Ah, sentences! Discovering Ian McEwen

It's always a joy to discover a "new" writer, especially one who was always just below the radar. I avoided McEwen for years, though he was praised as literate, smart, a good psychological plotter, etc. But I was afraid to read a book about an abducted child outside of the mystery genre. It didn't help that another of his books was titled The Cement Garden. But the extensive publicity about the new movie of Atonement sent me back to the book, which is as captivating as anything by Forster. And with prose as clean as Lively's, prose that the author reads aloud to himself to hear how it works. Here are a couple of passages that draw the reader into a spell:

The rains came at last in late September, delivered by gales that stripped most trees bare in leas than a week. Leaves clogged the drains certain streets became navigable rivers, old couples were helped out of basement flats by policemen in waders, and there was a general feeling of crisis and excitement, at least on television.

By a frozen brook they passed the slab of rock under whose covering of snow, deep in the fissures, were the ingredients of a miniature tropical forest. Even by moonlight it was possible to see fat and sticky buds and unassuming ground plants raising tiny spears through the snow. One season was piercing another. In the smoothed-out spaces between trees, profusion waited its turn. The track turned toward the center of the wood. They descended into the hollow towards the rotten oak, an unchanged feature from the summer before.

We can endure terrible events if -- if we are presented with sympathetic characters, some hope of love, and absorbing creations of specific places. I'm hooked.

"I can't like Ian McEwen!"

When my second son was a toddler he once said, on being asked to try some food, let's say spinach, "I can't like spinach!'

I wanted to like Ian McEwen, and I couldn’t. I thought I tried. But not really. I read the N.Y. Times review of The Child in Time and The Cement Garden, and I thought “Never!” No matter that he was said to be articulate, a fine writer even, and that he looked smart, well-aged, and handsome – when I read what he wrote about, I thought, Never. Too depressing. Then along came a novel that sounded amenable and interesting, so I read Atonement, and it wasn’t horrifying, but I never quite got it, though it buzzed about me.

So now that the movie is upon us, I thought it was time to read the book again, and to do it justice – listen to its prose, its voice, what’s going on and how it’s told, and see who among the characters might be engaging. And now I see – it’s Briony, and I’m sucked in and open to all the book’s charms.

And here’s a clue as to how to read it:

[Of Briony, years later, as a writer:] "She need not judge. There did not have to be a moral. She need only show separate minds, as alive as her own, struggling with the idea that other minds were equally alive."
Atonement, p.38 (Doubleday/Nan A. Talese hc)

Well, isn’t this what fiction is all about? Yes, but I for one have to be able to identify with one or more characters, to sympathize. I guess after this it’ll be time to take a look at The Child in Time. Of which, more later.

With forty bottles of ring-bo-ree

SPOILER WARNING!!! for Sunday NY Times Acrostic

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"Edward Lear's nonsense is not vacuity of sense: it is parody oi sense, "The Jumblies" is a poem of adventure and nostalgia. The Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo and the Dong with a luminous nose are of unrequited passion -- blues, in fact."

from The Music of Poetry, Acrostic puzzle in N.Y. Times Magazine, 12/9/07

Punctuation uncertain, as is attribution.

My grandchildren are lucky that I read "The Jumblies" and "The Owl and the Pussycat" to them, and that I enjoy it so. It's in a British book with colorful illustrations rather than Lear's drawings.

Eulalia!!! Wiki on for Redwall!

According to my Old Farmer's Almanac , December hosts the feast day of St. Eulalia (you can look her up), December 10. To celebrate the publication of Eulalia!, here is an announcement of the Redwall Wiki! Have some fun and edit the pages. Add themes, character profiles, anything you like!

Yoga Adventures for Children

Yoga Adventures for Children: Playing, Dancing, Moving, Breathing, Relaxing by Helen Purperhart (Alameda, CA: Hunter House, 2007) is a terrific book for all ages. I received a free review copy by signing on to a publishers' review program through LibraryThing and am absolutely delighted with it. I will donate it to my daughter's school, where I'm sure they'll make much use of it. It's the approach to yoga that I enjoy, a playful yet serious introduction to exercises that are easy to remember through their connection to animals and nature. With lovely, simple illustrations by Barbara van Amelsfort, one can easily lead children through the basic postures of yoga, from simple neck stretches to the salute to the sun and cooperative games. Each exercise is presented with an illustration and easy-to-follow instructions. The approach makes it all fun and imaginative and still holds true to basic yoga postures and practices. There's an introduction, including "the Rules of Yoga" (such things as cleanliness, honesty, and other simple virtues), and then the exercises are divided into appealing sections: warmups, postures, games, breathing and on to stories and visualizations to help children internalize the practices. The illustrations clearly and playfully make the exercises easy to remember.
Now that yoga has become normal in mainstream American culture, guides like this are very welcome. A section near the end explains in simple, matter-of-fact terms some of the philosophy behind the practices, such as a simple introduction to the idea of chakras, with easy exercises for each one. A helpful last section groups the activities according to numbers of people needed or props which are useful
Highly recommended for anyone who works with children or any adults wishing a clear and easy introduction to yoga.

Female circumsc--- what??!?

I can't believe this. Yes, I can. The web which lets us all publish whatever we like (mostly), which allows me to natter on, also allows this example of non-thinking -- non-reading, really:

"If you decide that you do not want to support something like this, I suggest you boycott the movie and the books. I googled a synopsis of THE GOLDEN COMPASS. As I skimmed it I couldn't believe that in a children's book part of the story is about castration and female circumcision." A piece "collected from email" and quoted on Scopes.com.

Huh?? I can't even call this a misreading of the book -- the protester didn't even read the book! And as for the Amazon reviews, since they're usually halfway literate, I believe the "skimming" referred to was swift as a swallow bent on picking up the small insects.

Ooh, it's juicy -- and very misled.

Well, since this is a book blog, I have to show the book, in which the word "circumcision" DOES, in fact, appear, playing a very subtle, linguistically precise, and frightening role in the action of a quite different world. The horror, if that's what a reader experiences, is on a more spiritual plane than our physical lives.

Penelope Lively

It's time to catch up with a few books from the summer, all by the wonderful Penelope Lively, the English writer of novels for both children and adults and of memoir. Lively grew up in Cairo and then in England, and her adult novels have recurring themes and motifs which spring from her life. Her most famous novel is Moon Tiger, a Booker Prize winner. In it we experience the present and remembered life of Claudia Hampton, a historian and war correspondent, as she lies dying in a nursing home. As members of her family visit her, finding her sometimes alert and sometimes not, we enter into the mind of this passionate and brilliant woman as she recalls her life, and we also are given revealing glimpses of the thoughts of her misunderstood daughter and others near to her. As Claudia recalls her experiences in war-time North Africa, her brief and intense love affair with a soldier who died, and her subsequent life as wife, mother, and writer, we experience her life vividly and vicariously. Lively's prose is brilliant in its quiet way: sentences flow in artless variety, words are exactly right for their purpose. While not as elliptical as Michael Ondaatje's writing, Lively's novels are kin to his in their intelligence, excellent writing, and themes, especially the relationship of the individual to history and politics.

From Moon Tiger: She lies awake in the small hours. On the bedside table is a Moon Tiger. The Moon Tiger is a green coil that slowly burns all night, repelling mosquitoes, dropping away into lengths of grey ash, its glowing red eye a companion of the hot insect-rasping darkness. She lies there thinking of nothing,simply being, her whole body content. Another inch of the Moon Tiger feathers down into the saucer.

Tom stirs. Claudia murmurs, 'Are you awake?' (1987)

I'd previously read Moon Tiger and this summer enjoyed an excellent recorded version, which carried me easily down a few hundred miles of interstate highway.

Lively's 1977 novel, The Road to Litchfield, shows that even three decades ago she was a writer with perfect pitch for language, both dialogue and narrative. Themes of the role of history in our present day life and of marriage are operative in this early work. In addition, the thoughts and voice of the protagonist's father, dying in a nursing home, foreshadows the character of Claudia Hampton: in both we experience the frustration of a person who is incapacitated and sometimes speechless but whose intelligence is as sharp and fervent as ever.

It's also a very funny novel. Here is Anne, who's been teaching history to adolescents, taking with the headmaster of the comprehensive school:

'Do sit,' he said. Look, I'd better come straight to the point, I think. As you've heard, we're making quite a few changes in the school. To be frank, I've had to take a new broom to the curriculum. It just didn't stand up to inspection in this day and age. Far too much dead wood.'

He sat on the edge of the desk, looking past her and out of the window..... 'The fact is,' he said, ' that History's one of the things I've had to rethink.... [there's] a most interesting piece of research which proves fairly conclusively that children under fifteen just aren't ready for a chronological approach to history. And yet here we are teaching them history as narrative, one thing after another.'

'That's what it is. One thing does happen after another.'

'Yes, but that's a very sophisticated concept, Anne. They simply aren't ready for it at the O-level stage.'

Anne said, 'I entirely disagree.'

Cleopatra's Sister, a recent Lively novel, also plays on the theme of the entanglement of the personal and the historico-political in its story of two independent people, both unmarried, who meet and fall in love when their plane is forced to land in "Calimbia," an imaginary but very convincing country on the north shore of Africa, and the travellers are held hostage by a mad dictator who wants Britain to release some political prisoners. It's a tense thriller, a cautionary tale for the western world, and a terrific love story to boot.

Lively's 1994 memoir Oleander, Jacaranda tells of her childhood in Cairo and provides background for many of the themes and motifs in her fiction, including her fiction for children (see especially The House in Norham Gardens). She writes as well of the difference between the child's perception of the world and the adult reality:

[the child Penelope is observing a preying mantis] No thought at all here, just observation -- the young child's ability to focus entirely on the moment, to direct attention upon here and now, without the intrusion of reflection or of anticipation, It is also the Wordsworthian vision of the physical world: the splendour in the grass. And, especially, Virginia Woolf's creation of the child's-eye view. A way of seeing that is almost lost in adult life. You can stare, you can observe -- but within the head there is now the unstoppable obscuring onward rush of things. It is no longer possible simply to see, without the accompanying internal din of meditation. (Oleander, Jacaranda: A Childhood Perceived, HarperCollins, 1994)

A last note: My copy of Oleander... is the one with the dark cover, above. But the other cover, with the child jumping into the water, is so amazingly like that of this summer's other wonderful read: Jamie O'Neill's At Swim, Two Boys. Curious and curiouser....