Posts Tagged ‘Books’
is not being able to get books from the library. Like this book from New York Review of books:
In Tearing Haste: Letters between Deborah Devonshire and Patrick Leigh Fermor
Patrick Leigh Fermor and Deborah Devonshire, edited by Charlotte Mosley
I would love to read it! But there’s another thing I can’t ignore. I’m in China to accomplish something and that leaves me little time to read anyway!
- Wait for Me! Memoirs of the Youngest Mitford Sister by Deborah Devonshire: review (telegraph.co.uk)
- The Duchess of Devonshire: ‘When you are very old, you cry over some things, but not a lot’ (guardian.co.uk)
- “Fear is the bane of modern Western culture” (sebastianmarshall.com)
Wow, this is another view of standing to read books, or walking a treadmill while reading.
This image was snipped from the New Yorker’s Book Bench blog
Two months ago I returned to Vancouver from a 5 month hiatus in China. Aside from the difficulties of finding my own niche in a bustling China I missed my connection with books and it’s only now that I can freely reserve new and old books from vpl.ca that I realize what a treasure it is and how much I missed it.
I am looking forward to seeing the new movie “Julie and Julia” so much that I couldn’t miss Michael Pollan‘s NYT Magazine piece about Julia Child and the movie. I picked up on Pollan’s mention of Julia’s life memoir published after she died, “My life in France“. So I scooted over to vpl.ca and found the library catalougue entry for it and immediately reserved it, just like that!
These days thanks to VPL.ca I am back into reading three and four books in tandem. Kind of fun. But I am particularly looking forward to reading Julia’s memoir. What a goofy looking sounding genius she was and so adorable, to me.
So much of my life now is music, history, interesting descriptions of science and philosophy and good novels and my Mac is my best window into all of this.
And this blog is an invaluable place so that I can record and muse about my life, past, present and future.
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- My Life in France, Julia Child (gothamgal.com)
- Elissa Altman: Julia, Julie, Judith, and Me (huffingtonpost.com)
- Remembering Julia Child for expertise, enthusiasm, fun (timesunion.com)
Behold, gentle reader, this odd-rhyming storium
Of bookselling‘s classiest sassiest emporium
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Image by denis collette via Flickr
The issue of Happiness has been a constant attractor for this blog. So I was intrigued this morning as I browsed a recent piece about Salman Rushdie’s “Sermon for the Secular” to stumble into this e-issue by Time circa 2005 all about Happiness.
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Image via Wikipedia
This musing has been triggered by reading an NY Review of Books review of Philip Roth‘s musing about death and the deaths of so many of his friends, focusing especially on the death of Saul Bellow, the Nobel Laureate.
At one point the review cites the novel’s protagonist facing his dead mother and father. I don’t share Roth’s rueful looking back on his libidinous life style. I don’t feel that there is much in all the women I enjoyed carnal knowledge of that I can feel sorry about. It was all a gas.
I can even look back endearingly on the look and feel of red haired pussies. A delectable thought. Oh, there is the nagging overhang that when I was enjoying much of that, my wife, now an only legal ex-, was at home probably angry as hell with me because of my absence from the domestic nest. Atone for what!!
“Yes mother, in a way you did prepare me for my wanderings. Your banked down sensuality sort of nudged me into indulging in my own sensuality. I even remember smelling and trying on your brassieres in my flowering and confusing time of puberty. I longed to put my face into your generous and soft looking bosoms. But you never even gave me many hugs. That probably gave a good reason to hug and f..k as many well bossomed ones as I could find and seduce.”
The somewhat ironic thing is that today I enjoy the lithe body of my 42 year old Chinese wife as if I had never longed for generous sized tits in my lifetime. Today I have no reason or no incentive to look anywhere but our loving bed for fun, sex, great titillation and comfort. Oh to be 70 and alive still!!
To my father, who was a dull and repetitive moralist in the most ordinary sense, I say: “I am glad that I resisted your notions about conventional morality and religious observances. I hope they have done you well in the Great Beyond. It seems unlikely that I will ever encounter you in whatever heaven you surely are in. My heaven is now and for the rest of my healthy time on this earth.”
To my dead friends, “I honor you now by doing the best I can on earth. I got to this point by offering to help and support a Chinese woman who wanted to gain legal immigrant status in Canada. It’s a good cause and I thoroughly enjoy the fruits of our friendliness and ongoing partnership.
The one thing I really fear is that she may leave these mortal coils before I do. That will not only draw me into the grim reality of loss of a friend and life partner, but will probably fill me with despair about spending the rest of my life on this earth without her and her company.
Death is inevitable. I do not anticipate it now, but I believe that it will feel like the normal ending of a good life, good for me at least!!
I write this in the sense that Shakespeare evoked when he apparently said and was quoted: “write about what you feel and not what you should be (or not) saying”. So I have said as much as I could here about my feelings and musing on the deaths of my parents, siblings, friends and I mustn’t forget my enemies, whoever and wherever they have been and are.