Girl Detective

I am not romantic you know. I never was. I ask only a comfortable home; and considering Mr. Collins’s character, connections, and situation in life, I am as convinced that my chance of happiness with him is as fair, as most people can boast on entering the marriage state. –Charlotte Lucas to Elizabeth Bennet, Austen’s Pride and Prejudice

In the March 2008 issue of the Atlantic, Lori Gottlieb makes an argument for settling that reminded me strongly of Charlotte Lucas’s speech explaining her acceptance of the boorish Mr. Collins’s proposal of marriage. Gottlieb, who decided to become a mother even though she’d not found “Mr. Right,” wonders if settling earlier for “Mr. Good Enough” would have made for a happier and easier life.

It’s a fair question, and clearly one that’s been around some time. It made me wonder what advice Jane Austen might have given. The recent PBS Masterpiece showing of Miss Austen Regrets had a few conjectures. Austen commented to her niece that “The only way to get a man like Mr. Darcy is to make him up!” Later, a reader comments to Austen that Elizabeth Bennett only realized she was in love with Darcy after she saw what a big house he had. Austen herself never married, and Miss Austen Regrets raises the question of whether she later wished she had settled. While we can’t know, it’s interesting to wonder, especially since Austen’s ideal of marital bliss as portrayed in her novels was (nearly?) always a combination of financial security and romantic love.

“Stop writing in my books!” said my husband, G. Grod. This was funny because the book, Smilla’s Sense of Snow, was one I brought into the relationship, and one which he has now read several times. G. hates notes in books; he feels much as Katherine, from Shakespeare’s Henry VIII: “What need you note it.” (II, iv)

I, on the other hand, like to write in my books. I am more in line with Helena, from All’s Well that Ends Well: “Worthy the note.” (III, v) If I bought the book, it’s mine. Each time I make a note in it, I’m claiming it, as well as abnegating the American public school education that penalized me for taking notes in books. Notes help me learn, or show me how I’ve learned from previous readings. Yes, I value clean, well-maintained books. But writing in them makes me feel at home with them, like I’ve opened the door, walked in and sat down. They make the books familiar and comforting, like the old friends they are.

Today I turn forty. I feel mostly calm and good about it. I think the number embodies a sense of gravitas and power. I’ve been around a bit, but still have a ways to go, I hope.

Any regrets I have tend to be wishes that I’d gotten to things that bring me joy and balance earlier in my life–yoga, motherhood, writing, reading to learn, resting. What can I say; I’m a late bloomer and a slow learner in some ways. It’s a heartening regret, though, because it means I’m doing what I want now, which is better late than never.

Build a library into your staircase. No good for those of us with small kids, but one can dream. (Staircase Library link from Boing Boing)

Drake’s Aunt Ruthie got him a battery-operated Caterpillar dump truck for one of his birthdays. The batteries operated the dumper, and made loud, raucous sounds, so they “disappeared” before the day was over. Drake complained bitterly about this.

Recently, I agreed to replace the batteries, since Drake had been behaving well and asked nicely. I regretted giving in as soon as the toy’s “voice” shouted, “Caterpillar Power!”, “Move it out” and “Back it up!”, but 4yo Drake and 2yo Guppy were delighted with the “new” toy. It made sounds, the dump mechanism worked, and it went backwards and forwards at the touch of a button. Best of all, though, is a music button that plays a guitar-metal-ish tune while the truck vibrates. Drake yells out, “Dance, Guppy! Dance!”, then they caper around the living room, rocking out.

It amuses me to imagine a real-world counterpart. In the middle of a hot, sweaty day on the construction site, the foreman presses a music button on the dump truck, and orders everyone to dance. The workers toss their hats in the air and get down, much like at the end of the John Waters Simpsons episode.

I’m betting this is not what the makers of the Caterpillar vehicle line thought their toy would inspire.

Wow. I’d forgotten how good this graphic novel was. I thought the first Whiteout was a good mystery, crime and spy thriller. Whiteout: Melt is excellent, one of those rare sequels that outdoes the original. US Marshal Carrie Stetko is called in to investigate a fire at a Soviet base. Danger and intrigue ensue:

Carrie Stetko, WHAT are you THINKING? You’re in an emergency shelter, in a storm, in the middle of Wilkes Lane in East Antartica…blackmailed by your government into finding three pocket nukes stole from Russians by Russians…working with a Russian agent who you’ve been ordered to betray if you get the opportunity…and who will probably do the same to you… you’ve nearly died twice today…and you’re thinking about THAT?

