Consolation

Consolation by Michael Redhill

"Didn't those men and women, whose names we have all but lost, wander home in the evening to their hearths and speak of their future here? We are only faintly aware of the city they lived in - it is just an intimation, a movement in the corner of the eye. Of that city which must have stunk of horses and offal and pine oils and roasted fowl, of that air that rang with the cries of newsboys and the sounds of boots on hollow walkways and hooves on stone."

The Royal British Columbia Museum takes me back in time like no other museum has ever managed. I just returned from a week in England trolling through the British Museum, the Victoria Albert, the Museum of Natural History, the National Gallery...and never have I felt transported into history as I have at that lovely museum that I first visited in the fifth grade. There is a room, a re-creation of a kitchen from the days of yore, a breeze (from a fan) blows the curtain and the scent of cinnamon from a cooling (fake) pie, and the clatter of wagons and horse hooves is piped in. You lean over the wooden railing, willing yourself to become part of the room and breathe it all in. All your senses are there, you are almost there. This passage from Redhill's novel Consolation does the same for me. Through out this novel he evokes time and place and emotion convincingly and with such clarity.

"He only wanted to drowse a little in his life, as most people did, and carry along as if he'd gotten lost in the forest for a while, where the sounds of animals were too distinct for comfort and the scents too strong, and then the sounds of horses came piping in through the boughs. The wish was for home and the wish was a weakness."

Other Notable Reads of Late:



The Road by Cormac McCarthy
A page turner that lives up to all the reviews, but too much for me. The story was shocking in it's stark depiction of a father- son relationship in a post-apocalyptic world. I draw the line at stories of cannibalism. Of course I ended up reading it during the Christmas season! I had a narrow window of opportunity and I was loaned the book.



Nineteen Minutes by Jodi Picoult
I finally read a Picoult book and can see for myself how gripping they are. Her topics have always scared me off, along with her cult like popularity among women. This one had resonance in light of the recent school shooting here so I picked it up. It was a strong story. I guess it always comes down to that, you can't beat storytelling even when other things like writing style get in the way.



Purple Hibiscus by Chimanda Ngozi Adichie
Couldn't put it down, the characters are so rich and marvellous and stories of tyrannical religious parents always intrigue me (I don't know why because they bare no resemblance to my own childhood). Set in Nigeria it is a coming of age story that you really will enjoy. Highly recommended!

Echoes

The Echo Maker by Richard Powers

A young man swerves off a straight country road and into a coma. Three sets of tire tracks and an anonymous note on the table next to his hospital bed are all that remains to tangibly tell the tale. Human drama interplays with nature, set against the backdrop of an influx of migrating cranes in small town Nebraska. A thoughtful and lyrical examination of consciousness and the power of the brain to deceive and conceive reality. The novel is peppered with tales of the brain's foolery, patients recovering from trauma who do not recognize their own body parts, or are unable to recognize faces, or cannot form new memories.

"Back in the waiting room, she witnesses eight middle-aged men in flannel standing in a ring, their eyes slow scanning the floor. A murmur issued from them, wind teasing the lonely screens of a farmhouse. The sound rose and fell in waves. It took her a moment to realize: a prayer circle, for another victim who'd come in just after Mark. A makeshift Pentecostal service, covering anything that scalpels, drugs and lasers couldn't. The gift of tongues descended on the circle of men, like small talk at a family reunion. Home was the place you never escape, even in a nightmare."

Nominated for a Pulitzer in 2007 and Winner of the National Book Award in 2006, this novel captivated me for several days. I kept thinking of my friend, a newly graduated Occupational Therapist who has been working on the various units of a busy downtown hospital. The brain is a mysterious thing and how difficult it must be to assess and work with those who have experienced such life altering trauma. My one criticism, is that each central character spirals into their own self absorbed reality, where even the most selfless act achieves a narcissistic goal. Their respective grasps on reality seem tenuous at best. Perhaps this is the point.

I may as well quickly mention two other books I've been meaning to return to the library! I had planned on attending my meditation class this afternoon, however it has been rescheduled. I recently learned that there are allegations that this type of yoga meditation is in fact linked to a cult. Wonderful. No, No. Listening to tinkly Indian music, sitting until your ass aches, trying not to think, and being reduced to a near sleeping like state does not a cult make.

P.G Wodehouse. Comforting read in the manner of Agatha Christie with more chirades and chuckles. Suprising little quips about life and love. A clever narrative voice. Strong female characters, though sometimes they are perhaps a simple mockery...considering the era, plays on gender or? I really should look it up.

"I can't stand brave men," said Jane, "it makes them so independent. I could only love a man who would depend on me in everything. Sometimes, when I have been roughing it out in the jungle," she went on rather wistfully, "I have had my dreams of some gentle clinging man who would put is hand in mine and tell me his poor little troubles and let me pet and comfort him and bring the smiles back to his face. I'm beginning to want to settle down. After all there are other things for a woman to do in this life besides travelling and big-game hunting. I should like to go to Parliament. And, if I did that I should practically have to marry. I mean, I should have to have a man look after the social end of life and arrange parties and receptions and so on and sit ornamentally at the head of my table. I can't imagine anything jollier than marriage under conditions like that. When I come back a bit done up after a long sitting at the House, he would mix me a whiskey and soda and read poetry to me or prattle on about all the things he had been doing during the day....Why it would be ideal!"


I can't help but read this as a mockery of the things men used to expect of marriage from women. Ha. As if anyone needs that.



First published in the U.S. in 1949 this is a classic written by one of the major Finnish writers of the 20th century: Mika Waltari. The tale of Sinu, a doctor from birth to death during a time of religious and political strife (the latter part of the 18th dynasty of the New Kingdom, 1386-1293 B.C.E.). This doctor become disillusioned with humanity and scornful of war. These themes had resonance during World War II when it was conceived and helped propel it to acclaim. An epic read and a bit of a struggle for myself to reach the end...I tend to have a hard time reading books that end in the later years of someone's life...you know how it will end. Shocking in it's gore at times...the work of embalmers, soldiers, brain surgery, temple priests...These were bloody times. I just noticed on Wikipedia that this novel was first published in Finnish in 1945 and in 1949 an abridged English edition was published. Oh dear, my copy was abridged?

Strawberry Fields

Strawberry Fields: A Novel by Marina Lewycka

This was my little splurge for the 30 hour trip back. However, I ended up reading a tattered '80's paperback family saga that my grandmother passed along. I never can focus on anything serious when I'm flying. Lewyka won great acclaim for her previous work, A Short History of Tractors in the Ukraine (nominated for the Orange and Booker Awards) - That is the book that I indeed wished to purchase a few days before my departure. But this was her only title in stock. This tale focuses on the lives of a group of migrant workers in England from Eastern Europe, China and Africa as they flee a bad situation. Some fall by the wayside, recruited into jobs by corrupt middlemen that sound too good to be true... middlemen that hold the passports of the women they sell into prostitution. Sounds serious? Well, those stories are merely mentioned and the stories become central are the ones with more hope and elements of stubborn pride, redemption, humour and a touch of romance.

