Travels of Jeanne
Here's where I've been: Canada (4 times)
Mexico (3 times)
Belgium
Egypt
The Galapagos Islands
Venezuela
Costa Rica
Not counting the places I went in utero. My mother swears that those count, but I'm not convinced. But if it does, toss in Germany and the Tierra del Fuego. Also, I just got back from New Orleans, but you have to look elsewhere for that. I don't even remember all the places in the US I've been. I should. It's not like this country is boring or anything. I feel the need to apologize to my country of citizenship, for neglecting it. Oh well.
So, children, who wants to know what I like to read?
Lots. That's the answer. Here's what is sitting immediately to my right on the bookshelf. I thought I'd reel off everything I've read this year, and comment on what was exceptional.
Richard Brautigan - Trout Fishing in America, In Watermelon Sugar, and The Abortion. These are strange, beautiful books that I adored and reccommend HIGHLY. My favorite was In Watermelon Sugar, and I just can't describe the strange adventures that take place in a sylvan world where everything is made of watermelon sugar and the sun rises a different color every day, and the dead are buried underwater in phosphorescent tombs.
Justine, by Lawrence Durrell - This is the first book I read by the elder Durrell, although I've devoured volumes by his younger brother Gerald. Still, this is a sad and (I hate to use this word, but have to) haunting book about a destructive woman and various love affairs.
Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe, Nectar in a Sieve by Kamala Markandaya, The Way of All Flesh by Samuel Butler - I especially liked this last because of all the loathsome characters. I enjoy being irritated at people in books.
For Whom the Bell Tolls, by Ernest Hemingway, and Ill Met By Moonlight by W. Stanley Moss. I am thrilled by the daring deeds of World War II commandos.
La Belle Otero, by Arthur H. Lewis. This is nonfiction, an autobiography of a great figure of La Belle Epoque. She was a Spanish dancer and vaudeville performer, among other things. It cost $10,000 in cash or jewels for a night with Caroline Otero - and over her long career, she gambled away every penny and jewel, even those given to her by five royal lovers. I can't get enough of the opulence of this era, I love it. One of my favorite books at home describes the great restauraunts of the Belle Epoque - just the restauraunts and the parties given in them, and it's fascinating!
What else? Oh, the Fermata, by Nicholson Baker. Claire lent me that after a breakup so I could get hot and bothered and in touch with my inner self-lovin'. Well, I have to say it didn't fulfill that function entirely, but it was still a great book.
Crome Yellow, by Aldous Huxley, Hiroshima, by John Hersey (so marvelous, and so horrifying), Mr. Blue by Miles Connoly - that one is beautifully spiritual, but leans far in favor of Catholicism. Too far for my taste.
Dancing With My Sister Jane, by Maria Flook, and White Boys and River Girls by Paula Gover. These last are books of short stories, and I can say without hesistation that Paula Gover writes the most incredible short stories I've ever read. I especially love "Mistress of Cats", about a woman who overcomes trauma inflicted by her abusive father and learns self-sufficiency, and "My Naked Beauty", about a mother trying to cope with her daughter's ambitions to be a beauty queen. God, I love this book.
I got a kick out of the razor dialogue in "Love! Valour! Compassion!" by Terrence McNally. Never saw the movie, but perhaps it's just as well. I like to picture characters to myself. I'll never get over, for example, Jo March being Wynona Rider. Oh well.
In Montreal, I purchased a book called Chocolate Jesus, which was bizarre, in a word. It was another book with neat dialogue and revolting characters, like Dudes #1 and #2, who get such scintillating lines as "Shit, dude, Tonya Harding'd be a cool girlfriend. She's got, like, a pickup and shit." and "Our generation is famed for our resistance to Madison Avenue gimmickry." It was a fun book, not too terribly intellectual.
The Red And The Black, by Stendhal. It's all about the rise and eventual fall of a young Frenchman named Julien Sorel who seduces young ladies of the nobility, but only after reams of soul-searching, temporizing, and logically intellectual conversations with himself about his motives and his society. I like it, but as I said, it's the kind of book Cosmo can lure you away from very easily.
Now this is something I just have to have in here - archy and mehitabel by Don Marquis. They are, respectively, a reincarnated cockroach and a reincarnated cat - a poet and Cleopatra. They are funny, wise little pieces typed in all lowercase letters, because archy does his typing on an old typewriter, and of course when you are a cockroach and type by flinging yourself headfirst onto the keys, you cannot work the shift mechanism. Well, check it out. I like the illustrations a lot.
This is archy.
Over the summer I read a vast quantity of books, of course. Since I've been back I read exactly two for my own personal pleasure. Sigh...school.
They were Good Enough to Eat, which sucked (and I rarely say that about a book)
and My Year of Meats, which was very, very good. Still not enough to sway me from my carniverous habits, though.
Back to my page?