Bryan K. Vaughan has recently concluded his well-reviewed comic-book series Y the Last Man, so I’m re-reading the graphic novels from beginning to (I hope) the end. A mysterious plague has wiped out all animals on earth with a Y chromosome, excepting Yorick Brown and his pet monkey Ampersand. In Volume 2, cycles refers, at least, to the motorcycle Yorick trades for their passage, and as well as to the women’s monthly event. Yorick travels with Agent 355 of the mysterious Culper Ring and Dr. Alison Mann, a cloning specialist. They’re heading from the east coast to California, where Dr. Mann has a laboratory. They stop somewhat short of California, though:

Yorick: Where the f*** am I?
Sonia: Marrisville. In Ohio? Where did you come from, Yorick? I thought all the men were–
Y: Wait, how the hell do you know my name?
S: Oh, it was on the your membership card for the um… “International Brotherhood of Magicians.” Are you really a magician? Like David Blaine?
Y: No, I am NOTHING like David Blaine, thank you very much. I’m an escape artist.
S: Is that how you survived? You…You escaped death?
Y: That’s cute. But listen, I really have to get out of here.
S: Actually…you should probably stay put.
Y: And why’s that?
S: um…
Y: Jesus! What did you do with my pants!

Complicating things, there are Israeli soldiers, a desperate woman who speaks Russian, and a very angry woman from Yorick’s past. This quick-paced volume is by turns funny and serious. It’s a good entry in a thus-far good series.

Coming soon, Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day is based on one of the selections from the charming and lovely Perspehone Books. Miss Pettigrew is a nanny sent to the wrong address, who ends up living the high life with an actress for the day. It’s a sweet, funny story. I’m holding my breath, because with Frances McDormand as Miss Pettigrew, and Amy Adams as the flighty actress, this has some of the pieces in place to be a good adaptation.

Democrats do have an historic race going, Hillary Clinton vs. Barack Obama. Normally, when you see a black man or a woman president, an asteroid is about to hit the Statue of Liberty.

–Jon Stewart, from the opening monologue

What is happening?!

–Diablo Cody, on winning Best Original Screenplay

Fair play to those who dare to dream and don’t give up.

–Marketa Irglova, co-winner for Best Song, brought back onstage by Jon Stewart after being rushed off by the orchestra

Mazel tov to the Coen brothers, who scored a hat trick with No Country for Old Men. Did you know they’d only won one other Oscar, for the original screenplay for Fargo?

Did you notice how The Bourne Ultimatum won all three awards for which it was nominated? I think the Academy members were trying to give that film, one of my favorites of last year, more of the love it deserved from Oscar.

Overall, I was disappointed in the fashion. Black, red, and blage. Where was the color? Where was the joy? Oh, I sound like Michael Kors on Project Runway. Hated the peekaboo shoulder bullseye on Katherine Heigl’s dress; was she promoting for Target? And who did her makeup? Hated what Jennifer Hudson’s dress did to her should-have-been voluptuous chest. And while Tilda Swinton is weird, there are quirky dresses that are pretty; she didn’t have to choose a velvet garbage bag and forgo her bra. For more fashion dishing and dissing, Go Fug Yourself.

I saw No Country for Old Men a few hours before the Oscars began. My husband G. Grod and I tag teamed to the theater. He went to the early matinee, I went to the later. Not only does this save on babysitting, but really–how important is it that you see the movie at the same time? G. didn’t care for it; I thought it was great. It had strong performances all around, and was visually engaging, with its many blurred reflections and shadows. It’s not a feel-good film, and the last twenty minutes are hard to understand, much less enjoy. But the bitter humor, the beautiful visuals, the crisp storytelling and the great acting combine for an impressive whole. I saw four of the five films nominated for Best Film this year. I not only think it was the best of the five; I think it likely WAS the best film of last year.

4yo Drake and 2yo Guppy, voicing frustration on two separate occasions:

Drake: This toy isn’t helping me!
Guppy: This toy isn’t listening to me!

In both cases, they meant the toy was not doing what they wanted it to do. Clever boys, they have picked up some of the ways I articulate my irritation when THEY don’t do what I want them to.

There Will Be Blood was part of my pre-2008-Oscar shortlist of films to see before the show. It’s a stunning character study of Daniel Day-Lewis as Daniel Plainview, a self-proclaimed family man and oil man. It’s beautifully shot, in bleak desert sets. There’s fire, gushing oil, danger, death, lies, and betrayal. As impressive as the acting and the visuals are though, the music takes the film to even more impressive heights. There are long stretches with no dialogue, and the music, composed by Radiohead’s Jonny Greenwood, is almost a character as it advances the plot and the film. That the music was disqualified for an Oscar is a travesty. The whole, brought together by director Paul Thomas Anderson, goes over the top at times, but is such a compelling work that I wouldn’t do without it.