One character reflects after the horror of working in the filth and gore of a chicken factory...

"Is he freer here in the West today than he was in Poland in the years of communism, when all he dreamed about was freedom, without even knowing what it was? Is he really any freer than those chickens in the barn, packed here in this small stinking room with five strangers, submitting meekly to a daily horror that has already become routine? Tormentor and tormented, they are all just damned creatures in hell. There must be a song in this."

And later on the same page, we touch base with another character and the tone changes entirely:

"Yola was in a foul mood. She had discovered that morning, don't ask how, that the Slovak women who shared their hotel room had no pubic hair. How could this be permitted? Presumably they were not born this way, but acquired it in the natural course of things, and had taken steps to remove it. There are many bad things that can be said about communism, but one thing is for certain, in communist times women did not abuse their pubic hair in this way - a practice that is unnatural, unsightly, undignified, and, without being to specific, potentially dangerous."

The characters are rich and believable in all their messiness. The story itself may be a bit unevenly paced and sometimes stretches the believable. But the essential humanity and struggle of diverse people all seeking something far from home strikes a chord. All sides of human nature, the selfish and the selfless, the romantic and the vulgar, Lewyka spins a good yarn.

Settling In

It's been a tumultuous first few weeks back. The Supple Scientist and I have been waiting for all sorts of news...conferences, resident permits, research proposals. Big stuff that will define the next few months.

Upon arrival I began filling my days with little projects and errands and baking (yes, BAKING - that is NOT me) Of course the baking was born of homesickness. Finding food is a monumental task for me, a picky semi-vegetarian, at the best of times...but add to that a teeny tiny oven, limited crockery, and food package ingredient lists, nutritional info. and directions for use in a foreign language...I'm not complaining, these are just the challenges. Not to mention my recipe books are in imperial and my measuring cups/oven is in metric and so baking and cooking involves more math than it reasonably should! I began yearning for something...the next thing I knew I busy baking mom's apple crisp. Ahhh, the aroma of cinnamon and a warm crumbly bite of home. I took a step back and said, "It's only been three weeks since you left the cloistered realm of mom, dad, brothers, grandma (the coolest woman in the world) and best friends...go easy on yourself. Curl up with a good book and count your blessings. The pet bunny made it here and that's a very major blessing. She's an EU citizen now. There are benefits to that for her future travel! So while the following list may seem to be comprised of several negative incidents and one positive, these are just the things that I found interesting enough to relate. Many good things happen each day. Rest assured.

In my first 3 weeks back:

• A young boy held up a (very realistic) toy semi-automatic and fired it at me repeatedly as I was jogging down the street towards him. It made a popping noise that startled me badly. He continued to "shoot" me all the way down the street with a frightening blank expression on his face.


• One evening we heard thumping on the roof outside our windows. I walked to the window and pulled the curtain open and before me was a naked man prancing around holding a bottle of beer. Our neighbour.


• We called the police for the first time. At 3 am one night, I awoke to loud shouting and pounding in the hall. Someone was kicking one of the doors in our hall. These two men were also screaming. I wish I knew what they were saying. It was frightening not knowing the situation. The next day we got an apology note. From. Our. Neighbour. (I had bad neighbours in Canada, why not here? Although, once upon a time I had a lovely senior lady next door who watered my plants for me whenever I went out of town and chatted up anyone who knocked on my door).


• I attended an English Comedy night. The Finnish comedians were great (except for the one that did all the punch lines in Finnish). The show featured an extremely crude guest comedian from Canada. I have never been so embarrassed to be Canadian. Enough said.


• I listened to my first sermon from a female pastor. Actually, my first sermon from a Finnish pastor. Actually, my first Lutheran sermon. Rock on.

The Poisonwood Bible by Barabara Kingsolver

Four girls and a mother accompany father preacher (a tyrant) into the great unsaved Belgian Congo in 1959. Told in five distinct female voices that you may love and loathe in turn. Favorite quotes:

"Tall and straight I may appear, but I will always be Ada inside. A crooked little person trying to tell the truth. The power is in the balance: we are our injuries, as much as we are our successes."

"Everything you're sure is right can be wrong in another place. Especially here."

"Culture is a slingshot moved by the force of it's past. When the strap lets go, what flies forward will not be family planning, it will be the small, hard head of a child. Overpopulation has deforested three-quarters of Africa, yielding drought, famine, and the probable extinction of all animals most loved by children and zoos. The competition for resources intensifies, and burgeoning tribes try to kill each other. For every life saved by vaccination or food relief, one is lost to starvation or war. Poor Africa. No other nation has endured such an unspeakably bizarre combination of foreign thievery and foreign goodwill."


It's Kind of a Funny Story by Ned Vizzini

A story about a teenage boy who is clinically depressed and checks himself into a psych ward one suicidal evening. I skimmed through much of the first half and curiosity led me onwards. There have always been people in my life with clinical depression. I have known people who have made "a stay," "a visit," who have disappeared for a little while...It was the process of healing and the exploration of friendship and finding anchors in a turbulent life that kept me reading. Immensely satisfying. Tears in your eyes satisfying.

And at the end of the story:

Ned Vizzini spend five days in adult psychiatric in the Methodist Hospital, Park Slope, Brooklyn 11/29/04- 12/3/04. Ned wrote this 12/10/04 - 1/6/05.

Awesome.

Coastal Moments

The patter of rain, wood smoke hanging in the air, the perpetual sound of a whistling neighbour and the resounding chorus of neighbourhood dogs when a bear crashes through the underbrush. Where else can I jog along a dusty road as pick up truck roars past, every kind of colour, a hand shoots out the window and waves? Flowers for sale for five dollars at an unmanned roadside stand. Glorious colours waving in the wind. I leave money in a small wooden box for produce on Reid Road where they have the juiciest tomatoes, the springiest salad mix and the crunchiest zucchini.

Nights at the beach with a campfire made of driftwood. The waves washing the shore and the twinkling lights of the island surprisingly sharp on the horizon. Other folks down the beach drunkenly wander over to inquire about a missing Basset Hound. The police visit our group later on, surprised that our hands conceal only Tim Hortons cups of hot chocolate. I watched a meteor shower that night and roasted wieners and marshmallows.

I hiked in the forest, sat atop bluffs, swam in the ocean, breathed in the scent of horse... I had many glasses of wine with good friends. I am sad that my visit draws to a close but what a wonderful visit it has been.

