May Reading

Behind the beautiful forevers by Katherine Boo

I cannot say this is an enjoyable read but is certainly absorbing and disturbing. Some people may have seen the recent Kevin McCloud TV program in which he spent time attempting to live in the Mumbai Dharavi slum. Whatever your response to McCloud as a presenter, I think few viewers could not have been moved by the window his program opened into the intensity of life in such extreme circumstances. I therefore welcomed the opportunity this book presented. Katherine Boo has substantial Pulitzer Prize winning credit as an objective researcher and writer unafraid to closely examine the lives of the poor, challenged and disadvantaged. Perhaps as a consequence of her marriage to Sunil Khilnani, a professor of politics and director of the India Institute at King’s College London, she has turned her eye and her team of researchers, onto the Annawadi slum located adjacent to the Mumbai International Airport (you can see it on Google Earth).

The result is closely insightful into the lives of its inhabitants of all ages, racial groups, creeds, and politics. It records their daily lives and struggles and their attempts to deal with an environment that is constantly full of confronting change whether through chance or external influences. I cannot say it left me with a warm feeling for humanity but it did leave me with admiration for the way these people continue to hope and struggle. This not a book of mawkish sentimentality or emotional appeals. It is an objective rendering of a reality

There is a group of individuals around which much of material is woven and it is difficult to not develop some emotional responses toward them. I can only offer a few extracts to give a flavour of what is offered. Please do read them.

An example that gives insight into the nature of work, need and interpersonal dealings …

‘Among Saki Naka’s acres of sheds were metal-melting and plastic shredding machines owned by men in starched kurtas – white kurtas, to announce the owner’s distance from the filth of their trade. Some of the workers at the plants were black-faced from carbon dust and surely black-lunged from breathing in iron shavings. A few weeks ago, Abdul had seen a boy’s hand cut clean off when he was putting plastic into one of the shredders. The boy’s eyes had filled with tears but he hadn’t screamed. Instead he’s stood there with his blood-spurting stump, his ability to earn a living ended, and started apologizing to the owner of the plant. “Sa’ab, I’m sorry,” he’d said to the man in white. “I won’t cause you any problems by reporting this. You will have no trouble from me.’ Pg 15

One of the individuals we learn about is 12-year-old Sunil. Here he finds ‘gold’ – his own scavenging spot.

‘Some of the taximen tossed their cups and bottles over a low stone wall behind the food stand. On the other side of the wall, seventy feet down was the Mithi River – actually a concrete sluice where the river had been redirected as the airport enlarged. The drivers probably liked to imagine their garbage hitting the water and floating away, but Sunil had climbed the wall and discovered a narrow ledge on the other side, five feet down. By some trick of the wind in the sluice, trash tossed over the wall tended to blow back and settle on this sliver of concrete. It was a space on which a small boy could balance.

Of course, if he stumbled, jumping down, he’d be in the river. Sunil knew how to swim, having learned at Naupada, a slum next to the Intercontinental Hotel that went underwater each monsoon. He’d never heard of anyone drowning in Naupada, though. Naupada was the local definition of fun. The Mithi River with its unnatural currents, was the place with the body count. After a few jumps, he trusted his feet.

The ledge stretched four hundred feet from the taxi stand to a traffic ramp, and people driving up the ramp sometimes slowed and pointed at him as he crouched there, high above the water. He liked the idea that the ledge work looked dramatic from a distance. In truth, it was less scary than working Cargo Road or scavenging during the riots, with the “Beat the Bhaiyas!” men running around. And he was willing to take risks in order not to be a runt … His sack grew bulky and awkward as he moved down the ledge, and he learned to concentrate only on the trash immediately in front of him, looking neither down nor ahead.’ Pg 39

One morning, Sunil sees the beginning of the end for an older scavenger, whose death even yields someone a profit.

‘One dawn in late July, Sunil found a fellow scavenger lying on the mud where Annawadi’s rut-road met the airport thoroughfare. Sunil knew the old man a little: he worked hard and slept outside the Marol fish market, half a mile away. Now the man’s leg was mashed and bloody, and he was calling out to passersby for help. Sunil figured he’d been hit by a car. Some drivers weren’t overly concerned about avoiding the trash-pickers who scoured the roadsides.

Sunil was too scared to go to the Police Station and ask for an ambulance, especially after what was rumoured to have happened to Abdul. Instead he ran toward the battleground of the Cargo Road dumpster, hoping an adult would brave the police station. Thousands of people passed this way every morning.

Two hours later, when Rahul left Annawadi for school, the injured man was crying for water. “This one is even drunker than your father,” one of Rahul’s friends teased him. “Drunker that your father Rahul retorted unimaginatively as they turned onto Airport Road. Rahul wasn’t afraid of the Police; he’d run to them for help when his neighbour dumped boiling lentils on Danush, his sickly baby. The man of the road was just a scavenger, though, and Rahul had to catch a bus to class.

When Zehrunisa passed an hour later, the scavenger was screaming in pain. She thought his leg looked like hell, but she was bringing food and medicine to her husband, who also looked like hell in the Arthur Rd jail.

Mr Kamble passed a little later, milky-eyed and aching, on his tour of businesses and charities, still seeking contributions for his heart valve. He had one been a pavement dweller like the injured man. Now Mr Kamble saw nothing but his own bottomless grief, because he knew miracles were possible in the new India and he couldn’t have one.

When Rahul and his brother returned from school in the early afternoon, the injured scavenger lay still, moaning faintly, at 2:30 pm a Shiv Sena man made a call to a friend at the Sahar Police Station about a corpse that was disturbing small children, At 4:00 pm constables enlisted other scavengers to load the body into a police van, so that the constables wouldn’t catch the diseases that trash-pickers were known to carry.

‘Unidentified body’, the Sahar Police decided without looking for the scavenger’s family. ‘Died of tuberculosis’, the Cooper Hospital morgue pathologist concluded without an autopsy. Thokale, the police officer handing the case, wanted to move fast, for he had a business with B M Patil Medical College in Bijapur. Its anatomy department required twenty-five unclaimed cadavers for dissection, and this one rounded out the order.’  Pg 153

A Perfectly Good man By Patrick Gale

I really enjoy most of Patrick Gale’s output and it is good to seem him back on his favourite Cornish locale with familiar environmental and social influences incorporated. As usual, he is interested in the shades of interpersonal relationships and the hidden secrets that drive things along.  A clue to the nuances in this book about the life of an Anglican priest lies in the carefully chosen ambiguous title ‘A Perfectly Good Man’.

There is plenty of activity (including some that try to capture the sense of the past as in the case of anti-war demonstrations) as well as the beautifully sketched settings. The book certainly grabs the reader’s attention by opening with the suicide of a 20 year old paraplegic, a full understanding of which we never fully comprehend until the closing pages. This is typical of his extended ‘gradual reveal’ technique. In order to do so, Gale uses the tactic of presenting chapters as specific times (ages) in different characters’ lives. Initially, this is a little off-putting as they are largely out of time sequence. However, there are not too many characters to lead to the reader confusion and he succeeds in using this approach insightfully to see characters and situations from different perspectives.

I came to like his central character, Barnaby, very much having (briefly) attempted Thomas à Kempis’ ’Imitations of Christ’ myself when young and callow and having had good friends in the clergy over the years. Barnaby is no saint, though he clearly strives to be a truly good man. Perhaps this name choice reflects a duality between possible rural Scandinavian origins and that derived from St Paul. I have certainly known men like him.

If there is a weakness, it lies in the almost cartoon-like weakly sketched Modest Carlsson, the bizarre baddy, whose evil is almost comically inept and whose shades of characterisation are largely left unexplored. The plot device that has him wreak his final vengeance is also unfortunately rather inept.

Barnaby is told as a child ‘Please don’t feel you always have to be good. Sometimes you’re so good it hurts to watch you.’ By the closing pages, this is no longer the case but we are certainly left with warm feelings for a ‘perfectly good man’.

Rare Bird of Truth by Neal Drinnan

I have read and retain Drinnan’s ‘Pussy’s Bow’, ‘Glove Puppet’ and ‘Quill’. I have not read ‘Izzy and Eve’ so I will soon have to complete the set after this enjoyable page-turner offering.

I find that book seems to operate on two levels. On one, there is a wonderfully colourful yet searching examination of London and Ibiza, business-life and leisure-life viewed through a drug-addled lens with which Drinnan makes bones about being well acquainted. Many of the wonderfully named people who inhabit this world have instantly recognisable real-life equivalents. It is this view that probably generated the ‘Time Out’ quote ‘Neal Drinnan is to literature what the Pet Shop Boys are to music.’

The second level is closer to Drinnan’s own life. The book was published in 2010 after he sero-converted in 2006 and had, under treatment, problems with the re-emergence of life-long depression. He has written about this and his dealings with the drugs he was prescribed to deal with HIV and his ‘black dog’.

http://positivelife.org.au/talkabout/2008/aug-sep/happy-birthday-hiv

Happy Birthday HIV

The last third of the book includes Virgil’s dealings with his dubious doctor and informs us about his changing perspectives with prescription and ‘recreational’ drug use. There has to be some of the author speaking here to make the change in plot pacing more acceptable as well as the somewhat glib denouement.

It is hilariously intriguing that the still centre of the manic world he portrays is an almost otherworldly retreat (a total opposite of Ibiza in most respects where real calm and time for self-examination can be found) is essentially a sex-on-premises venue. Drinnan works this mine of possibilities quite well with lots of initially unguessed-at plot developments attached. It is one of several parallel universes through which Virgil moves.

This is a veritable cyclone of a novel (certainly the first 2/3). It all starts off relatively simply, if oddly, with a handful of jaded characters in a jaded setting (Ibiza) and then proceeds to gather speed, whirling more and more unusual and colourful individuals into ever more densely mixed relationships. One starts to wonder when it is all going to disintegrate and it does – spectacularly! This is mostly handled well except that the above references to prescription drug use seem to slow things down somewhat.

It is all somewhat a case of ‘Line of Beauty’ taken to a drugged excess with a lot more fun at the excess of those gloriously named characters (an Australian with the moniker Virgil Mann? – how could he have survived the Australian education system?)

‘Rare Bird of Truth’? –   I think there is quite a lot of that to be found here.

~  John C.

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Recent reading

Memoirs of an Addicted brain

By Marc Lewis

Marc Lewis qualifies as a rare bird in that this offering tracks his life from a teen stoner into full-blown long-term criminal addict then followed by his remarkable transformation into a respected developmental psychologist and neuroscientist. This qualifies him to present what is even rarer – a clearly accessible description of what drew him to substance abuse and its short and long-term effects viewed both from his own feeling states and simultaneously from the point of view of an informed understanding of cerebral functioning.

Checking, I offered portions of this book to people who have had similar usage experiences. Their responses were that his descriptions of motives, behaviour and experiences were often very similar to their own. One experienced some difficulty in understanding his explanations of the relevant aspects cerebral functioning, Overall, however, this is reasonably well done and most readers with obtained a reasonable grasp with the aid of simple diagrams supplied.

While he has created this dual life chronicle and expresses his later reflections on the nature of addiction from a purely scientific perspective, Lewis is clearly still troubled by his own, trying to create an understanding linkage between what he experienced and why and what science has to offer by way of explanation at a personal and generals level.

In his own words –

“We are prone to a cycle of craving what we don’t have, finding it, using it up or losing it, and then craving it all the more. This cycle is at the root of all addictions, addictions to drugs, sex, love, cigarettes, soap operas, wealth, and wisdom itself. But why should this be so? Why are we desperate for what we don’t have, or can’t have, often at great cost to what we do have, thereby risking our peace and contentment, our safety, and even our lives?”

and

“I saw myself as a pathetic creature … a fool, completely obsessed with a stupid drug that I was impervious to the riot of life, the celebration of everyday sensation, that even the poorest people on earth were enjoying all around me.”

Although his story is insightful and inspiring, he has to admit “I don’t actually know the answer. I believe that further research in the neuroscience of addiction will help me get closer to finding it.” The big picture is still hard to discern.

Cold Light (Third in the Edith Trilogy)

By Frank Moorhouse

This is definitely the final of the Edith trilogy with the conclusion having eerie resonances for me at a personal level having visited the final location under similar circumstances. This was a feeling that recurred throughout the story as it is largely set in Canberra at the time of my first visit there and against the social and political agendas of my young life.

Edith Campbell Berry was first presaged in a 1988 story then formally introduced in ‘Grand Days ‘(1993), continued in ‘Dark Palace’ (2000) and now, in ‘ColdLight’, she returns to post WWII Canberra disappointed with the fate of the League of Nations and accompanied by her ‘lavender’ transvestite husband who has more than a whiff of later Bloomsbury, Cambridge and the British Secret Service to him.

All of the elements from the period are skilfully manipulated – Edith’s brother and his female partner are committed Communists who are going to have to deal with their own demons, the local political machinations and the decay of the formal party structures – the construction of Canberra and the fate of its original plan serves as a metaphor for the Australian process of national endeavours – Menzies, Curtin, Chifley, Evatt, Holt (memorable as ”the man who had no smile, only a salesman’s grin”), and Whitlam as well as powerful public servants and the literati are also all represented – the emergence of women’s  liberation (nothing new to Edith) – and Uranium policy (current to this day with a change of government in Queensland).

While Edith is certainly a well-fleshed character in all senses (food, clothing, lifestyle, furniture, sex), and her relationships are certainly credible and logical, if there is a weakness, it lies in some of her motivations within her relationships which were either weak or needed more development and (perhaps less so) in her family relationships (a weird reprised funeral).

It is a masterful piece of stitching together known facts, events and sentiments and  ‘could have been’ characters that almost flawlessly breathes back life for anyone who lived through those times. I enjoyed it immensely.

Shanghai Fury

By Peter Thompson

The title of this book seems a little misleading but it is third in a trilogy on Australians in conflict (Fury in Crete and the Pacific campaigns) and when considered with the sub-title (Australian Heroes of Revolutionary China) it all makes more sense. It covers a period from the Opium wars to Chairman Mao in varying degrees of detail but with a strong focus on Shanghai and the involvement of Australians particularly – some courageous, some adventurers, some opportunists, some criminals and even collaborators and traitors.

Some of these were…

The two missionising Saunders sisters from Melbourne who were massacred by Taiping rebels in 1895 and the Rev Robert Mathew who was invited to Christianise an entire warlord army in the 1920s but is now remembered for compiling his  monumental standard, the Mathews’ Chinese-English dictionary.

Geelong-born George Ernest “Chinese” Morrison was already well-known to me from biographies which charted his career as the Peking correspondent of the London Times, as adviser to the warlord Yuan Shi Kai especially during the revolution of 1911 and his all-round boy’s own heroics especially during the Boxer Rebellion when his behaviour would have put that blowhard performance of Charlton Heston to shame.

His involvement was in Chinese affairs was deep, valuable and of a long duration. Nevertheless, he was probably not given appropriate credit for a very long time afterwards especially by the British establishment. Oddly, his son, Ian Morrison, died as a correspondent in the Korean war. His wife Rosalie, writing as Han Suyin, chronicled their love affair in ‘Many-Splendoured Thing’ which was Hollywoodised and Oscared as ‘Love is a Many-Splendoured Thing’.

William (W.H.) Donald (another involved journalist) was quite unknown to me but certainly had a greater and longer-termed impact on the development of Republican China as an independent. A Lithgow boy, he was forty years in China, becoming a close adviser to the nationalist camp, particularly Chiang Kai-shek and his avaricous wife Meiling (one of the notorious Soong sisters and their associates). His undoubted contributions until the end of WWII were written down by that clan in their Formosan retreat largely for reasons of jealousy and image.

