armchair travel

The wind is howling and there's a blizzard on Cape Cod--I kind of wish I was in Provincetown in heavy snow and winds, the wild ocean surrounding that little spit of land, windblown tales of shipwrecks and endurance...

Speaking of endurance, I recently read two powerful works of non-fiction: Wave, by Sonali Deraniyagala, who lost her entire family (husband, children, parents) in the 2004 Indian Ocean Tsunami, is harrowing and beautifully written. Unbroken, A World War II Story of Survival, Resilience, and Redemption, by Laura Hillenbrand is also harrowing, suspenseful, and a real page-turner.

When I was sick I mentioned that I was reading the Bruno, Chief of Police detective series. I also read The Martian, by Andy Weir and thoroughly enjoyed it. Simply written, oddly compelling. Some brilliant short stories from Archangel, (natural science and history) by Andrea Barrett and The Things They Carried (Vietnam War) by Tim O'Brien balanced things out a bit. 

I've discovered something about short stories--it's good to mix them up. They can be intense, and sometimes stories by one author can have a similarity of tone. Following the voice of one author with a different one keeps it fresh. I know a lot of people don't think they like short stories (we discussed that here) but they can fill a niche of time or mood.

When I felt better I had a craving for a big India book. I have a lot of novels that take place in India and I feel compelled to keep them together. You can see many of them in the picture above (and a glimpse of the foot of my bed--always have book choices handy). I remembered that I'd only read the first book in Paul Scott's Raj Quartet, and had mixed feelings about it, but I read the second book and loved it, so now I'm reading the third.

In the last month my reading has taken me to Sri Lanka, Japan, France, Mars, Vietnam, and India. Is there a book you love that has a strong sense of place?

around here

Lilacs, the flowers of my childhood.

 I inhale their fragrance like I'm dying for air 

and they are my oxygen.

 More big books about India:  A Suitable Boy, Shantaram and The Far Pavilions, and the non-fiction book, India, by Flora Annie Steel, pictured here, published in 1905. An excerpt:

"A quail calls from its hooded cage. A municipal sweeper, coming along with his broom, propels an evil black flood along the gutter; and that tall, spare, bronze-faced man in a white uniform who rides along at a foot's pace, his keen blue eyes everywhere, is the English police-officer.
   
He stops, says something to a yellow-legged orderly at his heels, then passes on.
   
Therein after, there are tears in some balcony or liquor shop, since order must be preserved in the bazaar."

cats

painting

Lilies of the valley, lemon tea bread, cherry blossoms, and those lilacs...

In May, everything seems possible.

my thoughts are stars

Last night I was reading The Night Circus for my book group, but midway through I got bored--I like the story, but the writing and characters weren't engaging me--and went to my winter reading pile. Sometimes I just want to spend the rest of my life sitting in a comfortable chair reading, getting up now and then to take a walk and make some tea. Maybe eat a sandwich, then back to chair and books.

Anyway, I have an ongoing infatuation with books about India and by Indian authors, and there are three in the pile--I was trying to decide whether to read A Suitable Boy, A Fine Balance, or The Satanic Verses, but I was kind of sad and none of them felt quite right. My eye fell on The Fault in Our Stars. It was written for young adults and the synopsis sounds depressing, and I don't remember why I bought it--I think I meant to buy The Dog Stars--but I stayed up until 4 a.m. reading it; it's sweet, sad, soulful, angry, funny, and the writing is damn near brilliant. It was just what I needed.

Today I spent time sorting through my books--I am giving away many (let me know if you want a surprise package of books) and selling some of the older ones. I need less stuff in my life. It's true that a 1919 book on the principles of floriculture makes my heart flutter, but I'm never going to actually read it.

Now I have to decide what to read tonight. Usually I follow a good novel with nonfiction, but I'm in the mood for another novel. In addition to the India books, Telegraph Avenue and Cloud Atlas are in my to-read pile, as is The Springs of Affection, which I read about here, on Jane Flanagan's blog. I also have a stack of classics to read (or re-read). I should try to finish The Night Circus. I want a well-written book with compelling characters, a book with heart and soul. Is that too much to ask for? Do you have a favorite book that meets that criteria?

"My thoughts are stars that I cannot fathom into constellations."
                                                               --- John Green, The Fault in Our Stars

 I think I will read The Dog Stars soon. I wonder how many books have stars in the title, and how many of them I should read.

Jen

green

                                              April is the cruelest month, breeding

                                              Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing

                                              Memory and desire, stirring

                                              Dull roots with spring rain.

                                                                            T.S. Eliot from The Wasteland

those crocuses from a couple days ago?
covered with snow.

I am reading The Jewel in the Crown, the first novel in Paul Scott's Raj Quartet, which takes place in Mayapore, India in the final years of British imperial dominion. A snippet of his description of a luxurious garden filled with jasmine, bougainvillea, lilies, tamarind, banyan, light and shadows:

"The range of green is extraordinary, palest lime, bitter emerald, mid-tones, neutral tints. The textures of the leaves are many and varied, they communicate themselves through sight to imaginary touch, exciting the finger-tips: leaves coming into the tenderest flesh, superbly in their prime, crisping to old age."

I'd like to drive around the country taking picture of all the shades and textures of green. Look at the difference between Bluffton, South Carolina:

                                            

and Yountville, California: