Ah, Poetry

Posted on November 14, 2012 by reginadma

Poetry as a genre will always hold a special place in my heart.  I remember as an English Lit major, taking survey courses that unfolded the world of literature.  The courses painstakingly distinguished certain periods of writing and the themes and predilections of that time, to begin to equip those of us taking those courses with an expert understanding of the [American and British] written word.  We also discussed what was considered literature.  Since it very much looks different from a novel, poetry was often on the chopping block of discussion.  Is poetry literature or is it an altogether separate manner of writing?  Is poetry simply a subset of the larger umbrella of literature, or is it out in the rain?  The argument on both sides is compelling, and can be as erudite as you want to make your point.  It’s fun to think about…what do you think? Is poetry literature?

Poetry holds another place in my heart and in my life.  At any one time, to supplement the two books I am reading, I also have a selection of poetry I like to read.  The function is utilitarian, and, yeah, it’s also just nice to read different kinds of writing. Like exercise, a little bit reading is better than nothing. Sometimes when I get into bed, I frankly just don’t feel like reading, either because I’m too tired, or because what I’m reading is too heady to dive into at 11 o’clock at night, or (looks left, looks right…psssst, come closer…) sometimes I just don’t feel like reading. There. I said it. And, sometimes I don’t. I bypass the reading rainbow and just hit the sack.  However, on the nights where I want a little sustenance, a little dive into something interesting, I’ll read some poetry.

So, after many months of reading, I’d say over a year actually, I finally finished (Charles*) Baudelaire’s Paris Spleen.  Have you read it?  It’s great, a bit melancholy as the blurb on the back cover of my particular edition will have you know, but also, not without hope.  Baudelaire raged against the modern world, and his own subjectivity in this collection of poetry–many late nights pondering, wishing for some escape from something…For example, in his poem, “One O’Clock in the Morning,” he exclaims,

At last! I am alone! Nothing can be heard but the rumbling of a few belated and weary cabs. For a few hours at least silence will be ours, if not sleep. At last! the tyranny of the human face has disappeared, and now there will be no one but myself to make me suffer (15).

Like most readings, and poetry in particular, it’s best when read out loud–so give that a whirl if you haven’t already.  Okay, two more examples of his poetry and I say go pick up a copy of something by Baudelaire.**

This is from his poem, “Cake.” “I was traveling.  The country around me was of an inexpressible grandeur and sublimity.  And I think a little of it must have passed into my soul at that moment” (28).

And, a poem called, “The Hemisphere in Your Hair,” just really makes me think Baudelaire was ahead of his time–this and his whole collection of work. Anyway, in this poem he wishes, “Long, long let me breathe the fragrance of your hair.  Let me plunge my face into it like a thirsty man into the water of a spring, and let me wave it like a scented handkerchief to stir memories in the air” (31).

Many times after reading a poem or two before hitting the sack, I’d shut the book and just say, “that was just so good.”  What a wonderful way to end a night.  And I’ll leave you with a short quote from “Portraits of Some Mistresses,” “Then, to Kill Time which has such a hardy life, as well as to accelerate Life which flows so slowly, they ordered a few more bottles of wine” (89).***

Cheers.

*Baudelaire is such a strong last name to me, I just feel you never really need to say Charles.

** Clayton Fine Books has a selection of first edition works by Baudelaire.

*** Warning, this poem is actually kind of disturbing, Bukowski style.

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Books with the book expert

Posted on October 31, 2012 by reginadma

I may have mentioned that the workout buddy’s parents own a rare and used book establishment called Clayton Fine Books.  I have a deep fascination with the books that Clayton Fine Books owners Cam and Donna, have collected.  As many books that they have for sale, I think they have just as many great stories about meeting authors and artists over the years.

I thought I’d combine the interests of books, talking about good books, and stories into the book project.  I mean, I can’t read everything.  Clearly.  You’ve seen how 2012 reading has gone for me.  I do like hearing about cool books even if I might never have the chance to read it myself.
I asked Donna to tell me about an author that I recently heard speak at the National Book Festival, someone that you might be familiar with, Sandra Cisneros.  Donna and I had a great conversation about Cisneros months earlier.  I was struck by Donna’s authority in her knowledge of the author and, because of years of reading about this particular author, Donna’s point of view about her work. Imagine yourself having a conversation like this one…

Here’s what Donna had to say about Sandra Cisneros.

Sandra Cisneros has long had a reputation for being a rebel. When she moved from Chicago to San Antonio in the 1980s, she bought a small house near downtown in an ethnically mixed neighborhood that was once primarily Hispanic.  Typical of so many “historic” areas newly gentrified, a historic landmarks commission was formed. One of the main jobs of such commissions is to enforce restrictions on the color a resident’s house may be painted.  Sandra raised the commission members’ ire when, without their approval, she painted her house a bright purple.  Of course, they ruled that the color she chose was not an appropriately ‘historic color’ and they told her she had to paint it a color they approved–an historic blue, brown, white, etc.–a far cry from purple.  She refused, both parties landed up in court (as well as the national news) and the writer won her case.  This case helped set a legal precedent for other historic commissions across the country who are now more cautious in how they handle house color ‘requirements.’

My husband Cameron and I met the author in Dallas in the mid-1990s when she was conducting a reading. We each had a big stack of books for her to sign and were expecting that she might not like that (many authors restrict the number of books they will sign). Far beyond our expectations, she gladly signed all and engaged us in a friendly conversation. We were both impressed by her down-to-earth nature.Sandra Cisneros is known for being a great supporter of writers at all ages. She formed her own foundation, Macando, which has helped support socially-engaged writers for more than fifteen years. (You can learn more about her life and work on her website.)

Donna with Sandra Cisneros’ book Caramelo. Notice the books in the background? That is the tip of a book iceberg.

What I especially like about Sandra Cisneros’ writing is the way she pulls the reader into her world from first words to last, whether it be a poem, short story, or novel.  Her characters practically leap off the page.  She portrays many strong females, all quite likable and energetic. They can be both clever and charming in the way they solve the problems in their lives.  They range in age from the young Esperenza of “House on Mango Street” to the cantankerous ‘Little Grandmother’ of “Caramelo.”  No matter what age or temperament they are always iconoclasts, like the author herself.  And Cisneros’ language sparkles with vivid phrases.  No one is better at using simple similes and metaphors to get just the right shade of meaning (Wordsworth).

 While I like every thing I’ve read by her, I would have to say my favorite remains “House on Mango Street,” her most popular book.  Esperanza, the novel’s young heroine, ranks along side Holden and Huck in intelligence and charm.  The short chapters capture moments in Esperenza’s early adolescence that change her in some way.  And the reader can’t help but root for her and be pleased with where she finally arrives.  Cisneros has said that Esperenza comes straight from her own childhood experiences growing up in a Chicago barrio.  Through the eyes of a imaginative child, we learn of the daily little joys and disappointments that finally add up to a complex adolescent worldview.

I asked Donna to talk to me about a Cisneros book that they have for sale that is rare, makes makes the book rare, and what she likes about this particular book. A technical question with a personal twist.

We have a signed first edition of her bilingual children’s book, “Hairs/Peritos”, beautifully illustrated by Terry Ybanez.  I’ll never forget the flamboyant way Sandra signed this book for us at a Dallas reading–in a graceful sprawl framing the illustration on the title page.  At first, I thought she was going to just scribble on the page; after all, it is a children’s book.  I’ve been able to find only one other signed copy of this book for sale.  The story originally appeared in “House on Mango Street.”  Its one of the best passages from the book as the young narrator describes the hairs on the heads of her mother, father and siblings and tells us what they reveal about personality.  Once again, Cisneros makes the most of every single word in portraying, with just a few of them, dynamic characters.

Here’s a list of the Sandra Cisneros books Donna and Cam have available if you’re interested in reading her work. Also, reach Donna and Cam at their website, or twitter: @ClaytonBooks .
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The Fourth Book: A Writer’s Writer

Posted on October 12, 2012 by reginadma

Elizabeth Costello is a serious character. I didn’t realize this when I first picked up the fourth book in my book project, named after said character, and written by J.M. Coetzee. In fact, I didn’t know anything about the book at all. I picked it up on a whim one day, on a lark, if you will, after having carted this slim book around for years.

When was I supposed to read this book? Undergrad however many years ago? Grad school? During my academic years, it was not like me to let an assigned book go unread, no matter how boring the book seemed, or how busy I was at the time. Suffice it to say, something happened and this book went unread until 2012. I chalk it up to picking this book up extraneously in the campus book store.

The blurb on the back of the book gave no indication as to what Elizabeth Costello would be about, but I went ahead anyway. I’ve never had such an experience before with a book as when reading Elizabeth Costello. I knew immediately that I did not like Elizabeth’s son or his wife, but I’m not sure how much I liked Elizabeth either. But it was more than that. I knew I was reading something complex, something serious, something that demanded the exigencies of analysis and literary criticism to fully enjoy.

Elizabeth Costello is a woman who gained her fame by writing one book in the voice of Molly Bloom, a character from Ulysses. (You can listen to Kate Bush’s song “Flower of the Mountain,” which uses a soliloquy of Molly Bloom’s in the lyrics.)  During her career she has written other works, but her fame is forever anchored to this piece despite her interest in other intellectual pursuits. She is asked to speak at various functions but she speaks not about Molly Bloom as her hosts would wish, but rather animals, animal cruelty and animal philosophy–much to the discomfort and downright anger of her hosts and audiences.  Susan Moebius, who wrote a book about Elizabeth remarks, “Elizabeth Costello has been a key writer for our  times. My book isn’t about her alone, but she figures strongly in it” (22). Susan means other moments in time, other people as influencers are represented in her book, but she says this defensively to Elizabeth’s son. I think her remark captures the relationship Elizabeth now has with herself as a writer–she’s there, she has an influence on something, but it’s not really about her anymore.

I remarked to a few friends that I was reading this book. Mostly with the reaction of, “ooohhh, good luck” inferred. One friend commented that Coetzee is a “writer’s writer.” Truer words. He weaves philosophy, writings of actual writers (Kafka, Ted Hughes, Descartes, Kant [of whom, in regards to why we philosophically choose to treat animals well, Elizabeth “would have expected better” (67)], Jonathan Swift), and the intellectual preoccupations of academics in his book.

Now, the most important question: Would I recommend Elizabeth Costello* ? and**

Serious.

Elizabeth Costello is a serious character because Coetzee is a serious person. I mean, wow. Check out Coetzee giving his 2003 Nobel Lecture where he literally takes off his “everyday” eyeglasses, puts them in his pocket, and pulls out his “reading” glasses and doesn’t even make a joke about this ridiculous process. And that he doesn’t make a joke about his superfluous number of eyeglasses is pretty much the funniest thing that happens during this speech. More, read Jonathan Dee’s NYT book review of Coetzee’s biography. (After reading the review of his biography, which seems to be a pretty amazing read, my reaction? Eesh…)

I’d recommend Coetzee if you appreciate literature qua literature, if you appreciate super serious, amazingly presented writing. This is not beach reading, this is not escapism. This is take out some paper, wax literary reading. Reading this book made me feel pretty garsh-darned smart, so if you are looking for any of these experiences, read this book.

* Other books in the book project, many of which I talk about a lot more than Elizabeth.

** This book is so serious. (I mean, did you notice the length of this post?) I almost didn’t use any asterisks. Thank goodness for shameless self-promotion.

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Update: We’re Living in a 1940s Household

Posted on October 2, 2012 by reginadma

We moved in the beginning of August from Bloomingdale to Capitol Hill. I previously mentioned that the move unburdened me from a burgeoning anxiety about this spot on the west curb corner near our house where people would drop things off without any apparent bulk waste removal schedule in mind. You can read about that anxiety here.