Among my favourites were Viola Smith and Eleanor Hinder – lesbian partners and socialist workers for children’s workers’ and women’s rights and improved working conditions who later worked with the ILO.

Eleanor in Shanghai to Viola 1941

‘….I was determined that you would leave me calm, that I would not make it harder for you than it was, that I would show no tears. But the effort at control can build up a suffering that is almost unbearable … By the time this can reach you, of course, this too will have passed, as other griefs have passed. So you can read it knowing that I will soon be alright.

Goodnight my ownest one. How silent the house is!

My love, my dear dear one

Your Bug’

Viola (in California) to Eleanor later in 1941

‘Buggie, BUGGIE, DARLING!

…The anguish of the last 48 hours without any news or any possibility of getting news of you has been terrible … my heart aches for you darling darling mine but I can serve you best by trying to be reasonable. God keep you safe and grant that this letter reaches you.’

Always your devoted VEE

There were also those who collaborated actively with the Japanese before and during WWII, though Australia’s solicitor-general of the time (Gough Whitlam’s father, Fred) was not inclined to prosecute most for treason. Throughout the period of Shanghai’s notorious heydays Australian flotsam and jetsam washed up a respectable percentage of Shanghai’s con-men, card-sharpers, touts, black-marketeers, drug traders and party girls.

All of this takes place against the emergence and growth of Shanghai as a trading, social and political centre – a rare flowering administrative oddity in which all the vices and virtues were able to flower against a background of incredible growth, prosperity and human misery.

Yes, the gays were there

Christopher Isherwood and Wystan Auden in 1938 visited the Shanghai and gave a report of conditions and life at many levels including high living as ambassadorial guests.

“Nevertheless the tired or lustful business man will find here everything to gratify his desires. You can buy an electric razor, or a French dinner, or a well-cut suit. You can dance at the Tower Restaurant on the roof of the Cathay Hotel, and gossip with Freddy Kaufmann, its charming manager, about the European aristocracy or pre-Hitler Berlin. You can attend race-meetings, baseball games, football matches. You can see the latest American films. If you want girls, or boys, you can have them, at all prices, in the bath-houses and the brothels. If you want opium you can smoke it in the best company, served on a tray, like afternoon tea. Good wine is difficult to obtain in this climate, but there is enough whisky and gin to float a fleet of battleships. The jeweller and the antique-dealer await your orders, and their charges will make you imagine yourself back on Fifth Avenue or in Bond Street. Finally, if you ever repent, there are churches and chapels of all denominations.”

Australian attitudes toward China are also canvassed in part. On the one hand, there are the contributions made by expatriate and returning Australian Chinese to the social, business and political life of China with their continuous agitation and funding of the republican cause and the economic contributions of department store originators such as  Sincere and Wing On in Shanghai and Hong Kong.

At the same time, it is saddening to see how continuous has been  the barrage of fear-founded anti-Chinese sentiment in this country and its origins.

George Wynne correspondent to the Sydney Daily Telegraph (Dec 1900)

“British interests compel some of us to live among them, we are told. British capital demands that some of them should give their pauper labour to our lands. British interests, British capital! Shut the Chinaman up in his own country and let him work out his own destruction. Let his unbridled lust, filth, famine and disease aid him in the world! Leave his country with its paltry trade that calls for human sacrifice to inhuman greed. See to it that he never leaves it. That is the only Chinese policy Australia can afford to entertain. That is the only way to keep back the yellow wave.”

I will include as a snapshot of the book, the Weekend Australian review extract
“  …this highly readable history set chiefly in the rambunctious, international city of Shanghai between the first Opium War of 1840 and the declaration of the People’s Republic in 1949. He cleverly, and with few signs of the intricate stitching required, weaves his Australian dramatis personae into the wild story of China’s travails as it struggled to shed its senile, malfunctioning Manchu dynasty, started to modernise as a democratic republic before being invaded by atypically obnoxious Japanese, and then fell, mostly with unknowing enthusiasm, into the hands of the murderous, cynical ideologue Mao Zedong…. History, Thompson concludes, “has a way of separating the dross from the hidden gems”. He has unearthed a couple of dozen in this book, a rare haul.”

As a repeated visitor to China, I would have appreciated reading this book 30 odd years ago. It would have intensified my pleasure and understanding in travelling, meeting and talking to Chinese people and certainly in appreciating the indescribable Shanghai.

~ John C.

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April’s reading

Hollinghurst was born on 26 May 1954 in Stroud, Gloucestershire,
the only child of James Hollinghurst, a bank manager (hold onto that
piece of information) and his wife, Elizabeth. He attended Canford
School in Dorset.

Hollinghurst read English at Magdalen College, Oxford from 1972
to 1979, graduating with a BA in 1975, and a MLitt in 1979. His
thesis was on the works of three gay writers Ronald Firbank, E. M.
Forster and L. P. Hartley (the latter two echo especially early in this
work). While at Oxford he shared a house with Andrew Motion, and
was awarded the Newdigate Prize for poetry in 1974, a year before
Motion.

In the late 1970s he became a lecturer at Magdalen College, and then
at Somerville College and Corpus Christi College, Oxford. In 1981
he moved on to lecture at University College London, and in 1982
he joined The Times Literary Supplement, where he was the paper’s
deputy editor from 1985 to 1990.

His novels are:-
The Swimming Pool Library 1988
The Folding Star 1994
The Spell 1998
The Line of Beauty 2004 (Man Booker Prize) and TV adaptation
The Stranger’s Child 2011 Man Booker Long Listing)

Hollinghurst’s recent visit to Australia generated a literary chat which has been made available to members. One item which arose
from that interview was his love affair with Tennyson’s poetry and
this is germane to the title and theme of his latest novel.

There is a rather sadly puzzling quote used at the beginning of the
last section of the book “No one remembers you at all” from Mick
Imlah’s poem “In Memoriam Alfred Lord Tennyson” while the phrase
and book title “the stranger’s child” comes from Tennyson’s “In
Memoriam A.H.H.” – “Till … year by year the landscape grow/Familiar
to the stranger’s child”. Imlah passed away in 2009, and Hollinghurst
has dedicated this book to him. It is also just possible also that the
character Paul Bryant who lives in the Foxleigh bank in the last
sections of the book is, in some respects, Allan Hollinghurst, also a
bank manager’s son.

Clearly, memory, changeability and its mechanisms are central to
this novel and that memory trace originates in a country house novel
that begins in a garden, in the late summer of 1913. (most of the
following is borrowed from the ‘Guardian’ review). In an inversion
of the Brideshead theme, the outsider, the stranger’s child, is an
aristocrat visiting a middle-class home and seducing the family in
it – the Sawles of Two Acres, a pleasant Victorian villa in Stanmore
Hill, in the outer suburbs of London. (Later on, the Sawles invade his
much grander home and repay the favour.)

He is Cecil Valance, a mediocre Georgian poet of broad sexual tastes,
who, in the course of his short visit, drinks too much, stays up all
night, worships the dawn, repeatedly ravishes the love-struck
younger son of the house (his Cambridge friend George), roughly
kisses the daughter Daphne by the rockery, and then writes a poem
praising these “Two blessed acres of English ground”. When Cecil
dies during the war, the poem is extolled by Churchill, as Rupert
Brooke’s “The Soldier” was, and becomes famous as an evocation
of a country on the brink of a great change: “A first-rate example of
the second-rate poet who enters into common consciousness more
deeply than many great masters,” as one character puts it.

The rest of the novel consists of four more sections, set at intervals
between 1926 and 2008, while most of the action – deaths,
marriages, births – occurs offstage, in the gaps in between. In the
second episode, Daphne has married Cecil’s “mad brute” of a brother
and is now the mistress of the Valance seat, Corley Court, “a violently
Victorian” country house in Berkshire. At the behest of her forbidding
mother-in-law, known as “the General”, she hosts a weekend devoted to Cecil’s memory. In the third, set in 1967, Corley Court has been
turned into a prep school; Paul Bryant, a bookish young bank clerk in
Foxleigh, the local town, meets Daphne, and has his first love affair,
with Peter Rowe, a teacher at the school. In the fourth, we see Paul,
now a literary biographer, interviewing the survivors from the first
section for his biography of Cecil. The book ends with a coda set in
2008.

This work is very different in structure and organization to
Hollinghurst’s previous novels. I find the language as good as ever
though only occasionally outstanding. The characterisations are more
diverse than before though some are more carefully presented than
others while its primary weakness may lie in the structure which
some are bound to find unsatisfying.

Overall, I find it more readable that most of his work with the
exception of ‘Line of Beauty’ and was quite fascinated by its scope
and evocation of each phase through which the memory trace travels.
I could visualise the TV adaptation as I read it.

Joe Keenan

I chose to read ‘Putting on the Ritz’ as my favourite Keenan. As I
read it again I began to develop the notion that (with apologies to
his devotees) there was something of P G Wodehouse in his work.
I mean that in several senses – the writing is good – the plots are
well-developed with often almost whimsical twists and turns – the
characters are often campy good fun, and the dialogue comes with
lots of zingy similes, insights and just plain throw-away lines.

I got my come-uppance when I checked some reviews only to find
that this was a very common perception of his work and hardly a
novel view. So, I coined my own phrase ‘ Auntie Mame meets PG
Wodehouse.

Keenan has had a bright career as a comic dialogue writer and
screenwriter. He had very great success with the ‘Frasier’ series and
was also a contributor to ‘Desperate Housewives’ the current gold
standard for commercial, fast-paced, campy, witty over-the-top TV
series.

It is interesting to note that some areas of his zingy dialogue could be
classified for ‘insiders’ though ‘outsiders’ are rarely completely left
behind. This applies not just to gay exotica but quite wide-ranging
general knowledge.

The Google books plot summary is as follows:

‘Gilbert Selwyn has fallen in with Tommy Parker, a veritable
Adonis and a magazine editor employed by media magnate
Boyd Larkin. Phillip Cavanaugh’s brief is to spy on Larkin’s
greatest adversary Peter Champion. To this end Philip enters
the Champion entourage a clan so poisonous they make the
Borgias look Amish with his song writing partner Claire
Simmons. Together they are to turn Champion’s talentless
wife Lisa (a woman so rich she ovulates Faberge eggs) into a
chanteuse. As Philip and Gilbert out spy each other in vying
for Tommy’s admiration, plot follows counter plot in a novel
whose comic complications, devastating repartee and cast of
high hat lowlifes is nothing short of dazzling and unforgettable.’

The one thing that can be a drawback with Keenan is his tendency to
develop plot lines that can become rather complicated and difficult to
follow. Nevertheless, he usually manages a skilful resolution and the
Ritz is no exception with a wild take on American TV talk shows as
the means of untangling the knots and generally delivering ‘payoffs’
to all concerned.

~ John C.

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The Red Tree by Caitlin R Kiernan

ImageThis is not a ‘scare-your-pants-off’ horror book. There is some gore and blood. However, the emphasis lies in creating doubt in an unsettling atmosphere and inconsistent happenings.

The location (Rhode Island) and its attached history, environment and climate are all easily evoked from writings, film or art experienced in the past. Its focus is an appropriately red oak tree and the gradually unearthing of layers of events in different parts of the past and present which intersect in the sharing of a remote house by two artistic women who have ghosts of their own to lay, one a writer with a deadline, the other a demonic Bacon-like painter.

The book, in fact, is presented as the edited last work of Sarah Crowe (great name given the location) who has suicided.

It has to be said that many things in the book may appear to arise from the life and experiences of its author, Caitlin Kiernan. In fact, the brusque, smoking, drinking, sceptical, biology-interested orientation of the main character shares a lot with her.

There are the usual suspects of noises, objects that appear and disappear and disorienting experiences. Clever, at times fascinating, at times infuriating, use is made of the theme of forgetfulness. Whether as a result of the main character’s epilepsy or something more sinister, the reader is increasingly unsure of what to take as real. Clever use is made of realistic dialogue while the scene description has an austere sparseness which is only occasionally lost.

As someone with emerging eye problems, I must have a whinge about the use of a typeface intended to set apart the found manuscript which sets in train much of the action. The script certainly has the fineness of an old typewriter script and its faintness but created a chore I could have done without.

In summary, a good read, interesting and atmospheric with enough messing with the reader’ s head to put it well ahead of conventional mystery – horror offerings.

~ John C.

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Queer Readers interview on 4ZZZ this Wednesday night!

Tune into 4ZZZ this Wednesday night to hear one of our QR members being interviewed!

They will be discussing the history of Queer Readers, our role as an inclusive LGBTI community group, the group’s eclectic and diverse reading/reviewing, and the support of BCC Libraries.

Featuring on the Q Radio program at around 9:45 pm, 4ZZZ- the radio Frequency is 102.1 fm.

 

 

 

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Supernatural Summer Reading

Goldenseal (Book 1) by Gill Mcknight

Amy Fortune, a botanical artist, is summoned back to her childhood home of Little Dip valley when her Aunt Connie becomes sick. The valley is the home of the Garoul family, and the woman who broke Amy’s heart years earlier, Leone. Reluctantly, Amy returns to help finish illustrating the annual almanac published by the Garoul clan, something her aunt had been working on when she contracted a mysterious illness that has seen her remain absent during Amy’s stay. Amy is determined to finish the project and leave; she learnt her lesson in love a long time ago and is not interested in pursuing a relationship with someone who crushed her without a second thought. But Leone has other ideas. She has been waiting for Amy to return to the valley and is unwilling to let her out of sight. As Amy’s unease grows, so do her old feelings for Leone. But where is her aunt, and why can’t she speak to her? And what is the sinister presence prowling around in the woods? As Amy uncovers a series of lies and deception, she must find the pieces of the puzzle that will reveal the Garoul family secret, something that might drive her away forever if it doesn’t kill her first.

This is an entertaining novel that is easy to read with likeable characters and reasonable plot development. The eeriness of the woods and its evil inhabitant is well portrayed, and the hints and clues that reveal the mystery of the Garoul family unfold at a pace that keeps the reader engaged. The building tension between the two main protagonists is believable and the resulting steamy bedroom scenes are a welcome addition! This book is not a serious contender for horror or suspense genres and the humour scattered throughout lightens it further, but it is still a good, fun read for a lazy afternoon.

Ambereye (Book 2) by Gill McKnight

Hope Glassy is returning to work at Ambereye, Inc. after a serious illness. Little does she know that during her absence her beloved job took a little twist— and she now has moody workaholic Jolie Garoul as her new boss. Jolie is awkward, contrary, and on occasion, just plain mean. Hardworking and popular Hope is determined not to let the childish antics of her bizarre boss put a shadow over her new optimistic outlook. The ensuing actions are hilarious as both characters attempt to outwit each other in office politics. With the protective encouragement of her twin brother, Andre and his partner, Godfrey, Jolie is slowly manipulated into seeing the benefits of her new PA.  An uneasy truce follows until Andre comes up with the idea of holding an important family meeting in Little Dip, home of the Garoul clan, over the Thanksgiving break. Hope doesn’t need to work over Thanksgiving however that’s exactly what she and Jolie end up doing. A little interference from Andre and it’s assumed Jolie has brought her chosen mate to meet her pack. Much to her consternation, the socially awkward and inept Jolie finds she likes this idea, but Hope has no time for romance. She is eager to get her life on track and her health and career back to normal. Jolie is determined to change her mind, but how does a lycanthrope woo a human? Add in a love triangle with Hope’s beloved mutt, Tadpole, and you have a fast paced, riotous page turner you won’t be able to put down. The author does a superb job with the relationship development between both main characters. The too infrequent sex scenes, underpinned by both characters’ vulnerabilities, are scorching. By far the best of the series.