City living

I'm back in the city in order to do some research at the university and catch up with friends. Oh yes, and I have a FIVE DAY wedding to attend. It will be a lot of fun! This is city is so beautiful and it's wonderful to be back, but after the quiet life in our sleepy university town abroad, and the peaceful rural life of my parent's place the last few weeks...the city is darker than I remember. Sunshine, a fresh breeze off the water, soaring mountains framing the horizon...and yet there is so much need here.

After being away a little while, the street presence of the homeless and needy seems oppressive. I forgot what it was like, and also I left before the weather got warm. Shopping cart homes abound and weathered men meet in parks and on sidewalks. Today I watched a transient man and his partner clean out their backpacks on the sidewalk, tossing Q-tips and food wrappers on the pavement. Everyone else at the bus stop averted their eyes. The city strike continues, the garbage and cigarette butts litter the sea wall and the grass grows longer hiding syringes in parks across the city. I took the bus down East Hastings to go to the PNE (the fair) a few evenings ago and we passed through the worst areas of the downtown Eastside. Swarms of the homeless and drug addicted flowed across the sidewalks and streets as the bus frequently braked. Dealer stood on corners. Police unlucky enough to pull foot patrol waded through masses of humanity, gesturing for people to move away from store entrances. Hundreds of people. Where does anyone begin? An angry wheel chair bound addict strapped himself in across from me, and a prostitute fingering her bags and screeching into her cell sat across the aisle. I fingered my necklace nervously, wondering why I chose to wear the small diamond pendant, the diamond from my great aunts engagement ring, reset as a graduation gift. And my only valuable possession. When I got off at the PNE, so did the man in the wheelchair, track marks running up his arm. He took off his baseball cap and began his panhandling at the gates.

I recently sold my car. Got to fund the return airfare! And so I am experiencing my favorite city via transit. And what a different city you see. Sitting on the seabus one night, enjoying the short 15 minute trip across the water towards the glittering city lights, I was disturbed. Behind me sat a man. He looked perfectly normal, even carried a briefcase. But he could not stop screaming. His tightly clasped hands gripped his face, containing his wailing as best as possible. Occasionally he strode around, sitting back down to resume in a hoarse voice. Schizophrenic? Possibly. Everywhere it seems the mentally disturbed have been left to fend for themselves. And they take transit. And when it can't get any stranger, someone will do something marvelous. Late for a doctor appointment across town, I discovered too late that my change would only cover one zone of travel rather than two. The driver threatened to kick me off the bus as I rifled through my purse becoming flushed as tears welled in my eyes. It was all too much. As we lurched around a corner and I prepared to get off the bus and miss my appointment, a woman stood up and called out, "Do you need another dollar?" And the day was saved. I did spend the rest of the ride wondering if I could offer her alternate compensation. A stick of gum? A book mark? I will definitely pay it forward.

Anyways, back to my trip to the PNE story...Moments later, I was seated on the grass inside the gates after paying my $15 dollar entrance fee. Sitting on a blanket with my brother and his friends on a beautiful summers evening, listening to Emerson Drive. A grinning cowboy fiddles his way across the stage and a wave of jean clad girls scream in appreciation. I snicker along with my brother at the various antics of this Canadian country band. We're not really country. But we're having a good time. It feels good to be in Canada. And I don't take the bus home.

Meandering, Monotonous or Moving?

The Last Summer (of You & Me) by Ann Brashares
Summer reading. A meandering coming of age romance. A delightful and frustrating foray into the unnecessarily complicated lives of three adolescents. I had to read this first adult novel by the author of the Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants.

A Long Way Gone: memoirs of a boy soldier by Ishmael Beah

This tale should be told. This story is important. However, I found the prose to be monotonous and robotic. I was not moved. It read like a UNICEF advert.

A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini

Another reality made so real. Characters so believable. And this is an even harder task in world so far removed from our own daily existence. Afghanistan? Sound depressing. It is not. It is a life affirming tale of loss and survival and hope in a torn region that starts with the individual. A tale of perseverance. I can't wait for the next Hosseini novel.

My reviews are short, but so is my time at home. When I return to Scandinavia, I will get back to posting regularily. There is just so much life to live right now!

Two Summer Reads

The Diana Chronicles by Tina Brown.

A much more even handed examination of the life and times of Diana. Stories about all the Royals help complete the tale...actions and words begin to make sense and the complexity of her legacy is revealed. I have only read one other Diana bio- Andrew Morton's - much more salacious and scathing. Things that no one needs to know, really. Looking at Charles and all the Royals in a more sympathetic light, while still depicting the challenges that Diana faced. There are no excuses offered for the behaviour described...multifaceted people...no one is all angel or all devil. It does make for a fascinating read - take it to the beach! (though if you're like me, you'll walk around hiding the cover!!)

Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides.

I bookmarked a dozen pages to add the excerpts to this blog. But it was due quite suddenly, only in my grasp for two weeks. What a storyteller!! What a topic. Fascinating. I read the first 80 pages in bed one night. It kept me up quite late a number of nights. A good meaty length, slicing through thick layers of geography, time, evolution, medicine, and family - all to explore the incident of a gene mutation - the incident of a hermaphrodite. Perhaps I will add to this later...one of the most satisfying novels I've read this year.

Mysteries and such...

Another torrentially rainy day and our apartment is humid with damp clothes strung from every available surface. Two weeks of laundry in one go and a very small drying room - yes I had to touch other people's underwear today (oh how I miss the warm tumbling sounds of an electric dryer). Well, not much to report on the LitheLibrarian front - been working away at some booklists on a volunteer basis. Boy do I miss the quirky world of public library reference...all the interesting people and all the strange conversations that I used to overhear. I rarely overhear conversations in English these days, and when I do they are of the more mundane variety. I am always amazed at how easily I get by speaking English everywhere I go. I feel quite guilty and really sympathize for all those immigrants that don't speak such a global language.

Friday, I rented a DVD for the first time. The clerk was a teenage girl, pleased to try out her English and pretty darn good (despite the self-depreciating remarks everyone makes, people are always excellent around here!) - of course I wasn't in the database, so it was necessary to giver her my boyfriends name. Silly me, apparently I can't even pronounce his last name properly. The way we say it back home means a whole 'nother name over here. Round one - nothing. Round two- tried saying it the Finnish way- nothing. Round three- attempted to spell it, was given a piece of paper to write it down- nothing. Roung four - remembered the dots over the "o" (both of them) that apparently change the whole thing! Anyways, I guess something I should learn, especially if I plan on taking this last name myself someday.