What I didn’t mention is why we decided to move, which, with some reluctance, I will tell you now. I mean, we live in a time of blogging and not only blogging, but blogging about feelings and personal happenings-which I have to say, and with an ingrained, perhaps situationally* generational point of pride, that I have, for the most part stayed clear of doing.  Though I did just invite you all, without batting an eye, without any hint of sarcasm, to read about anxiety, and specifically, to read about an anxiety of mine. Douglas Coupland would be proud.

Well, I might as well do this right and ask that as I lean closer to tell you my story, you lean closer, too.

We moved because one set of our neighbors were a nightmare. Terrible. Weekly there would be yelling coming from their house at 4am, a pitbull running amuck, then two pitbulls running amuck, cars idling outside our house at all hours of the the day…the list goes on. This could be the Stockholm syndrome talking, but for the most part, the main group of folks that lived in the house permanently / semi-permanently were–despite all we endeared–quite nice. They were chatty and interested in what we were up to. Upon hearing that we were moving, reasons of wanting to explore a new neighborhood given, one neighbor concluded, “well, I hope no one crazy moves in.” Indeed.

Not too long after the US Marshalls showed up at our neighbors’, looking to reunite someone known to stay there with an arrest warrant he or she must have dropped, we decided, “let’s get out of here, this party just got weird.**”

About a week before we were to move, we were robbed during a rash of robberies that took place all across our neighborhood. Luckily all of our stuff was boxed up, and luckily we had an alarm system.

One of the aforementioned neighbors, very concerned about our well-being, asked, like everyone does in robbery situations, “What did they take?”  I went through the list of things, and upon concluding my list, the neighbor asked, “Did they take your tv?”  I said, “No.  Luckily, we don’t have a tv.”  He scrunched up his face, his comment one that I’ve heard many times before from lots of people, “You don’t have a tv?”

“Nope.”

“…what do you do for entertainment?”

We’re now settling into our new house in a new neighborhood and things are great.  We realized after I answered my neighbor’s question about what we do for entertainment without a tv, one night at our new house listening to the radio, with the loss of our computer, we were mimicking a 1940s household with only the radiowaves, newspapers, books, and booze to keep us entertained.  I have to say, it ain’t such a bad life–this time of the 1940s.  Dinners that are thoughtful and scrumptious, books and magazine articles are finished, games are played. Lots of talking and laughing…I’m bordering on bragging, I know, but that’s also allowed in an age of blogging, right?

* Yes, I know “situationally” is not a word. Neologisms are glorious.

** Please refer to @Hallingpres and @Precisely, the two that introduced me to this amazing phrase.

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The 3rd book and hiatus

Posted on July 31, 2012 by reginadma

I “recently” finished sometime in 2012, I think in July, Unbroken by Laura Hillenbrand, famed author of Seabiscuit (which is mentioned in Unbroken) and famed author of…Unbroken.  Apparently, whatever Ms. Hillenbrand writes is golden and I can see why.  This book is amazing, and I can’t believe it’s true.  I have ranted and raved about this book I think as much as I did while reading and after finishing A Supposedly Fun Thing I’ll Never Do Again by DFW.  Basically, to shut  me up, you have to read this book.

I received this book as a Christmas gift in 2011 and funny enough*, it’s a book that I don’t think I would have picked up on my own.  Unbroken was one of those books that I stayed up way into the night to continue reading. Running, sharks, the history of B-24 planes, WWII, survival and a whole host of other topics joined together by Hillenbrand’s great writing style. And, in case you were wondering, I did cry.  I also laughed and I’m also going to shut up about this book..for now…bwahahah. Just go read it.

Oh, and about the hiatus of the book project (I almost forgot). We’re moving to another neighborhood.  While I’m currently refreshing my relationship with Daniel Kahneman (sorry Cass**), and working on a few other books, the book project is on hiatus until I can recreate the scene in our new house.  That also means I will leave behind my anxiety about the documentation project…so that’s not wholly terrible.  And, let’s focus on another small detail I mentioned in passing: I’ll also be moving. As I surround myself with boxes and put  my stuff into those boxes, I have to say, funny enough, the process of moving is really not that fun.