Indigo Moon (book 3) by Gill McKnight

After reading the second instalment of this series, I couldn’t wait to get my hands on the third. Sadly, I was a little disappointed with the writing itself. A much darker story than either of the previous two, it starts with great suspense. A woman, Isabelle, is horrifyingly attacked in her car by a pack of wild animals, causing her to crash the vehicle and give the animals access to the inside- and to her. She awakens sometime later, in a cabin in the woods, with a mysterious dark haired stranger, Ren, watching over her. Isabelle has amnesia and remembers nothing of her former life. She finds herself stumbling across a series of clues that lead her to question whether Ren and her bunch of misfit charges are friend or foe.

Low self esteem and uncertainty plague Isabelle, but unfortunately the authors attempt at engaging the reader with the main protagonist’s vulnerability falls short.  As Isabelle sifts through the evidence before her, she begins undergoing some changes of her own. Finally escaping from the desolate valley, Isabelle finds herself prowling the streets of a city she somehow feels connected to, looking for answers. Enter Hope and Godfrey from the previous novel. This is where the story really picks up, as Hope and Godfrey attempt to get her to Little Dip, and the help of the Garoul family who can guide her through the changes brought on by the attack. But there are a bunch of rogue werewolves on their heels, determined to stop them at any cost.

If you enjoyed the previous two books you will probably like this one, however McKnight fails to produce the same gripping connection with the main characters as previous novels in the series.

Everafter (book 1) by Nell Stark & Trinity Tam

This fast-paced and edgy novel is one of the better ones in a genre saturated in the lesbian market. Told in two halves, each belongs to the first person point of view of each of the main characters.  Medical student, Valentine Darrow, (written by Stark) is violently attacked on her way home from buying champagne to celebrate her surprise proposal to girlfriend, Alexa Newland. Waking in a hospital bed, the only clues to her attack are those reported to her by the police, and a series of flashbacks that come without warning. Plagued by an unquenchable thirst, Valentine returns home and tries to get her life back on track, but she soon succumbs to the need to seek answers from the specialist doctor who treated her in hospital. Tracking him down at the private clinic run by a clandestine group called the Consortium, it is soon revealed that the attack has left Valentine infected with a rare parasite- that of a vampire species. Struggling to come to terms with her new identity and her need to feed, the only way she can stop from undergoing full transformation into vampirism and becoming one of the souless characters of folklore is to feed only from the one source- her true love, Alexa. Not willing to risk the safety of her girlfriend, Valentine leaves.

The second half of the novel is told by Alexa (written by Tam). Having dicovered the secret her lover tried to keep, Alexa also begins to research ways in which she can satiate Val’s thirst for blood while keeping her from losing her moral essence. Exposed to the Consortium, the women learn one of its other  mysteries: shapeshifters or weres. Alexa begs the head of the Consortium to infect her with the were virus so that she might feed Val and also replenish her own source of blood each time she shifts. The approval Alexa is given angers many of the political heads of each of the two groups. After successful transformation, Alexa and Val commence on a journey into seedy, underground nightclubs  to find the rogue vampire who first infected Val, and has also killed several more victims since.

Fans of the supernatural/paranormal genre should love this story, but those who enjoy a good old fashioned romance with a twist will also take pleasure from it.  A good read that has a turning plot, is well written and engaging.

Nevermore (book 2) by Nell Stark & Trinity Tam

This second novel in the series sees the return of vampire, Valentine Darrow, and her shape-shifting soulmate, Alexa Newland. Again, it is told in two halves- the first person point of view of each of the main characters.

Having hunted down and killed the blood-sucking rogue who transformed Val, both women now have time to investigate their new heritages. When Alexa travels to a primeval city to learn more about her were history, Val is left alone in New York to negotiate the fragile political alliance between vampires and shifters.  Finding herself the only remaining being of an ancient vampire clan, she dedicates her time to studying the parasite that now consumes her blood. Meanwhile, a deadly disease has begun ravaging the shifters of the city. Unable to contact her lover to warn her, Val embarks on a dangerous mission to uncover the cause of the infection and the dark secrets of the Consortium. But will she uncover them in time to save Alexa, and how long can she resist the formidable urge to feed from another source- and forfit her soul forever?

Caught in a power struggle between two groups of wereshifters, Alexa finds herself trapped in an ancient city. Captured by a ruthless Were-leader who is determined to use her as bait for his bloody-minded crusade, Alexa must find a way of escape and begin the treacherous journey that will take her back to Val. But first, she must determine who is friend and who is foe if she is to stay alive long enough to make it. She is working against the clock, because at the forefront of her mind is the knowledge that if she doesn’t reach her in time, Val will have no choice but to feed from another and lose her humanity in the process.

This book has more action and adventure than the first in the series, but the relationship of the central characters is not overshadowed by the fast-paced twists and turns. Instead, it is a great sequel that provides insight into the history and egos of each group. Once you start, it’s hard to put this book down!

 

Nightrise (book 3) by Nell Stark & Trinity Tam

All good things must come to an end, and sadly this is the case with the excellent story-telling in this series. After the first two entertaining novels, I had great expectations for the third, but a lack of intrigue and lazy writing makes it seem the authors couldn’t wait to round out the tale (although there is apparently a fourth instalment, ‘Sunfall’ destined for the shelves in the near future).

Valentine Darrow has lost her soul, and her soul-mate, Alexa. As an elite and powerful leader of an ancient vampire linage, Val embarks on a campaign to transform as many humans as possible to her new clan. Partying by night and converting an old bank into the new financial capital of the Consortium by day, Val has moved on from her old life and the human weakness that Alexa forced her to. But her red-headed ex continues to plague Val’s thoughts and senses, and her brutally ambitious enemies know it. After a series of attempts on her life, will they succeed in bringing her down?

Alexa Newland has just discovered that nothing is forever. Desolate and despondent from Val’s betrayal, she attempts to pick up the pieces of her life and move forward, but the discovery of an ancient legend sparks a ray of hope for Val’s salvation. Unravelling the archaic script and piecing together the puzzle, Alexa risks everything, including new friends, to travel to the far reaches of Argentina and find a cure for Val. But will the custodian of the rare flower be willing to share, and even if she does, will Val accept the treatment and forfeit her new-found power?

Promises, Promises: A Romp with Plenty of Dykes, a Unicorn, an Ogre, an Oracle, a Quest, a Princess, and True Love with a Happily Ever After- L-J Baker

 (Description from Amazon) Sandy Blunt, witch, has big dreams but C-average magic skills. Her only noteworthy talent is for paying extravagant compliments to women. Trouble is, when she uses that gift, she unwittingly foretells the future for a pretty princess. The punishment for prophesying about one of royal blood is death. With the help of ill-assorted companions, including a self-proclaimed princess in disguise with a wild imagination, a self-absorbed member of the royal guard who doesn’t like getting dust on his shiny armour, a chain-mail bikini clad feminist amazon warrior, and the not-so-average girl next door, Sandy has a year and a day to travel to far-flung places–encountering such dangerous creatures as a dragon who writes awful poetry, slovenly elves, not-so-scary ogres who grow glorious gardens, and boarding house landladies–to collect the weird and magical items needed to turn her prophecies into promises and so evade the executioner.

This is a humorous and clever parody of almost every cliché ever written in the fantasy genre.  Fans who have previously read a lot of the genre will recognize many of the references and allusions Baker uses. Even if you haven’t read much fantasy before, the story travels along at a crisp pace with laugh-out-loud moments, and you will love the antics of the characters as they fumble their way through the series of challenges they confront.