The Tenderness of Wolves by Stef Penney

I read this novel in the hectic days before my trip. I didn't blog about it before, but as I would rate it one of the best books of the year. I picked it up of the new fiction shelf and it had a much nicer cover than the one above (yes, covers influence me, don't they influence you just a little?) Also, once upon a time, a school principal called the class I was so lucky to teach - "a pack of wolves" - for some reason, the fascination with the species remains. Various elements were intriguing - a murder, a mystery of a sort, historical fiction, set in Canada, fur traders, first nations, strong female characters, romance (male-female and male-male)... how could I resist? And I was not disapointed, it was lyrical, literary and utterly captivating. It's currently climbing the ranks on Amazon. By the way, Stef Penney is British and has never visited Canada. This was her first novel and I can't wait for the next...here's an excerpt I found online:

It is a Thursday morning in mid-November, about two weeks after that meeting in the store. I walk down the road from our house in a dreadful temper, planning my lecture carefully. More than likely I rehearse it aloud -- one of many strange habits that are all too easy to pick up in the backwoods. The road -- actually little more than a series of ruts worn by hooves and wheels -- follows the river where it plunges down a series of shallow falls. Under the birches patches of moss gleam emerald in the sunlight. Fallen leaves, crystallised by the night's frost, crackle under my feet, whispering of the coming winter. The sky is an achingly clear blue. I walk quickly in my anger, head high. It probably makes me look cheerful.

Jammet's cabin sits away from the riverbank in a patch of weeds that passes for a garden. The unpeeled log walls have faded over the years until the whole thing looks grey and woolly, more like a living growth than a building. It is something from a bygone age: the door is buckskin stretched over a wooden frame, the windows glazed with oiled parchment. In winter he must freeze. It's not a place where the women of Dove River often call, and I haven't been here myself for months, but right now I have run out of places to look.There is no smoke signal of life inside, but the door stands ajar; the buckskin stained from earthy hands. I call out, then knock on the wall. There is no reply, so I peer inside, and when my eyes have adjusted to the dimness I see Jammet, at home and, true to form, asleep on his bed at this time in the morning. I nearly walk away then, thinking there is no point waking him, but frustration makes me persevere. I haven't come all this way for nothing.

Heir to the Glimmering World by Cynthia Ozick.

It opens dark and mysterious as an aimless girl with no qualifications or skills seeks a job to take her away. She is an orphan who has lost an awful father and lives with a relation, a young man who doesn't see her as the woman she desires him to see. His new girlfriend is a hard Communist activist, and wants her out. Meanders in a poetic way but never reaches any astonishing climax. Almost baffles me how it can really be viewed as a novel...how did this one get published quite like it was. The characters are wonderful and it is written with skill...but it seems incomplete. Still an enjoyable read.

Death du Jour by Kathy Reichs.

Read it when I was feeling a little seasick during our cruise from Helsinki to Stockholm. Laying in my cabin with my small window (facing the life preserver but offering a glimpse of the sea). Good for this kind of thing. Couldn't put it down. I do admire a female detective! The gore was a bit much at times. I don't usually read this type of novel but as it takes place in Quebec in part, I made an exception. There were also some implausible aspects...some inconsistancies - time to get a better editor. Geesh.

Kindness revisited...

Contrary to my previous posting, I will be able to read On Chesil Beach while in Finland. The children's librarian that I volunteer with very kindly made a simple phone call and the book is on it's way, despite my blundering. I simply must get a grasp on this language when I return in the fall!

Kindness is everywhere I turn, here in Finland. I've been very lucky. I've met all sorts of helpful and generous folk.

I've also met a few characters. It's a small place. The other evening I went jogging on my own. I went to a local hill (which has a look-out tower and a playing field perched on top) and is wooded. Trails intersect and encircle the entire area, so if you pass a person jogging once, you are bound to pass them a dozen times. When I returned home to my partner, I informed him that I was checked out quite a few times on my run. I was being cruel, just trying to inject him with a motivator for joining me on the occasional evening jaunt. "Oh, by who?" he asked. "Um, some really serious runner, and Italian maybe, in short shorts," I replied. "Oh, that's the same guy that was checking you out at the grocery store when we were shopping a few weeks ago, his name is ---." As an afterthought he added, "He's a real horn-dog."

Oh, okay. Well, anyways before I get too full of myself.

Anyhow, the interpersonal weirdness just keeps on coming. In my first week here, we met a sprightly blonde German girl that dutifully showed up at every gathering where a certain friend of ours was bound to be. I was new, lonely, and eager to make new acquaintances. I tried to engage her in conversation a few times and really didn't get very far. She just wasn't interested in making friends...her gaze kept being averted. Let's call her "Tiffy" - because that's the kind of name she has. When the apple of her eye left town for an internship, Mr. Apple, I thought we wouldn't hear from her any longer. This was true, until two weeks ago. She ran into my partner while out shopping. Twice. Consequently we have been sent a text message to join her and friends for drinks, as she will being going away for three weeks. Well, I really haven't seen her in two months, so I don't know about this three week thing. Does she think that Mr. Apple is back, and he'll be coming along with us? Oh well, regardless of the motivators I will head out and take one more stab at friendship. Sometimes it is exhausting being in a country were all the people you socialize with are new acquaintances. I miss the lack of effort it took to hang around with old comfortable friends!

By the way, Tiffy has a watch that trains her. It has a programmed training schedule and gets her out the door and furthermore, if her heart rate is below target, it commands her to run faster. No wonder she's got such a great figure. I need one of those.


Image from Mati Rose, a Californian artist.

Some things transcend language...

I've had my fair share of language gaffs since I arrived here. At a conference workshop, I tried to help out by bringing over some extra chairs for a discussion, and I brought over a chair that said RIKKI. Lets just say that I discovered the hard way that rikki means broken. I've gone in doors that said OUT and out of doors that said IN and I've tried to open doors to buildings that are closed. It can be a little bit like experiencing the world as an illiterate!

I had another bad library experience -I stood at the circulation desk trying to comprehend why my holds went to a different branch (after all, I used the English version of the catalogue!) The circulation staff talked amongst themselves, gesturing towards me as the line grew, avoiding eye contact, and generally looking quite irritated. I wish I could speak the language, I am trying, and I don't want to seem like an arrogant North American. I don't expect people to speak English at all, but I find that most people do, and get accustomed to that. I begin to hope that one person on staff at any given institution will comprehend me to some degree. I kept apologizing and shrugging, we don't have a car and I can't imagine trekking to somewhere else to get a book from a library, I asked if I could cancel it. Looks of irritation soon appeared and I was asked to move away from the desk. I was pointed towards a reference desk, where I met a librarian that did not speak English and found myself standing there bewildered as Mika tried to explain. The situation seems hopeless and I've given up on reading Ian McEwan's On Chesil Beach until I get home. I know I will now be eternally sympathetic to foreigners and new Canadians when I'm back home working on reference some day. I think I have always been courteous, but now I see how a smile can go such a long way when someone is bewildered. Kindness transcends language.

