leads you through reading exercises and explains point by point what to look for. Sire is a good teacher who's book, according to the publisher's blurb, "has been widely used in higher education classrooms to reach reading comprehension". I found myself underlining a lot of it because there is so much that is pertinent and helpful. I want to read it a few times and start applying it's principles to my reading until it becomes second nature. Not that it's all new ideas; at one time or another you've probably heard most of it before, but if you're anything like me you've probably forgotten some of it too. This authour has a clear and logical way of getting his ideas across that is both highly readable and very effective.

The chapter on poetry was fun. Sire quotes a few short poems and has us read them several times looking for specific things. As you follow his direction the poem begins to open up and you see more in it than you did on the previous reading. He compares understanding a poem to looking at blueprints to understand a building: "...and just as an architect or building engineers know what to look for when they examine the building, so do good readers." This is what he's teaching us: what to look for. He gets into metrical structure, image and sound structure, etc, but not deeply, just enough to help us unscramble the riddles poetry often presents. I found this the most interesting and practical chapter of the book.

In the chapter on fiction the topics of plot, character, theme, point of view, tone and style are looked at, again not in depth but enough to be helpful. He doesn't focus on any particular aspect of fiction but says "There is no point in paying close attention to details if we fail to experience the whole work and, as it were, to perceive it at a glance - to drink it in, savor it's succulent tastes and smells, feel its philosophy of life, see its vision of reality and come to grasp more fully what it means to be human.".

James Sire is a Christian and makes references to that throughout the book. He wants Christians to be better readers, more aware of what is going on in the world and what writers are saying about it. But whatever philosophy of life you hold to, this book is for any and all readers who want to get more out of what they read. As he puts it: "I don't expect any reader to imitate my own lifestyle nor to adopt point for point the precise values that I would at my best affirm. But I do want to announce at the beginning that I love reading and would like to help others love it too - and do it better."

I don't agree with everything Sire says and some of his comments seem a little stuffy but that's not hard to overlook when you consider how very useful his teaching is. I hope I haven't made it sound dry because it really isn't and at only 168 pages there isn't time to get too academic so it moves along and stays interesting. I expect this book to make a real difference in how I read. I recommend it to everyone.

Gower Bursey, Part 2

Calgary in the 1970s; photo courtesy of Temporal Tears

(I got to Calgary) at night, and I remember distinctly it was my birthday, March the 6th.  And, so I guess I had my brother’s address, ‘cause I arrived at my brother’s house somehow.  I was getting washed up and my brother and his brother-in-law Clarence-- they were out boozin’, I guess-- came in.  They called Clarence “June.”  I guess we were sort of friends…he was a little older than me.  He was a bit of a nutcase, but anyways, I guess we got along.  

So, they were up to no good.  I don’t think they held a job or whatever…y’know…they used to get odd jobs from time to time to keep going, and…I didn’t stay all that long, I was there for about a month.  We were all staying at my brother’s house, at that time he was married to Clarence’s sister-- and she had a temper, this one-- and back then, we got into a bit of trouble.  We got a bit rowdy and, uh…we ended up in the lock-up for a few nights, me and my brother.  Uh…Clarence came to pick me up from, it was a place called Spy Hill…that was where a people would lock people up short term for crazy stuff.  So you know, I remember driving back to my brother's place...June picked me up in a ’66 Pontiac, it was a sort of a greenish colour...great car, nice shape.  So anyway, we were getting close to my brother’s house and we were coming up over a hill and…(laughs)…I can see my bag out on the stoop, and Clarence’s bags were up there, too.  I guess that was our signal (chuckles)…we weren’t too welcome at my brother's house anymore.  So we threw the luggage in his car and we head, allright, here we go, westbound…west coast, headed for Vancouver.  