 

 

~ Bonnie.

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Summer Reading

Arguably

by Christopher Hitchens

Allen & Unwin 2011

This book runs to 750 pages of text and 38 pages of excellent indexing. Apart from some continuing essay writing, this may well be Hitchens’ final work. It contains mostly shorter essay-style pieces though some go longer (4-8 pages) most of which were produced for magazines (on- and off-line). The collection is of relatively recent work. As in most of his work, one can clearly hear Hitchens enunciate every word and phrase and this is part of the joy of the book. Agree or disagree with him, find him sharply encyclopaedic in his use of resources or overbearing, there is never any doubting his presence in what he writes. This is book to be read occasionally, to be dipped into and then returned to again and again. There is just too much to be absorbed in one long a read from a man who lives up to one of his own titles -  ‘Don’t Mince Words’.

The writings have been organised into six sections. B. Waters’ Amazon review summarizes them as –

“All American” focuses on the history, policies, and distinguished figures of the United States. It appears to be sorted chronologically; beginning with essays on Jefferson and Franklin, continuing through subjects like John Brown and Lincoln, JFK, John Updike, and Gore Vidal, and then closing with essays on modern issues like capital punishment and atheism in the modern military.

“Eclectic Affinities” includes Hitchens’ best essays on notable literary figures. There are about 30 essays here, covering everything from Karl Marx, to Graham Greene, to George Orwell, to JK Rowling.

“Amusements, Annoyances, and Disappointments” is relatively short, with only 8 essays. However, these are some of Hitch’s most famous and controversial personal remarks, including the infamous “Why Women Aren’t Funny” and his charming “New Commandments”.

“Offshore Accounts” primarily deals with modern political conflicts. It includes his experience with waterboarding, his admiration for Kurdistan, and his encyclopaedic knowledge of current politics. This is probably the most notable section of the book, and also one of the longest.

“Legacies of Totalitarianism” takes us back to earlier conflicts, focusing especially on the first half of the last century. The essays here are mostly based on specific people, and the legacies that endured long after they did.

“Words’ Worth” covers Hitchens’ essays on language and culture. The earlier sections focused on Hitch as a political essayist, but this section closes the book with Hitch as a charming raconteur. More than the other sections, it allows Hitch to be more personal and candid, and that allows his inimitable writing style and witty humour to take centre stage.

The pleasure of reading Hitchens abounds throughout. Whether he is slashing and paring down opponents arguments and leaving them without much clothing; simply barely and harshly exposing the utter truth of some person, event or policy, or playfully revelling in the delights of literature and personality, it is all ‘in your face’ material. There is so much to enjoy, savour and be  challenged by here, some may even find something to despise or hate as well.

Among my favourites were ‘W. Somerset Maugham: Poor Old Willie’(even the title is pointed), ‘P.G. Wodehouse: The Honorable Schoolboy’ (revealing) and, on social matters, ‘Let them Eat Pork Rind’ and ‘On Animal Farm’.

I offer only one extended quote from his ‘Vietnam Syndrome’ in which he meditates on Vietnam, Agent Orange and the nature of history and belief. Hitchens attends a clinic seeking blood donations for Agent Orange victims, donates blood, rests and then is offered a tour of the facilities.

‘This privilege (a recuperative bowl of beef noodles), after a while, I came almost to regret. In an earlier age the compassionate term for irredeemably deformed people was lusus naturae: “a sport of nature”, or, if you prefer a more callous translation, a joke. It was bad enough, in that spare hospital, to meet the successful half of a Siamese-twin operation. This was a more or less functional human child, with some cognition and about half the usual compliment of limbs and organs. But upstairs was the surplus half, which, I defy you not to have thought if you had been there, would have been more mercifully thrown away. It wasn’t sufficient that this unsuccessful remnant had no real brain and was a thing of stumps and sutures. (“No ass!” murmured my stunned translator in that good-bad English that stays in your mind.) Extra torments had been thrown in. The little creature was not lying torpid and still. It was jerking and writing in blinded, crippled, permanent epilepsy, tethered by one stump to the bedpost and given no release from endless, pointless, twitching misery. What nature indulges in such sport? What creator designs it?’

Since the above was written, Christopher Hitchens has died. ‘The Australian’ gave him a three-quarter page obituary and a small Editorial mention under ‘Erudite and Courageous’.

 Christopher Hitchens

Journalist

b. Portsmouth, Britain, 13 April, 1949

d. Houston, USA, 16 December, 2011, aged 62.

Julian Assange : The Unauthorised Autobiography

By Julian Assange

Unacknowledged Ghost Writer Andrew O’Hagan

Cannongate 2011

Wikileaks was something I looked at briefly on my computer a long time ago and concluded I didn’t have the patience to wade through it and would rely on others to alert me when something interesting became available.

On that basis, I have looked at a number of its revelations and have been genuinely grateful for the incidents or matters it revealed. Throughout that time, I did not give a great deal of thought to the processes employed to obtain and present its offerings much less the persona of Julian Assange.

This book, with its internal flaws and its somewhat typical Assange-ish problems in publication, both fills in some of those gaps while intensifying some concerns about the man himself.

The material on his early life is undeniably interesting if patchily presented (much because of the relatively incomplete nature of the text). I would see his life as an example of how someone clearly gifted, but who found his way largely as an autodidact, can develop a strong personal morally justified orientation for the exercise of his powers but begin to lose sight of the need to integrate in a broader social context. This seems to become almost a mantra for Assange and can be seen at work in his relationships with individuals, organisations (‘The Guardian’) and even the matter of the Swedish rape accusations.
I am grateful for much of his work. I don’t know of any other way much of what Wikileaks has revealed would otherwise have become generally available. I believe his work has been timely given ever-increasingly rapid changes in the technologies of information gathering and control (governmental and ‘private’) and their aggregation and manipulation. However, I find Assange’s attempts to justify his actions in ways that are systematically laid out and sustained are painfully flawed. The targets and motivations are clear enough; their justification is jumbled and poorly integrated. Perhaps someone could one day work through and express this with him – unfortunately, finding someone who could sustain that process would seem part of his problems.

FRANKLIN AND ELEANOR: AN EXTRAORDINARY MARRIAGE

By Hazel Rowley

Melbourne University Press 2011

I approached the concept of this book somewhat warily. Like most I had read my fair share on the lives, history and politics of these two people. I was aware that their marriage had unusual elements, even some ‘scandal’. I was concerned that this offering might simply be a collation of  the kind of material that might fill an hour of television – fleeting well-coloured snippets.

How wrong could I be? Given Hazel Rowley’s similar work on Simone de Beauvoir and Jean- Paul Sartre, I ought not have been surprised to find I was reading the fruits of careful research into original sources and first-hand accounts all carefully detailed and woven into a remarkably even-handed text where the subjects literally speak for themselves.

This was a marriage and more. With its origins in the traditional world of what many 19th century Americans would have perceived as their aristocracy, this relationship grew in its complexity and depth even as the world in which it was played out became a wider and wider stage.

This is not to say that this ‘aristocracy’ was any more or less essentially fearful and defensive of its place in American society, or more or less full of borderline personalities unrestrained by financial considerations. Some of these make interesting reading and serve to highlight this extraordinary couple who surrounded themselves with some ripe examples who either came from this background (the entire extended Roosevelt clan) or gravitated to serve their wishes, needs and sometimes desires. I found myself comparing Franklin’s mother Sara (God help him) with Gen Macarthur’s similarly dominating mater. A reader could use these background factors to ‘explain’ away some of his apparent belief in the inevitability of his political power. Much can be made of the inadequacy of the opposition that Roosevelt confronted and his gifts. Yet the reader is aware of the man who followed him and came from such a radically different background.

