book meme

Sheila tagged me with this, oh, about 87 years ago. So even though, in the vast yawn of time since then, I have become a bony withered crone and MB’s entire body has become scrotum; even though we tell each other to rage, rage, against the dying of the light; still, we persevere and faithfully do me-me’s with what’s left of our wits.

Which book do you irrationally cringe away from reading, despite seeing only positive reviews?

Oh, what’s that one? The Ya-Ya Jumpy Girls? That one. Wait. I have to Google the actual name. Okay. Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood. I actually don’t know if it got good reviews — literary reviews — I just know that for a while there, it seemed like every woman I know or didn’t know or didn’t want to know kept gushing about this book. “Ohhh …. you gotta read the Ya-Ya Sisterhood! You just have to!” Uhm, no, thank you. I don’t even care what it’s about. It’s the title and the vibe I get from it. I couldn’t carry a book around with that cloying title and still respect myself. Frankly, I’m afraid of the braidable armpit hair I would instantly sprout just from touching it. I’m terrified that reading even one little word would transport me immediately to a parallel universe where I’m a womyn’s studies professor in kooky toe socks and Birkenstocks. No. Gross. Get away, ya-ya jumpy girls! If that means I’m out of the sisterhood, so be it.

If you could bring three characters to life for a social event (afternoon tea, a night of clubbing, perhaps a world cruise), who would they be and what would the event be?

Is this about them interacting with each other or am I involved in the event, too? I guess I can choose whatever I want here, right? Why is this one hard for me, suddenly? Well, let’s start with Jean Valjean because, well, I love him. I experienced him relatively young — 14? — and so he lingers in my heart even how. Mr. Rochester, Jane Eyre, gotta say him. And into our nice little tea — because I just decided it would be a nice little tea — I’ll throw Sugar from The Crimson Petal and the White, the literate prostitute and closet writer with the golden-orange hair and the peeling tree bark skin condition All the uptight Victorian men go crazy for her — for her oddball beauty and her mad skillz, both conversationally and otherwise. Let’s introduce her to Jean Valjean and Mr. Rochester! And because I can be very shy when I feel intimidated — which I do, a little bit, by each of these characters — I’d be a fly on the wall or watch on hidden camera or something slightly less stalker sounding. And I’m not trying to dupe Valjean or Mr. Rochester by throwing in Sugar; I suspect they might not even know her profession. She is well-educated (self) and is lithe and elegant; she looks like a proper lady. Or at least she can. And she’d be wearing lovely gloves to cover her intricately cracked, but graceful, hands. There’d be interesting conversation if her profession isn’t revealed. Maybe more interesting conversation if it is.

(Borrowing shamelessly from the Thursday Next series by Jasper Fforde): you are told you can’t die until you read the most boring novel on the planet. While this immortality is great for awhile, eventually you realise it’s past time to die. Which book would you expect to get you a nice grave?

Oh, no contest. The Bridges of Madison County. A truly deadly book but a great movie, thanks to Clint Eastwood and Meryl Streep and editing that rightly mutilated the dialog past recognition. “I’M the last cowboy!” SHUT UP. If I die, I’m taking you with me, asswipe.

Come on, we’ve all been there. Which book have you pretended, or at least hinted, that you’ve read, when in fact you’ve been nowhere near it?

War and Peace.

As an addition to the last question, has there been a book that you really thought you had read, only to realise when you read a review about it/go to ‘reread’ it that you haven’t? Which book?

Can’t think of one, really.

You’re interviewing for the post of Official Book Advisor to some VIP (who’s not a big reader). What’s the first book you’d recommend and why? (if you feel like you’d have to know the person, go ahead of personalise the VIP)

Let’s see. Someone who’s not a big reader — to get them more interested in reading? Uhm, how about The Princess Bride by my crush man William Goldman? It’s fun, witty, swashbuckling, a fast read. What’s not to love? I think it’s a surefire winner. Unless the person is a total drip.

Oooh, another one ….. To Kill a Mockingbird.

A good fairy comes and grants you one wish: you will have perfect reading comprehension in the foreign language of your choice. Which language do you go with?

Russian — Tolstoy, Dostoevsky
French — mainly to read Les Miserables in the original
Greek — New Testament

A mischievious fairy comes and says that you must choose one book that you will reread once a year for the rest of your life (you can read other books as well). Which book would you pick?

I talk about this book all the time — ALL the dingdang time — but I could, and basically do, read What’s So Amazing About Grace? by Philip Yancey every year. It’s always around somewhere close where I have easy access to it. I can’t think of anyone who’s made the concept of grace more tangible, more accessible to me; who’s taken something that can seem so lofty or dusty or so far removed from modern life and brought it down to earth, pulled the veil back a bit, or just used images that resonate with me, all without robbing grace of its mystery. I feel like Philip Yancey did me a personal favor by writing this book. It’s something I need to hear, over and over. I basically implore everyone to read it.

I know that the book blogging community, and its various challenges, have pushed my reading borders. What’s one bookish thing you ‘discovered’ from book blogging (maybe a new genre, or author, or new appreciation for cover art-anything)?

Well, I read Geek Love on Sheila’s recommendation. And in the end, when you’re done, there are just things you can’t even talk about. The book just shakes you to your core. I feel like anyone who gets through that book — has an appreciation for it, love for it, I don’t even know what to call what you feel about it — is part of this strange Geek Love book club. You become a knower, not a talker. By that I mean, you could meet with the other members of this little club to discuss the book without discussing the book. Without anyone uttering a complete sentence. Someone could simply say, “Geek Love,” and the rest could just nod, knowing, just knowing, what the other person means. There’s so much weight to this book it can’t really be held or named or looked at in the light. It just can’t. You know things you just can’t mention.

That good fairy is back for one final visit. Now, she’s granting you your dream library! Describe it. Is everything leatherbound? Is it full of first edition hardcovers? Pristine trade paperbacks? Perhaps a few favourite authors have inscribed their works? Go ahead-let your imagination run free.

First, I think I’d like the library to be a loft — a nice-sized one, but not too cavernous and overwhelming. I like cozy and big rooms kinda make me uncomfortable. We’re under the eaves, so there’s that coziness. You’re nestled in my library. But you don’t have to heave yourself up a ladder; oh, no, there are stairs that hug the wall leading up to it. The beams are exposed wood, stained a rich color, as is the wood plank floor and the built-in bookshelves. There’s a large area rug on the floor. Maybe Persian? Indian? I need to shop for it still. On one wall, right in the middle of the bookshelves, there’s a fireplace with a crackling fire. The windows look out at some mountains — like ones that loom large in the deep dark middle of nowhere. Two corners under the eaves have huge cushy chairs with ottomans — one corner for me, one for MB, of course. There is a floor lamp in each corner for extra reading light, but — oh, here’s my favorite part! — each corner has a clear skylight above the cushy chair. You can read by natural light during most days. If if rains, you can lean your head back and just watch it patter against the window. If it snows, you watch it pile up in graceful silence. Maybe you fall asleep. Basically, we can sit in our respective corners, read in companionable silence, watch the rain, wave to each other, or still talk; we’re not TOO far away from each other. In the middle of the room, a large wooden table as a desk. Room for two, again. Room for our modest clutter. Room for us both to be writing, drawing, creating, drinking coffee, of course. Oh, and MB has a little cabinet for his cigars and pipes somewhere in our library loft. Another corner has one of those stands that holds quilts — do those have a special name? You know, the kind you see holding quilts in antique stores? Probably “quilt stand,” Tracey. Anyway, we have a variety of blankets hanging from it, always at our disposal, for whenever we want to seriously curl up. And nothing is country-craftsy here. It’s cozy and warm and elegant too. So basically, I might come home in the evening, calling in a mock-snooty voice, “Hullo? Where are you, Beloved?” Then he’d say in the same voice, between puffs on his pipe, “Up here, dahling. In our libary.” And we’d always say libary in private so as not to take ourselves too seriously.

Oh, this was a fun one! A great escape. Thanks, Sheila!

Have at it, anyone, everyone!