Another thing that transcends language is drunkenness! I had the wonderful opportunity to join the staff on the Mobile Library Bus this week. The bus driver, did not speak a word of English. By pointing to book titles, gesturing, and writing numbers down, and by showing me his wallet, he managed to convey that he had two children and that his son, only fifteen years old is 185 cm tall and plays basketball. His daughter is 25 and has a 2 year old child. Pretty good eh?

At the last stop of the night, we were a bit weary (I have no excuse because I was simply observing - all reference and circulation transactions were in Finnish) when a woman got onto the bus wearing the unmistakable odor of liquor. I guess that's the problem with pulling a library bus up in front of someones house on a summer evening. She tied her dog up outside and it was carrying on barking relentlessly in piercing tones. Every now and then she shouted out the door at it. After she left, the librarian and bus driver burst into laughter, waving their arms and saying "Pheewwww!" and the bus driver mimicked glugging out of a bottle. Yup!

Anyways, it was lovely to see how the book bus works. Kids with bike helmets in hand were the number one customer. It was great to see how the bus can serve children in their own neighbourhood as they showed up at the right time, waiting to return books and pick up their holds. One girl picked up a slew of Manga while we held on to a pile of James Bond novels for a boy. The librarian knew many of her regulars and walked the length of the bus helping patrons find books. She had a keen sense of what people needed, and took time to refresh the fiction that was available while we were stopped. The shelves are very tightly packed, both to make the most materials available and to reduce flying objects while driving! They keep a tight collection of fiction, non-fiction (from sushi to gardening) and children's materials (including kids DVD's but not adults). The materials are quite fresh and new and are housed separately from the regular collection in the basement of the library.

I wish we had a mobile library bus at home. Sigh. On the road...

A Little Piece of Paris and some sterner stuff...

Fatima's Good Fortune by Joanne & Gerry Dryansky.


This was a quirky lovely little book that made me laugh out loud, and long for escape into its sunny pages. Yes sunny. Don't usually long for that. Okay, I do sometimes.

The most extraordinary descriptions of human interactions with very personable animals. Pets I would love to have:

"As if Durand's glance had cued her, the dog, the Countess's ancient Labrador, Emma, strolled in from the hallway, rolling her hips, and began to sniff suspiciously at Monsier Durand's zippered half-boots. The dog trailed a faintly unpleasant smell, resembling the odor of a cellar. Durand hiked his trouser leg nervously and Emma's saliva wet his hairless leg above a low sock. Her teeth grazed his skin. Time, he thought grimly to get back in the literal elevator."

Another scene...

"Cacohouete looked at him in a strange silence when he walked in."

"Don't say it!" Suget shouted at the bird. "Or I'll fillet you like a fish."

"Cacohouete kept mum and turned his back and let go a bit of bird-do. Suget took it as an insult and threw his raincoat over the cage. Perhaps, to be fair, the bird had merely shown that it was terrified, and perhaps on the other hand, if someone who knew bird expressions were looking at Cacahoute full in the face from the other side of the cage, he would have seen a look of sympathy. This from Cacahoute for the first time."

Where does the story start?

"It was the twenty-seventh of August, and rain had been falling on Paris for several days on end. As if in winter, the Eiffel Tower was amputated above the hips by fog. The swollen Seine was splashing the boots of the stone Zouave below le Pont de l'Alma and covering the gangways of the rising houseboats. In the blurred city, on streets that smelled of wood fires lit in yellow-windowed living rooms, the cobbles were all that glistened." And here we meet Rachida, the sister of Fatima, the Tusanian hotel maid who finds herself in France, despite her accursed and life long bad luck...and so the tale begins...




The Known World by Edward P. Jones


I've been meaning to read this one for a while, the 2004 Pulitzer Prize winner, but the opening paragraph deterred me. Serious stuff, best saved for another day when I am made of sterner stuff. Amidst the extreme, and I do mean extreme, busy-ness of my previous children's librarian life (all my own doing, too many things going on, too many jobs, too many people to please, too many activities and involvements) I often grabbed a book on Friday evenings downstairs from the adult department on ending my shift, looking for something straightforward and enjoyable. A light diversion. Now that I'm far from home with more time for reading, I am finally reading some things I should really read. I finding great rewards within the pages! I am currently reading Salman Rushdie's Shalimar the Clown. I am completely immersed, unable to put it aside, a great storyteller indeed and beyond any blog entry review!


The tale opens with Moses, the formidable overseer of the other slaves at a plantation surprisingly owned by another black man. This paradox of slavery and ownership runs through out the tale. This man, Henry Townsend promptly dies, leaving his widow Caldonia to grapple with her role. I did not enjoy the opening, or this character Moses. I did not enjoy how shallow and lifeless Caldonia was in this tale. This was a tale about many people populating a particular time and place however, and we were not to dwell on one woman's story. Intricate layers of family and generation unravel and a beautiful symmetry unfolds and the story reaches it's somewhat violent but inevitable culmination. I loved the detail and care taken, the gift of foresight the author offered at ever turn with every character. A glimpse into the future of the narrative, for this example comes early on, years before it actually occurs...


"Louis, over time, would learn how not to let the eye beome his destiny, for people in that part of Virginia thought a traveling eye a sign of an inattentive and dishonest man. By the time he became friends with Caldonia and Calvin, her brother, at Fern Elston's tiny academy for free Negro children just behind her parlor, Louis would be able to tell the moment when the eye was wandering off just by the look on a person's face. He would blink and the eye would come back. This mean looking full and long into soemone's eyes, and people came to see that as a sign of a man who cared about what was being said. He became an honest man in many people's eyes, honest enough for Caldonia Townsend to say yes when he asked her to marry him. "I never thought I was worthy of you," he said, thinking of the dead Henry, when he asked her to marry him. She said, "We are all worthy of one another."

Five Diverse and Delicious Reads...

Queen Camilla by Sue Townsend.

My favorite author of light and humorous reads. I don't know what I'll do if she ever quits writing. Surely she won't grow old and die before me? It's kind of like how Agatha Christie and Margaret Maron novels are comfort reads but I know there is a finite number available for reading in my lifetime - consequently I savour and save. That's my practical side really, saving good books for rainy days. Too bad I'm not so good at saving coin.

I was more than half way through Queen Camilla when I left Canada. I read it on the way to the airport even...it calmed me amidst all the family drama.