One of the most enjoyable things the book does, is to bring to the forefront the collection of individuals who served the one or the other, sometimes to the point of death (Louis Howe). Howe almost literally created the public personas of both Eleanor and Franklin while creating the political and administrative pathway that carried Franklin to the White House.

Lucy Mercer, a kind of Wallis Simpson figure, was in and out of Franklin’s life (often for extended periods even after she married the money she needed) and was present at his death in 1945.

Marguerite “Missy” LeHand was the devoted Secretary (and eventual doorkeeper) whose level of dependence plumbed incredible and morbid depths while serving as a kind of non-sexual wife in governing his domestic arrangements. The book details a long list of others from varying backgrounds with whom there was either intensive flirting or romance.

Eleanor, initially left to raise a substantial family, found her pathway largely through indirect and direct political activity (again supported and propelled by Louis Howe who may have had ulterior motives in wanting to see the marriage remain solid and united at least publicly). As it was clear that Franklin had created a world in which she was less and less directly needed, Eleanor also developed other interests and ‘friends’. While some of these were male (almost ostentatiously so), the majority were women with whom she shared common political or artistic interests. These seem to have become increasingly lesbian and very emotional with her letters indicating increasing depth of feeling.

This is, in itself, a work of considerable clarity with mercifully controlled hero-worshipping. The readers are thus given an opportunity to evaluate for themselves what was achieved out of the relationship between these two extraordinary people.

That Woman

By Anne Sebba

Wiedenfeld & Nicholoson

2011

The above diamond encrusted Prince of Wales feathers brooch was part of ‘that woman’s’ fabled jewellery collection which was auctioned for at least $60 million over a period of time. It was purchased by Elizabeth Taylor on whose death it was again auctioned. On both occasions, AIDS research and charities were main beneficiaries and the British Royal family were unable to afford to reclaim many items their agent Earl Mountbatten had sought for return. The irony is that this outcast couple were able to doubly benefit others who had often been treated as outcasts themselves at the expense of the establishment.

People in my age group grew up very much with the story of Edward and Wallis in mind and surrounded by opinions (not always negative). These were supplemented by their autobiographies and then the mass of biographies, plays, films and TV series which have followed.

One could wonder, what more is there to be told? Certainly, I had this attitude before this reading this book and I largely remain the same. I have no intention of reviewing the story in its main elements as most readers are looking for something that is really new and insightful. The picture is occasionally clarified and extended with the use of either previously or newly released archival material. This is particularly so in the case of Mary Kirk, a childhood friend of Mrs Simpson who knew her very well and even married the cast-off Ernest Simpson. Simpson’s Jewish background gets more mention than previously but Wallis was quite unconscious of it in any case. Use has been made of the Lambeth archives which illuminates the role of the church in the time of crisis (Edward displayed no great love of the church). The fact is that key obscurities remain and probably always will.

This being the 21st century, the usual psychological theorising about Edward’s inadequacies (the ‘Little man’ especially in penile endowment) and Wallis’ need for comfort and security, her need for dominance and a contradictory nature combined with their mutual anorexia have now  been supplemented by genetic theorising.

Wallis is now seen as likely possessing genetically determined male characteristics – some degree of a Disorder of Sexual Development (DSD) or intersexuality. If she did suffer from Androgen Insensitivity, she would have been born as a genetic male with the XY chromosome. Developing outwardly a woman, she would still have had male characteristics in her face, hands, arms and legs – which she did display. She would very likely develop obscure internal organ problems – which she did. She would have a small vagina and would not enjoy vaginal sex – she is reported as having never had vaginal sex with her first two husbands though this characteristic may well have suited ‘the little man’.  On the other hand, Edward is seen as infantile with a penchant for older women. He was in need of the very sexual and psychological comforts which she had to offer – at a price. Most of this this conjecture based on very thin factual data and will almost certainly remain so.

There ate no clear-cut answers in this book, but there is much that enlarges and deepens our understanding of the great outcast couple of the 20th century.

Mozart’s Last Aria

by Matt Rees

Corvus 2011

I confess to purchasing this book as a Christmas gift for a friend who is very fond of music and knowledgeable in that respect. He also has an interest in anything to do with freemasonry, Templars etc. and a large collection of ‘whodunits’. Matt Rees’ offering covers all those interests quite neatly (and yes, I obviously did read it before gifting it). Rees’ motivation for writing this book lies in his successful background as a crime writer featuring Omar Yussef in Palestine as well and sundry TV series. He loves classical music, visited Vienna, imbibed the Nannerl story and saw an opportunity.

My interest was piqued as most readers/filmgoers are familiar with the ‘did Salieri do it?’ question of ‘Amadeus’ and was revived by the rather messy film ‘Mozart’s Sister’ which screened in 2010-11. While that film was a feast for the ear and eye, its combination of fact and fiction was daft and inconsistent.

In Rees’ faction piece, the focus, shortly after Mozart’s death, radiates from his sister, Maria Anna (Nannerl). She has been estranged from him for three years as a result of a falling out over their father’s will and is living comfortably but without much marital love from her minor aristocrat husband in a rural backwater.

Two things need to be known about this book. The first is some background in the mixture of rigid Imperial protocols and the ferment of radical new ideas in philosophy, politics, science, art and music abroad in Europe of the time. Rees exploits Mozart’s fascination with Freemasonry and its known connotations in ‘The Magic Flute’ to make his sisters’ experience with a performance of the piece the key to her understanding of her brother’s life and death. The second is Rees’s determination to make Nannerl into a modern woman. This is a flaw as he simply pushes this notion too far in language, plot and action. It is an understandable device but it does rob the book of a sense of recreating its time and place especially as he goes to some trouble to present the physical locations utilised – sometimes trying a little too hard. Also some of the modern speech used in dialogue jars.
A conventional crime writing device – a scrap of paper from Mozart’s journal which reads ambiguously – is used to push start an investigative process which takes Nannerl along a pathway which is colourful and interesting though accompanied by a love interest that I found unbelievable for time and place.

All told, however, a good read which can be somewhat instructive of the setting, time and place and intensifies the notion of a connection between music and the life lived.

The book has a lot of musical references, which, if not known, can be presumed from their descriptions. Otherwise iTunes beckons.

HipsterMattic  

by Matt Granfield

Allen & Unwin 2011

Known fact – The Hipstamatic for iPhone is an application that brings back the look, feel, unpredictable beauty, and fun of plastic toy cameras from the past. Check the App store for more (best read tongue-in-cheek). The photos used in the book were taken and modified using the Hipstamatic app to give the desired retro effect reinforcing the satirical intent of the book – I hope!

Another amazing fact – The young adults of the 2000s have made a major discovery – they want to be different!. They know what they are told or pressured to be, but the need to be cool transcends such commonality and emerges as someone above and beyond such influences to achieve ultimate (admirable) coolness. All of which sounds a bit like a form of Buddhism except that possessions (the right ones) are still key. The protagonist, on the rebound from a break-up from a very hip lady, decides to attain ultimate hipster status as he sees this as his much-needed ultimate self-actualisation (certainly his ex- told him so). The whole concept is depressingly Maslowian.

Naturally our hero inhabits New Farm and Fortitude Valley, the ground zero of hipsterdom and it is largely there that he undertakes a series of tasks designed to raise him to hipster nirvana. These include growing a beard, learning to knit, getting a tattoo, drinking up to 15 shots of coffee at a sitting, accepting vegetarianism, running a fashion market stall outside a hip bar, learning to  ride a fixed gear bicycle which he (partly) assembles, setting up a hipster band, and joining a fashion photographic course while only armed with an iPhone (hence the hipstamatic reference).

There are two extracts which highlight the occasional arch insights that are spelled out directly in the text.

“In 5000 years when alien archaeologist anthropologists want to identify the point at which human society began to devolve, they will dig up a homemaker centre car park and find the skeletons of 2000 white lower middle-class suburbanites, loading flat-screen televisions they can’t afford into Hyundais they don’t own, buried and perfectly preserved under a volcano of interest-free store credit paperwork.”