* I say, “funny enough” often and usually, the situation I’m pointing out, ain’t that funny.

** Oh, Cass.

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The Second Book

Posted on July 19, 2012 by reginadma

How many times have I commented to Kelsey, “Blogging is so hard,” to which she’s responds one of two ways, “Truth,” or, “It really is.”

Whenever I feel the sentiment about the difficulties of blogging, I almost always think of First World Problems, and the thought of feeling stress or anxiety about a non-problem is enough to make me change direction and think of something else.

But, I have to be honest with everyone: for me, anyway, blogging is difficult.  Perhaps it’s my yoga practice, or my ability (I think) to recognize what is actually stressful, or actually a problem that helps me to remain pretty calm about most things most of the time.  But not this.  Blogging opens up an area in my brain that activates anxiety and stress.

I turn into an anxious person when I write*, but the trigger is very specific. It’s not the thought that people will judge my writing that makes me anxious.  You’ve all seen my writing. You know what’s up.  I’m no Jonathan Franzen, no DFW, or VS Naipaul, or any other male author that I like a lot because apparently I only read male authors.  Hmmm…

What makes me anxious is the scheduling of the stories.  The balance of letting everyone know when certain events took place without being so concerned with time that time becomes a focal point in the story.  In a sense, it is a fear of judgement that I describe.  All this to say is that I finished a second book for my book project.  (Hand clap, yaay.)  Great news.

But, what I got all anxious about was the desire to let everyone know that I actually finished this book awhile ago.  I just don’t remember when.  However, the thought of not mentioning that I finished the book “awhile ago” just can’t happen.  I have to let everyone know I’m not the world’s slowest reader.  I mean, I read this book soooo long ago now.  I probably finished it last month…or in June.  It’s not quite my literary snobbery I’ve mentioned once or twice before, because, let’s face it, I ain’t got nothin to be snobby about at this point.  So, what should have been a post about this great book I read has become a therapy session about my reading schedule and the inability to not letting certain things go unmentioned.

So, anyway, I finished this book** a long, long time ago in 2012, after the book on Cuba: Rule of the Bone by Russel Banks.

I love this book.  It’s another book that I found myself talking about a lot.  Ironically, I almost passed this book up, but a friend insisted I take it with me on a bus ride from NY back to DC to pass the time.  (What a crazy trip that was by the by.  I was not feeling all that great the whole bus trip and found myself thinking for most of the drive, “well, I’m going to vomit on this bus…that sucks. I’m going to be that person…vomiting on the bus.”  In my delirium, in between reading and trying to nap, when the bus stopped somewhere in Maryland, I didn’t know what was going on, so I packed up my stuff and got off the bus and stood around thinking, “Where the hell am I?  This is not Union Station. This is not my beautiful wife.” I quietly got back on the bus, and luckily only one person noticed what was going on. I sheepishly smiled at him and took a different seat and began anew thoughts of vomiting on buses and really trying not to do so.)

Anyway, I read up on Russel Banks and apparently he writes a lot about the working poor and their problems, often in a coming-of-age setting.  (The main character, Chappie in this particular book is 14, gets kicked out of his house and has a bunch of really awful things happen to him, but throughout the book Chappie maintains this foundation of good-person-ness that he certainly didn’t inherit from his family, and it certainly wasn’t fostered by his community.)  Banks apparently has received criticism for writing about the problems of the poor, as if they don’t have enough to worry about already.  That kind of criticism probably comes from people that are currently not, nor have ever been poor.  It’s the equivalent of telling someone not to stare at someone who looks different because of how it makes you feel, not necessarily the person being stared at.  I highly recommend this book and it would be great if someone else around me read it so I had someone to talk to about it.

* Truthfully, I guess I have confessed to a few other anxieties I have…First World Problems to the max indeed.

** update! If you’re interested in Russel Banks, my workout buddy’s parents have a rare and used book store called Clayton Fine Books and you can order his books, as well as a host of other amazing authors. Life is grand.