Imagine that the Royal Family has been outlawed, disolved and what's more, banished to an Exclusionary Zone. Estates carefully patrolled and sealed, permits are necessary to leave and the various undersireables of society live there...well so do Camilla and Charles. Doddering around with their garden and their dogs while politics swirl onwards in the real world. So good for a chuckle.

Five Quarters of an Orange by Joanne Harris.

I loved Chocolat, so this was a sure fire thing for the plane (also with my gift card, merci, merci!) Definitely darker, sweeping in it's emotions, portrayal of unhappiness, and the darker needs and sides of the inhabitants of a small French village. Not quite as satisfying as I anticipated...but a lovely glimpse into an interesting past, and a fine piece of storytelling, a writer telling the story within the story...

The In-Between World of Vikram Lall by M.G. Vassanji.

Written as a memoir, alternating between past and present, Vassanji is a master of telling just as much as necessary to keep the reader tantalized....

The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho.

I read this book for it's preface. I purchased it for my trip with a lovely gift card from some friends. I was a little disapointed with it overall, despite the aclaim it felt a bit like one book in a series from a self-help guru. However it was the right book at the right time, quite providential really...

The Hungry Tide by Amitav Ghosh.

I purchased this book for my trip to England two years ago where I was to complete my library practicum. I forgot it at home, my mother stayed in my apartment and returned it to the library (not a library book), retrieved it, and I haven't seen it or finished it since. I picked it up from the English collection at the library here and haven't put it down. This past week has been consumed with the images of India, of tidal country, of Luisibari and the elusive river dolphins sought

It's all so strange...

I was planning on sharing some lovely pictures from the library that I'm volunteering at, but unfortunately I couldn't go in today. I have an eye infection - yuck! You know that recall on Complete Contact Lense solution in Canada, well I've been using it. I booked an appointment at a clinic today before I even heard the news that this solution may be harbouring an evil little amoeba. It may be unrelated...I sure hope it is.

So alas my day was muddled, I slept to rest my weepy eye, and now it's midnight and I'm thinking it's a good time to blog.

I've been doing some reading for a week long summer institute on literacy that I'm attending at the university next week. I've been trying to track down books by the various guest speakers. On Friday I decided to go to the library. Too late. The library closed at four o-clock. Yes, really no wonder everyone leaves work early on Fridays. On Saturday I decided to try again. However, only the first floor of the library was open (housing textbooks only). I decided to at least gain access to electronic resources by visiting. Well, for starters, the front doors were locked. You can only enter through the side. That seems a tad bit unwelcoming to me, though I'm sure there is a good reason. Okay, so next I walked through to the nearest computer terminals. I could not access any of the ebrary books through those terminals. Keep in mind that I can't read any of the signage so it's trial and error. I decided to ask the lone staff person reading a newspaper on a stool at circulation (where all the lights were primarily off, leaving him to squint his way through the sports pages). I tried my standard Do you speak English phrase and received embarassed shaking of the head and shrugging. Okay, so I did what countless non-English speakers have done to me, I pointed at the book citation in my notebook and indicated that I was looking for it. This is where it gets disapointing. He continued to shrug and say I don't know. Now, he was sitting in front of a computer. I know Mr. Newspaper Reader wasn't a librarian, but he was the sole staff member in the building. Feeling close to tears, I smiled and said, it's okay, kitos, hei hei and walked away...wandering aimlessly seeking an available computer work station. I gave up and went home for a little cry.

I don't know why, but my inability to communicate really frustrates and upsets me sometimes. In some aspects of life it's more relaxing. When a drunken crazy person stumbles up to you chattering away, you just say, sorry I don't speak Finnish (Supple Scientist even does this -the lier!!) and the majority of advertising, billboards, flashing electronic signs, just mean nothing. There are fewer books, newspapers, magazines, fewer items of interest in the store, as a consumer your world recedes and simplifies.

I returned to the library on Monday and got some help from a very smartly clad and professional librarian (the only one in the library at the single reference desk!!) - I am not incompetent, the catalogue is simply incorrect. The book I was looking for has no holdings information and the electronic copy was not working for some reason. Hurrah! Unfortunately her phone was ringing off the hook, and having sympathy I left her alone though a myriad of questions were bursting to tumble out across that reference desk. I still can't find a book. Not a single book. It is a completely different system from the public library and not LC like in Canada (and it is baffling). I have to say though that I genuinely prefer the public library in terms of staffing, organization, it's much larger, and there are lots of nice places to sit and work...I'll be spending more time at the university library this week...so we'll see if it grows on me.

Photo credit: Amelie

Poor Neglected Little Blog

Poor neglected LitheLibrarian Blog! Well, I have a solution! My travel blog has too many watchful eyes, parents and relatives and such. I need an outlet for griping, telling embarrassing stories, and writing about the books I've been reading. There's just too much self-censoring with the other blog. So this one will remain in use!

I may not be working as a librarian right now, but I am still the LitheLibrarian! Volunteering at the local public library has been a great experience, and because I reappear each week, people become more and more comfortable sharing the "unofficial" story of the institution. I heard a lot about labour issues when I spent an hour with the head of circulation. Every week I hear about how poorly librarians are paid in the public sphere, but I was suprised to hear this from a library assistant. Librarians and library assistants belong to different unions, however the LA one is much stronger because they have more power for striking. Last time the librarians striked, the LA's filled in. There is a movement for the two unions to join forces. LA's make almost the same wage as librarians, though they do hold 4 year degrees.

So I have been shuffled around, I spent time with the mobile services librarian, the music librarian, the head of adult reference, and the head of cataloguing. And of course, the most fun place to be, I've been most frequently - the children's department! It really is a lovely place. I'll hold off a bit more until I take some pictures. The language continues to be a difficult thing, making me despair that I will ever truly work as a librarian in Finland. There aren't any language classes available in our city at the moment - the adult learning centre closes for the summer, I'm not a student so I can't join the Language Centre classes, and I'm not an EU citizen so I can't join classes at the Employment Centre....I'm doomed to mutter in English under my breath, the crazy wannabee librarian, who blurts out phrases only to have people stare in confusion. My favorite - I have no idea how to spell it - PAHOOOTKA ENGLANTIA? (Do you speak English) and MEEENA ENTEA (I don't know) - not exactly key reference desk phrases...

Fill 'er up!

Welcome to the information gas station - fill 'er up! Yes these are public internet terminals at the main Helsinki library. Pretty sweet eh? Something I've noticed everywhere is that there are no privacy screens. There are generally fewer public computers in the libraries here, it is just so common for people to bring their own laptops. Heck it's ten o'clock am and these stations are free. The socio-economic grid is muc flatter. Wireless is available in all public libraries. The goal is to simply provide a comfortable working space for computer users. One library we visited had little tables on wheels that you simply pull up to the couch, bench, chair, that you choose to sit on.