And

“There are three reasons why people choose to be vegetarians. The first is because they have a moral objection to eating animals. The second is for medical reasons. The third is because they’re trying to impress a girl.”

I very much enjoyed his early and later adventures especially the denouement at the hands of a bunch of hearing impaired lesser hipsters. It was an odd fascination as much born out of the sheer believable silliness of his quest as it is of feeling for his apparent earnestness. The book slows at times in the middle and some references (especially to contemporary music) are outside this reader’s ambit. Nevertheless, the point can usually be inferred.

I enjoyed my brief visit to this parallel universe but I was grateful that the quest ended with our hero  in need of a hipsterectomy!

The Rape of Mesopotamia

By Lawrence Rothfield

U of Chicago Press 2009

This is a sad book to read. Given that the titled region has probably the longest continuous history of literate urban civilization on this planet, it has certainly seen its fair share of war and mindless destruction. However, the manner in which looting was allowed to occur in 2003 without any kind of worthwhile prior precautionary measures and was then compounded by what can only be seen as heedless cynicism, makes for dire reading.

It can be understood that not everyone has a background, interest or understanding that would find its expression as a concern for the fate of the archaeological sites and artefacts that pepper this cradle of civilisation. Further, the greed of organised international art smugglers, dealers and purchasers must be shared by those Iraqis who were also involved (the very poorest having their poverty as their only excuse belied by those who chose not to loot).

This is a somewhat austere read without rage or anger only a deeply felt disappointment that builds as the reader is exposed the initial days of high confusion in Baghdad followed by weeks and months of inaction and buck-passing and stonewalling as more and more destruction occurred (at the most basic level, a US soldier was told when lodging a concern that known ancient artefacts were being sold in an on-base market to not mention the matter further). The usual defence of the need to plan hurriedly and secretly and act precipitately (‘shock and awe’) offers a few shreds of protection in the very early days but the indifference of planners and commanders is plain in the following months.

The Making of Modern Australia    

by William McInnes

Hachette Australia 2010

This book was produced as an accompaniment to the same named television series. The main interest in the series was that the stories illustrating the themes of Romance, Religion, Family were provided directly from the lives of everyday people who lived the changes of post WWII.  The stories at times intersect and a range of topics (the stolen generation, forgotten generation,  post WWII immigration, the baby boomers, communism and the cold war, sexual liberation, counter culture, the Vietnam war, the boat people,  education,  work, leisure, childhood and the childcare Industry, religious differences, the treatment of refugees,  reconciliation, music; and fashion) thread through many of the lives presented.

The series was narrated and this text written by William McInnes, the Brisbane raised (Redcliffe) actor and author who lost his filmmaker wife earlier this year.  McInnes did the narration for the ABC TV presentation of ‘The Slap’ with some viewers objecting to the fact of the narration and some to his speech (I  felt the narration mostly functioned extremely well). Certainly his writing and speech are distinctive, always rather quiet, reflective and understated. His writing easily evokes his speech patterns well and  the text reads as of he is having a quiet confidential chat with the reader.

As such, I found it a book that was interesting for the material revealed and evoked by the characters presented and foe the relatively gentle way McInnes makes his points.

Closet Reading: 500 Years of Humour on the Loo

by Phil Norman

Gibson Square Books 2009

This book was a reciprocal in that it was a gift from the friend who received  ‘Mozart’s Last Opera’ listed above.  He knew my taste well as this is gem of bibliophilia. It is not a collection of toilet jokes though it is written in a format, which could encourage its use in that place. It is a very effective and thorough history of the publication of those mostly brief publications that might otherwise fall under the heading of ‘pamphlet’, ‘Chap-book’, ‘magazine’, etc. I would suggest you visualize the cash desk counter in most bookstores (Avid Reader?) where you will find a range of such items. It is carefully authoritative, wide-ranging, and often plain LOL. Its only weakness lies in its depth as I was not familiar with quite a few of the 20th C references.

The Introduction sets the pace with an extract from an Alan Bennet poem ‘Place-Names of China’ which seemed oddly familiar …

Here I sit, alone and sixty,

Bald and Fat, and full of sin;

Cold the seat and loud the cistern

As I read the Harpic tin.

One of the most enjoyable aspects of this work is the way origins of much that is familiar today can be traced back to its origins. An example would be in Norman’s coverage of the pandemonium of publishing that accompanied the Restoration and offended many while beginning (successfully) the fight for freedom of speech in the press when assaulted by the usual offenders.

He offers ‘The Midwife’ or ‘The Old Woman’s Magazine’ launched Oct 16, 1751 as a Grubb St threepenny wonder featuring Mrs Mary Midnight with its mock adverts, futurist predictions (by 1931, the average person’s height would be 2 ft. 6 ins owing to chronic gin abuse), spoof letters to newspapers and a note to the Royal Society on a truly pythonesque cat organ …

There is an engraved frontispiece featuring Christopher Smart and his publisher in full drag next to a chamber pot labelled ‘The Jakes of Genius’. It is so easy to detect the origins of the in-your-face panto-type dames such as Aunty Jack and Betty Blokk-Buster and much of the humour of the Pythons, Goodies and Little Britain in this.

The interest and humour continues as Norman surveys the fate of this publishing genre over the intervening years in some detail, In fact, the only times I was lost were when he included some very specifically English examples which I had never encountered before. Norman concludes with a sharply comical observation on the current Christmas book-giving trade – worth a read on its own particularly his description of the dreaded celebrity autobiography.

The Epigenetics Revolution

By Nessa Carey

Icon Books 2011

I knew I might have bitten off more than I could chew with this book, and it was a close-run thing. The earlier chapters that aim to educate the reader in the broadest terms were interesting, However, for someone with very little knowledge of human biology (me), the sheer number of acronymic details was close to overwhelming. However, the general interest of the topic and the author’s capacity to explain these mysteries, at times quite light-heartedly, carried me through.

My professional background took very seriously the examination of the nature – nurture debate, but how things have changed! Epigenetics examines the manner in which genes can be slightly but importantly modified by events (hormones, nutritional states and learning for example) and those changes transmitted to future generations – an almost Lamarckian notion that explains much while opening the door to possibility of engineered genetic therapies (already under way). The example of Audrey Hepburn as a member of the Dutch Hunger Winter cohort is explored as an example of the nutritional states, which can inspire such epigenetic change.

Two examples quoted caught my eye in the earlier chapters -

With regard to sex-typed imprinting for eggs and sperm, epigenetic changes strip cross sex changes from eggs and sperm, a condition which is then transmitted to new eggs and sperm while non-pluripotent cells lines can and do restore sex-based imprinted characteristics. An example of this is

‘Prof Gurdun Moore of Univ College London has made and intriguing suggestion. She has proposed that the high levels of imprinting in the brain represent a post-natal continuation of the war of the sexes. She has speculated that some brain imprints are an attempt by the paternal genome to promote behaviour in young off-spring that will stimulate the mother to continue to drain her own resources, for example by prolonged breast-feeding’  (anyone for ‘Tsolkas’ ‘the Slap’?)

Another example of epigenetic determination is the humble tortoiseshell moggie. A male cat has only one X chromosome, so it can only express all black or all ginger fur but not both. The female has two chromosomes and so can express a mixture of both as a result of a differential inactivation on those chromosomes, which expresses itself in patches on the moggies’ coat. Because this pattern can only occur in females, all tortoiseshell cats should be female. If you have one that has been sexed as male, he will, in fact has three chromosomes XXY and be infertile – poor Tom!

If you are curious about developing epigenetic-based therapies, this book could help you to get a grasp on the topic. This is an issue which is by no means to be taken lightly. There are a tremendous number of issues, medical, social and moral which flow from this work and any thinking persons needs to have at least some acquaintance with the basics.

 

 

 

~ John C

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