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Repository for Lots of Things, Including Problems

Posted on June 18, 2012 by reginadma

The neighbors, or whoever “they” are that drop off stuff on the curb near my house in Bloomingdale are very busy these days bringing stuff to the curb.  And whoever takes that stuff away therefore has also been very busy.

And, voila.  All this activity means I have a problem.  Let me explain*.

What was it, last week maybe, this television and suitcase appeared together.  As I rode my bike past these new items, I thought, “wow, that’s a big dump**.”

A couple days after these two things appeared, I happened to be walking by, minding my own business of course, when I noticed the suitcase was full of clothing.  In fact, a pair of jeans has tumbled onto the grass and due to rain fall, everything was soggy.  The scene was definitely…sad.  Sad to me anyway because,  similar to how Michael Douglas in “Wonder Boys” and, I think Robert Downey, Jr. (or was it Tobey McGuire [“take a bow, James,”]) created a whole life for the character Vernon, I envisioned a scenario for how this suitcase full of clothes ended up on the curb, now soaking wet, that wasn’t happy.  How could it be? The situation didn’t seem as though someone was just getting rid of excess clothing, and the suitcase from what I could tell was in pretty fine condition and it didn’t seem like something that needed to get tossed out.

If you look close enough at this photo***, you can see clothing spilling out of the suitcase.

It wasn’t when I conjured a sob story about a suitcase and some clothing that my problem began, because I will have you know that is perfectly normal behavior, but sometime around when I decided I wanted to take a second photo of the suitcase with the tv to get a better angle of the clothing spilling out.  You know, to really document the moment.  I rode up to the curb on the day I’d decided to take the second photo and came to a stop on my bike, I wouldn’t say with a horrified feeling, but something akin to horror.  I kinda stared at the grassy curb area.  The suitcase was gone.  I stayed there for awhile.  I concluded the situation by saying “bah!” out loud, (fist in the air) and continued the distance of 30 feet to my house.

It gets worse.

A couple days ago, these items arrived:

Television now accompanied by a corner of a bed frame and a lamp stand.

My problem continues, because just yesterday when I walked passed the repository curb, there was a box for an office chair with the other three pieces and I thought, “well, that’s pretty boring, but since it’s part of the documentation project, I have to take a photo.”

However, this morning, the box was GONE.  No evidence, no documentation of the existence of the box.

I have increasing anxiety about this curb: When next will something arrive? Why, WHY didn’t I take a photo when I had a CHANCE? (and staring off into the distance wistfully about what could have been.)  Thoughts filled with questions like, what parameters do I need to set for this project–do I take just one photo of each new thing and that’s it, or, like I thought I would do with the suitcase, is it best to show multiple angles?  How much do I care about the photo?

Why am I thinking about this repository curb so much?  Honestly?  I mean, it’s a problem.

*I find it amusing when people write, “let me explain,” as though a) people care to know more and b) as if someone was like, “wait, I don’t get it,” and then you’re like, “let me explain.”

**Meheheh

*** Looking closely at photos (and more, saying out loud to look closely) always reminds me of the American version of that movie, “The Ring,” when Naomi Watts is looking at that photo of the horse falling off the cliff and sees a little speck within the print and as she looks closer the speck turns into a fly she picks off the page.  Esh, creeeepy.

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Mystery Solved. The Problem: Who’s Gonna Clean it Up?

Posted on June 8, 2012 by reginadma

You’ve all been to my house. You know I’m not a neat freak. You know you’ll come to a cozy home, lots of food on hand and I’ll put a glass of wine in your hand while we’re hugging hello. There will probably be a few dishes in the sink and…I’ll stop there.

I keep the fridge comfortably packed, and the summer CSA ensures this.  Mmmm.

One day, I noticed the pooch licking the floor near the fridge and of course just thought, “yup, just like a lab.” and then I said to the pooch, “Hey! Come on! [clap clap clap] Move along buster!” He looked up at me uninterestedly while continuing to lick the floor. Oy!