Something else that makes sense is that almost everything in the libraries is moveable. No earthquakes = shelves on wheels. An adaptable enviroment. Furthermore, computer terminals and OPACs often have wiring going up tubes into the ceiling, making it easy to move everything around when the layout changes.

So...giving my current location kind of blows my anonymous status so I'm undecided what the current future of this blog will be. I may simply copy library related posts from here into my main travel blog (the one that talks about stuff other than libraries!) ... what do you think?

excerpt from Betsy Byars novel, children's author

"Dear Melissa,

I have been thinking of you since breakfast. We only had Corn Pops because the baby had cried all night, and at first I thought my unsettled feeling had to do with an unsatisfactory breakfast.

At nine-thirty I pedaled to Wendy's for a sausage biscuit, and after I ate a sausage biscuit and fries, I was still hungry.

Then I realized my hunger was for you.

The hunger of love, and this is truly the first time I have experienced it so intensely, is a unique experience, Melissa, and I sat in Wendy's until the waitress wiped my table three times and gave me a funny look. Then I went home and had a small box of Cheerios and felt a little better.

Hungrily yours,
Bingo"

3 old posts!

I helped two women find books on grief today. Moments later, I heard loud sobbing. I didn't turn to look. I think the younger woman wanted some privacy, crouched down in the stacks. Such painful heart wrenching sobs, muffled in her arms, my heart went out to her.

Yesterday a woman spoke to me who I see often, however she has never asked for help. She uses a walker, is generally ungroomed, scowling, long wisps of stringy hair hanging in her eyes. Her very elderly mother, who she described as "half-deaf" was unable to hear the sound on the computer with the earphones. They were proudly watching a movie trailer featuring her son, a local actor. She was pleasant, her voice clear and polite and I was surprised. I though her scowl, permanently pasted on, indicated her state of mind, her disposition. I wasn't simply judging the book by her cover, a few weeks ago I also had a near miss in the mall with her as she roared through on one of those handi-darts at high speed, veering around shoppers. I was wrong!

I had two teens figure out that certain publishers publish certain types of materials. We ran a search by publisher to get more juicy chick lit. I wanted to share so much more, I've read a lot of good teen stuff lately. Unfortunately a lot of the new goodies are checked out, all the time, probably by teachers and library school students. I'm such a pessimist sometimes! It was nice, but they left without touching my display of booklist titles and I felt a little sad. Sniff.

Sometimes you get more than you wanted

Let's drink like Diana.

I kicked off the Easter weekend in the company of two fabulous librarian friends and a spectacular Anne of Green Gables Marathon. Did we make it to the finish line? Not quite, but we had fun anyways.

We spent four hours sighing for Gilbert, chuckling at chatterbox Anne, admiring (or mocking) the cut of her dress, and pining for the sandy windswept shores of P.E.I. We drank rasberry cordial (fake) and indulged in egg salad sandwiches and tarts among other delictables. A Good thing to do on Good Friday.

So, back to business, yesterday I worked on Adult Info. and here's what happened:

Older woman approaches desk with lipstick gone wrong, lipstick that has gone beyond the boundaries of her real lips, and has worn away at the centre, giving her a clownish mouth to say the least. Or tartish, depending on your inclination to be charitable.

This is a great, great book.

Do you have anything else by this author?

Oh, what is it about? (this was a MISTAKE)

I am trying to read more non-fiction, and in this area know I have a penchant for female writers, particularly those that focus on travel and world events. Well, ooooh my goodness. The stuff coming out of this woman's mouth made me sweat.

Perspiration.

Clammy hands, I could not stop the stream of utterances.

NervouslyI glanced around to see who else was listening.

Example. Gay Men. Sure as heck don't want to huddle with them in the military. They are good people. But if I was a man, I sure as heck woudn't want to huddle with one.

Example. She begins reading a passage aloud to me. Along the lines of...Girls need permission to get their ears peirced, why don't they need permission for something that is a SIN (hissed loudly) !!? (Reference to abortion)

I cringe.

OOOh. My. Goodness. Neutral responses, eyes frequently averted. Please leave. Please leave now. I am not shocked that she agrees with the author. I am shocked that she thinks I would be sympathetic. That once upon a time, a lot of people would think this, that in many circles, people do still think this.

The moral of the story, is don't ask if you are afraid of what you might hear. And, I need to learn how to politely interrupt. I have this strange reverence for the elderly, no matter what filth they spout. I'm compelled to be the good girl, the listener, the polite person...

Time to break free, right?

I need a drink. Pass me the rasberry cordial, er, red current wine.

Paper or Plastic or Moving Van?

At the grocery store on my lunch break:

Hi, I'm just wondering if I can have the refrigerated items bagged separately?

No problem.

Thank you.

I'm one of the people here who are conscientious about that....they're going to miss me when I leave.

Oh.

[Moment later...]

Are you leaving soon? [Don't know why I asked!]

Well, yeah, the cost of living is just too high here.

Yeah. [thinking...the cost of living is too high everywhere when you work at the grocery store, trust me, been there done that]

Well, thanks, have a really good last day.

Reward: The highest decibel smile I've ever seen.

Again, I believe working on a reference desk causes me to cross those stranger boundaries, and interact with people I don't know in a slightly more authentic way. Sometimes it's weird because I'm not really that sort of person, but mostly I think it's nice because that is what community is, talking to people where we live. Where we live is where we live, but it's also where we shop, where we work, and where we go.

Speaking of where we live... yes I know, it's my favorite complaint lately and has nothing to do with librarianship....

On Easter Sunday, I awoke to the sound of hammering at 8:30 am. With my earplugs in.

It was loud.

It was early.

Okay, not that early, but still a holiday Sunday!

It sounded like it was coming from the balcony above.

I lay in bed imagining myself shouting, "It's a holiday, couldn't you wait until 9:00!"

I was very close to shouting. I lept out of bed, ripped open my curtains and cast my bleary eyes upwards.

It immediately stopped. I heard my neighbour above pacing around.

You bloody coward, I thought to myself. (In the summer he would sweep debris through the slats onto my patio furniture and into my drink, even onto me, and scuttle away as soon as I cleared my throat)...I waited my the door for a return of the hammering.

It didn't start up again and returned to the quiet sanctity of my bed and blissfully drifted off.

Later that day, on several occasions the hammering started up again.

Oh for goodness sake! Are you trying to be as annoying as possible? I griped...to myself mind you, roomie had headed home. I've noticed that by the end of a long weekend alone, I am spending more time "talking aloud" than what one might consider normal.

Well, to my horror, I discovered that yes the hammering would stop every time I open the curtains because the culprit was so scared of me that he would fly away.

Mr. Big Fat Crow was trying to build a nest in peace.