Watching the film, though, was a mixed experience. I had a couple in front of me and another beside me that whispered continually, until I asked both at separate times to please stop talking. Both couples did stop talking. As the fifty-ish woman in front of me exited at the end of the film, she hissed, “Bitch!” at me, which took me aback. I know it is off-putting to be shushed, but I paid $7.25 for a matinee, and I asked her politely to stop talking. A reminder, from New York magazine:

Can I talk during the movie? We’d like to say, “No, no, never, no, absolutely not.” But the days of respectful silence are gone. During the pre-film ads, speak as much and as loudly as you like. Whispers and derisive yelps are permissible during trailers. During the feature, you must limit yourself to the occasional whisper. Silence is preferred, but a hushed “Wait–didn’t she die in that car wreck back there?” is okay. There is one exception to these rules: the brilliant, brave comment in the terrible movie. For us, it was at I Know What You Did Last Summer, in a particularly histrionic scene of Jennifer Love Hewitt’s emoting that a guy shouted out “Oscar clip!” and provided the high point of the night.

Persepolis the film is an adaptation of Marjane Satrapi’s comic-book memoirs, Persepolis and Persepolis II. It’s the rare adaptation that takes its origin material and turns it into something similar, yet new and wonderful. The two-volume memoirs are favorites of mine, so it would have been easy for the film to disappoint. Yet Satrapi’s collaboration on this work shows. It retains the books’ engaging, simple artwork and adds movement, yet contrasts it with still illustrations as well. The film mirrors the books’ humor, and Satrapi’s young girl in early 80’s war-torn Iran is engaging, as in the book. This film is visually arresting; the story is both particular and universal, as in the best memoirs.

I wrote last year of Mothering Sunday, the antecedent to Mother’s Day. Mothering Day is Sunday 2 March 2008. Here is an excerpt from a recent email by the delightful Persephone Books:

‘Mothering Sunday? I never heard tell of that.’

Anna smiled at the intent look on his face.

‘”Those who go a-mothering find violets in the lane.” That’s a very old saying. I believe the custom dates from the days when the children went away to work at a terrible age, poor little things, especially the girls into service. On mid-Lent Sunday they visited their mothers and on the way picked her a bunch of violets and the mother made them a cake. The cake was half boiled and half baked and was called a simnel cake. You must remember simnel cakes, Mr Pickering; delicious they were, usually with little birds on them.’

–from Noel Streatfeild’s 1950 novel Mothering Sunday

There is a recipe for Simnel Cake in Florence White’s Good Things in England, Persephone Book No.10 Order three Persephone books this week by Friday 29 February and receive Good Things in England for free.

‘Oh! I am delighted with the book! I should like to spend my whole life in reading it.’ –Catherine Morland

‘The person, be it gentleman or lady, who has not pleasure in a good novel, must be intolerably stupid. –Henry Tilney

A few years ago, I bemoaned how I didn’t re-read books, and made the decision to change that. As I’ve become a re-reader, I’ve also become a better reader. The first time through a book, I’m feeling my way in the dark; I read quickly to find out what happens. On subsequent readings, I can relax and focus on examining the craft, since I know the major plot points, and how it ends.

This was the second time I read Jane Austen’s Northanger Abbey, which was her first-completed and last published novel. Last time, I didn’t much enjoy it. Since then, though, I’ve read the six Austen novels, re-read Karen Joy Fowler’s Jane Austen Book Club, seen several screen adaptations of the works including the 2007 Northanger Abbey, done online research about Austen and her novels, and become a regular reader of Austenblog. This reading of NA was very different, because I was a different reader, made more aware from all those experiences.

On this read, I “got” the comprehensive irony that characterizes this novel. NA became much more sophisticated to me because of this. The first time, I felt it was a kind of middle-school romance, and I found Henry Tilney condescending. This time, I saw Austen’s signature incisive social commentary. The book wasn’t a critique of people who took trashy novels too seriously, as I thought before. I also didn’t find it the diatribe against popular novels it’s often assumed to be; Radcliffe’s The Mysteries of Udolpho is praised by Henry and Eleanor Tilney, who are the characters of discerning taste. Instead, it’s an indictment of social hypocrisy, when people say one thing and do another. Novel reading is an example of something people denied doing, or liking, when the reality was opposite. Novels as a reader’s only object, as they are for the naive Catherine, are problematic. As part of a well-balanced reading diet, as the Tilneys have, though, popular novels are to be championed.

Young Catherine’s overactive imagination is contrasted with her inexperience of people; at the beginning of the novel she thinks life is very like what she reads in novels. As NA progresses, however, she learns painful lessons about the world and her understanding of it. With that comes the knowledge that, while real life may not be as dramatic as in novels, it can be as cruel and punishing, or sweetly rewarding, as author-created fiction.