That was a couple days ago.  I didn’t think much of it because the pooch is always on the search for food. His desire to located food increases even more so after he eats…it’s odd living with a being that doesn’t have the capacity to feel satiated.  Like, if he got into his dog food bag while I wasn’t around, it would be bad…*

And then today I noticed this:

You might not be able to tell what this is from this iphone photo. (My iphone is the second version ever made…it’s dying I think, but that’s another “story”.)  But, this photo is of a dried-up substance on the floor.  What you can’t tell from this photo is that this is the exact spot the pooch was licking not two days before.  What the heck? No. I cannot have this on the floor.  This goes beyond dishes in sinks and piles of clothing that I’ll eventually fold and put away…or truthfully I’ll just make an awesome, slightly wrinkled outfit from the pile.  Either way, the pile goes away, right?  Right workout buddy?

And then, shifting things around in the fridge to make room for some soup I just made, I discovered this:

The container of whey I was saving for smoothies…You might not be able to tell from this photo, but this container is empty of whey.

No!

* During a party at our house, while we were distracted by engaging stories and clinking wine glasses, the pooch did manage to dig his way into his dog food bag.  Luckily however, he got so excited by his find, what probably seemed to him an endless supply of food, the jackpot if you will, he almost immediately started hyperventilating and made, unknown to him, a very dramatic scene.  We pulled him away from his bag of food and gave him a bunch of hugs and tried to calm him down.  Showered with attention, for a short moment a head immersed in a never-ending supply of food, that’s one lucky kat.

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Book Project Update: I finished a book!

Posted on June 6, 2012 by reginadma

Social media helps us chronicle the passage of time so that, unless we journal or keep a detailed calendar, we might not have noticed the comings and goings of some things in our lives.  Not that these things are insignificant, but often, chronicling the waxing and waning of certain events  happens haphazardly if at all.

Specifically, I’m talking about when we start and finish a book.  Years ago I signed up for GoodReads, an online book club of sorts where you can tell all your friends what books you’re reading which ones you want to read, and which ones you’ve finished.  (And many of us, upon creating our profiles, front-loaded our profiles.  Of course I read Uncle Tom’s Cabin. In fact, I’ll write a review about it [probably with the same level of analysis from when I read it the first time, seventeen years ago.])

Basically, GoodReads keeps track of when you pick up a book and when you finish it. Like this book I completed last month and can display actively for my book project:

Cuba: From Columbus to Castro and Beyond by Jamie Suchlicki.  I started reading this bed book* May of 2011 and I just finished it May 2012.  My proclivity towards literary snobbery forces me to note that of course I’ve read lots of other things in the meantime.

Don’t be silly.

I think 2012 has been a slow reading year.

Technically though, because I lost my copy of A Supposedly Fun Thing I’ll Never Do Again by DFW (during a crazy New Year’s Eve trip with some great people) and had to read the remaining story via PDF, and therefore could not visually display it as the first book of 2012 I finished, I am displaying Cuba…in the second quarter of 2012.  Yes.

Cuba almost killed me.  Clearly.  How many nights, with only 50 pages left,  did I just read 2-3 pages even, determined to finish, thinking back to when I was first learning about the native inhabitants of Cuba…so long ago it seemed.  It wasn’t that the book was boring at this point–Castro’s dictatorship.  Contrarily**, it was a great insight into the motivations of Castro that I’d never read about before.  This  new knowledge allowed me to talk to my workout buddy about the status of Cuba’s foreign policy and tenuous global position (especially after the fall of the Soviet Union, I tell you what…the book is a bit outdated) and I could just feel the Cuban knowledge seep into my medium-term memory.  Hey, some nights, for lots of reasons, you only read 2-3 pages of a book.

* Really long (but utterly fascinating) blog post I wrote about Bed Books.

**I find that word kinda annoying I think.  Contrarily.

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Chair as Art. Art as Chair.

Posted on May 24, 2012 by reginadma

So, the air conditioner and the second chair disappeared and this little piece of art work showed up one day…

 

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