So we drove for about two hours, and we’re just getting in to the foothills of the Rockies, where the terrain starts to get into the mountains and stuff.  And we were talking back and forth and, I don’t know, but we decided to turn the car around and head to Toronto.  So I always wanted to go to Vancouver, but I never made it…so we turned the car and headed east towards Toronto. We were on the road for a long time.  Now keep in mind, it was still the wintertime.  We used to shovel snow, and make a few dollars here and there to find gas money to put in the car.  We were staying in hostels, sleeping in the car.  And in a place called Thunder Bay, up by Lake Superior, we got into an accident.  Somebody bolted out in front of the car and…oh…(laughs) and another humorous thing was June didn’t have a Driver’s License.  (Laughs) I don’t know if he ever had a Driver’s License, but I had a Newfoundland Driver’s License, and he only had a Learner’s Permit.  And we got stopped a couple of times by the cops but they let us go because I was the instructor.  No kidding!  I just thought of that…

Thunder Bay

But anyways, we had an accident in Thunder Bay, and we stayed at the Sally Ann and waited for the car because the car was out of commission...it was smashed up and everything else.  They had to get parts in because it was the weekend or they didn’t have the parts or something.  So they got us back on the road again, and we ended up in Downtown Toronto again.  I guess probably by this time it was early April…still the winter months, still cool.  And we ended up in a place, we had no money and we had a room, so we ended up at a place…at that time there were these big houses and they’d rent rooms or flats…people would supplement their income by renting a room out.  So we ended up at a house at 100 Seton Street…I don’t think the house is there now, it’s probably torn down.  So we had no money, but Junior had an electric razor.  So thinking back then, the room probably cost six bucks a week...so the guy (renting us the room) took the razor towards a week’s rent or something.  Back then, to get help from the government or social assistance -- I guess now welfare is what they call it-- you need an address, so by using Clarence’s razor to obtain the address that freed us up to qualify for welfare.  So I guess we stayed on there for a while, in this room.

Sherbourne Street and Howard Street; photo courtesy of Blog TO

100 Seaton Street today.  Photo: D. Bursey

Things get a little foggy at this time, ‘cause I left that house, and I think I probably moved to Scarborough.  I got out of the downtown core…it was crazy back then anyway.  I guess I probably got a job later on and…uh…I was driving a truck back then.  I guess that brought me to Scarborough.  June and I parted company so to speak, because I think he stayed on at Seton Street, and I lived in Scarborough, because I was working.  I had a small apartment over here. But I guess my brother ended up coming down from Alberta…after Clarence and I left Alberta, he brought his family down to Toronto.  June must have stayed on down at Seaton Street because my brother ended up looking after that rooming house later on.  I had a little place, and I was still boozin’ but being able to hold down I job…I spent all the money I made, but I muddled through.

My brother left the downtown core and moved to Scarborough.  Probably June stayed on down there for a little while longer because he ended up meeting my future sister-in-law through him visiting my brother on Birchmount Road after he moved from downtown.  And then I met my future wife.

It (was) one hell of a journey to get me to that point.  For the most part, I always had a job.  I moved to the point where I sort of kept down a job and I always seemed to have a few bucks in my pocket.

(Why did I leave Newfoundland?)  There were no jobs in Newfoundland.  I just wanted to do something.  I was young and restless.  So of course being here before with my parents in the 60s, I was sort of familiar with the place, so that’s why I came back to Toronto.

At first living, trying to put down stakes and to try to get started in life…meeting my future wife gave me a reason to do better, try harder.  Over time, yeah there was still an attraction to Newfoundland, but I guess my setting my own life up here in Toronto…my attraction to my old home diminished.  It was less and less a factor as time (went on).  (Of course this took time) because my life was fucked up.  I was in turmoil.  I was young and stupid, and a certain amount of rejection from my family didn’t help either, so anything I had to do to get on the path was a lot harder because actually I got next to no help, if not none.  Actually, probably no help from anyone.  I dunno…as time went by, I realized no rich relative was going to will me a billion dollars. I came to the conclusion if I’m ever going to have anything in my life…family, stuff…I was going to have to make it myself.  So I…worked a little harder.  Did a lot of working.  Ended up working for an outfit-- a sign and display company-- working there for ten years.  I learned a trade.

My home is Toronto.  There’s lots of things I like about this place-- lots of things I don’t like. Now I’m getting up to a point were retirement is sort of on the horizon.  Newfoundland has slowly, slowly slipped away.  I have fond memories of my childhood, but I’ve spent a total of 40 odd years in Toronto, and I’ve come to like the place.

Gower and Don Verge reunite in Newfoundland, late 2000s