On this read, I quite enjoyed NA. It was very funny, though not an easy read because of the pervasive irony; I had to read closely to catch all the “only”s and “but”s. I still found Henry Tilney a bit supercilious; he doesn’t hide that he thinks he’s the smartest person in a room. But I liked him better this time, and suspect that he often spoke with Austen’s own voice.

From Sesame Street, that is. Mine used to be Oscar, but Cookie Monster’s charm has increased along with my Sesame Street viewing time as my kids get older. I think he may be the funniest of the monsters, and is certainly the one who gives the most nods to parents, with his impeccably timed injections of advanced vocabulary.

See an example of that in this NPR interview with Cookie Monster (link from ALoTT5MA). FYI pusillanimous means cowardly; I had to look up both the spelling and the meaning.

Remember that long ago date, what was it, ELEVEN DAYS AGO, when I wrote

My hope for this year (I prefer hopes to goals; I don’t think it’s a coincidence that a simple transposition makes them gaols) is to read two shelf books a month, to continue my library patronage, and to keep book buying to a minimum.

The shopping goddess thought it was time for my uppance to come. I broke that vow within 48 hours. I broke it again three days later. And again, five days after that. Curse you, Half Price Books. Herewith are the books I bought, and how I came to rationalize buying them:

Four volumes from The Gresham Publishing Company’s Complete Work of Charlotte Bronte and her Sisters: The Tenant of Wildfell Hall, Villette, Shirley, and The Professor. Me: Gasp! I was just thinking I wanted to read more Bronte books, and here are these lovely old editions in good shape with photo and illustration inserts! Wait, I’m not supposed to buying books. Wait, it’s my birthday at the end of the month. Happy birthday to me….

Pride and Prejudice, Norton Critical Edition. Me: I was JUST thinking that I’d like an edition of this with notes. And here it is!

Wuthering Heights Barnes and Noble Classics edition. Me: I am really craving notes right now, and these look pretty good.

Jane Eyre, Penguin Classics. Me: Look, notes!

Wide Sargasso Sea, Norton Critical Edition. Me: I can take this off my amazon wish list now. It’s cheap! And full of notes so I can understand the book this time!

Ironically (or pathetically; you decide) the reason I’d gone into the bookstore was that they were holding a mass-market paperback (MMPB, i.e., portable) copy of Little Women. But in the excitement of rationalizing EIGHT books, I forgot to pick up the one on hold. So I had to go back, three days later.

Little Women, Signet MMPB. Me: I really want to re-read LW before I read Geraldine Brooks’ March, and I don’t want to lug around my big HC even if I love the illustrations.

Ken Follett, Pillars of the Earth MMPB. Me: Ha! Who needs to buy the expensive TPB Oprah edition! This is much more portable for when I read it again, which I’m sure I’m going to do soon.

Then, five days later, I’m in the bookstore again. (It’s near where I have doctor appointments; I did have legitimate reasons for being there.)

Ann Radcliffe’s Mysteries of Udolpho MMPB. Me: I am loving Northanger Abbey, and have to read this, since it’s mentioned so often.

Caleb Carr’s The Alienist $1 MMPB. Me: Becca just commented that this was a thumping good read, and since I’m so into Victorian literature lately, I’m sure I’ll read this soon.

Marisha Pessl’s Special Topics in Calamity Physics UK HC. Me: Ooh! Pretty textured cover! So much nicer than the US editions!

There you have it. I expressed a hope to keep book buying to a minimum, and within ten days I bought thirteen books. Better get reading.

Did you know that the little plastic spatulas in Play-doh sets are excellent for loosening cakes, brownies and muffins from “nonstick” pans?

Blogenheimer, then Becca, two of my well-read friends, have found the book I was wondering about yesterday: The Dark Clue by James Wilson. (No, not the character from television’s House. Or is it? He does have an affinity for noir; see his office posters for proof.)

For bonus points, Weirleader came up with a more recent book, The Minotaur by Ruth Rendell writing as Barbara Vine.

Many thanks for your sleuthing. They’ll be added to my crazy-big “shelf” of books to consider in my library at Gurulib.

Perhaps one of you can help me. About ten years ago, I read a good review of a book, probably a mystery title. It was described as either a sequel or an homage to Wilkie Collins’s Woman in White. That’s how I became aware of WiW, and I told myself I wasn’t allowed to buy that new book till I read the Collins book; that didn’t happen until recently. Google searches have turned up nothing. I even emailed Uncle Edgar’s, where I remember seeing and not buying the book. They didn’t know what book I was thinking of.

Here’s what I know, or rather, what I remember, whether correctly or not. It probably came out sometime in the late 90’s or early 00’s. It might have been a New York Time Notable Book of the year, since I subscribed back then. It was related in some way to Wilkie Collins’s Woman in White, so I think it was a mystery. And it may have had a black and yellow cover.

Some girl detective I am. Any ideas, anyone?