Do I feel foolish or what?!

Five Inches of Danger

Is wearing a batman mask every day detrimental to your child's development?

A small boy comes into the library several mornings a week, wearing a hard molded plastic batman mask. His mother wears a permanently sour expression, that discourages comment or even a tender smile from staff. They march in and march out, rarely perusing the shelves.

I have begun to wonder, if there is something wrong. They don't speak, he doesn't play with other children, and his peripheral vision is non-existant in this headgear. In the beginning, perhaps it was a simple indulgence, but now I am beginning to wonder if it has taken on a Phantom of the Opera quality. What are they masking?

Spring Has Arrived

Spring is hear, alas, the bagpipes have begun.

Literally.

The park across the street has become a haven for bagpipe practice, yet again. The strains of a weak winded child rushing through a series of notes erupts again. This very moment, but endearly the child is now visiting with a wheelchair bound elderly person with a guide dog. Aaah, community at work.

Several other ridiculous things happened today. I wish they happened at work, but unfortunately I am congested beyond belief and only lasted a half-hour in the confines of the library but deducing that my feverish state demanded bed rest. So this morning, when I headed to work, there was a dead bird on my car. It had been picked clean except for it's head, but the skeleton was fully intact, laying on my trunk. What was I to do but drive off, anxiously checking the rearview mirror, wondering if anyone could make an ICBC claim for damage done by a dead bird flying off my car and hitting their car? I don't know where I lost it, but when I arrived at the destination, it was gone.

The last bizarre thing that happened, was that this morning I hid in my apartment before leaving for work. I cowered in the hall, peeking through the eyehole, avoiding my new neighbours, two laughing, snickering yoga instructor types from former hometown and highschool days. Out of all the places to move in this city, highschool comes back to bite me in the ass, and they move across the hall from me. Neither were ever nice, in fact, both could be a little mean back in the day. One of them responsible for many unkind comments in the school year book's "Most Likely Too..." page- and I am not sharing what my entry was. La dee dah, and here I am, I am a librarian (I can just hear them snickering!)...Ugh...mayhaps I can plot revenge? Or, more in keeping with my character, simply continue with the avoidance strategy. Only one more month.

Current Reading:
An Abundance of Katherines by John Green (more to come on this later)
Book I put down, and don't have time to go back to:
Ysabel by Guy Gavriel Kay
Audiobook in my Car Stereo:
A Room with a View
Unfinished Book Review Title:
undisclosed but dull, can I review it without finishing it?

In the musty old building this week...

A highly successful library program was pulled off, with high stakes, and high anxiety. Over one hundred people crammed into the children's area, and many of them were first time visitors to our humble and crumbling abode. Reactions all around- self congratulations and...

• This is why we haven't done this in a decade...
• God, I need a drink.
• How did it go...Did you have any complaints?
• Click (a member of the public hung up on me enraged that our registration was full)
• Could you write a summary of the work involved and how long each task took, so when anyone asks, we can justify not doing this sort of program?

That last one really got me - please explain how much work it is, so that in future, we do not try to do this sort of HIGHLY SUCESSFUL program that brings hoardes of people into the library and promotes our services better than almost anything else.

Snip, snap, snout, this tale's told out!

In other news, I helped an elderly man with kidney disease determine how much phosporous is in his food. It took several hours, and some emailing to accomplish this, but to show his appreciation he returned to the library twice to hunt me down and tearfully marvel at my searching skills. This was very rewarding. It made up for a lot of other stuff.

Listening through your nose?

When I can't sleep, I listen to a radio program on my small little radio, the sound of conversation just puts me right out. Once upon a time my grandfather used to leave cassette tapes with his favorite evangelical talk shows and sermons lying about for me with post-it notes saying, "Listen to this!" - they had the same effect. The act of listening to someone else speak, lulls me, allows me to leave my own thoughts and worries behind.

Lately, I've been wearing earplugs, living in a downtown core has that effect. And the fact that people frequently play bongo drums in the park across the street into the wee hours. Actually they usually don't start up until the wee hours. So how do I listen to the radio and wear earplugs? Somehow if you lay on the earphone and turn the volume up. Well, the other night I rolled over and in a semi-conscious state, realized I was listening to the radio through my nostril. Yup, you can listen to the radio through your nose when your ears are plugged. This was to weird and yucky to continue with once I realized what was happening, and made me laugh a bit (alone in my bed, roomie must have wondered!!)

Well when I saw the headline for this article I was naturally intrigued: http://www.slate.com/id/2162384/?GT1=9231 But it actually didn't quite meet my expectations! Anyways, it does relate to a novel I read this weekend featuring a nurse working a burn unit (in part II) during world war II and overhears a girl break up with a soldier who has lost his nose and has been horrible disfigured. They have just completed one surgery to start creating new nostrils for the poor fellow. The girl whimpers, I'm sorry I just can't do it and rushes out. Eva enters the room, and the soldier holds up a photograph of a very handsome young man, it is himself. (I can't find the page, this is just a rough description) She assumes that it is the girls new beau until he rips the photo in half and she realizes who it is. Of course this lead to an interesting discussion with Supple Scientist over what one would do in a similar situation. If you are looking for quaint historical fiction with a touch of the mysterious and otherworld and a healthy dose of sad ending, you may enjoy Eva Moves the Furniture by Margot Livesey. A girl grows up in a remote part of Scotland with the helpful and sometimes irritating intrusions of "the companions" - a woman and a girl visible only to herself. Her mother dies in childbirth, when 6 magpies arrive in the tree outside the window. She leaves for Glasgow to nurse, hoping to leave them behind, and loses the love of her life when she admits their presence to him. She learns better later on, and enters into a marriage without sharing this aspect of her life. Omens, moving furniture, ghostly conversations, and a life recounted in a wise and well written narrative. I disliked the final chapters however and went to bed depressed. But, that's just me. I'm a sucker for happy endings.

I also read Wild Orchid, by Beverley Brenna, a delicious interpretation of life with Asperger's Syndrome written for teens. In it's way it is much more approachable that the Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night. An eighteen year old girl moves to Prince Albert National Park with her mother for the summer and finds herself coping with this unsettling change, seeking her first boyfriend, and attempting her first job. The narrative is incredibly realistic, Taylor herself displays the incredible recall and attention to logic and detail that accompanies this condition, and the story rolls along with interest. The story is about more than her condition. It's about gaining a sense of self, and ability to cope with a life that is sometimes out of your control. The story was a bit short, the secondary characters a bit underdeveloped, and plot a little happy-go-lucky, but overall it was a very good read. The setting was lush, and easily imagined as Taylor spends her day at the park's nature house, and as she seeks rare orchids along the pathways with her new friend Paul, who's wife has been diagnosed with MS.