intertext

This is my first chance to respond to and present some of my own choices in last week's discussion of favourite children's books. Five Children's Laureates were asked to provide a list of their top five favourite books. This was followed up by Guardian commentator Lucy Mangan with her choices . All six lists are very personal, and it's interesting to see that there's virtually no duplication, no clear single favourite, and no Harry Potter.

That, of course, brings me to my own list. ( Read more... )

And maybe you can help me identify one of them!

Because I've been cleaning and clearing and sorting, I've been thinking about what books in my collection to keep and what, if any, books from my youth are missing from the collection, and whether they'd even be any good if I could find them and read them again. I have in mind three very obscure books, two that I remember the titles of, and one that I only read once and have only a very vague recollection of.
( The Strange Light )
( Something I don't remember )
( The Winter of Enchantment )

I spent some of it this morning scanning some of my slides from China




This is what I used to see out my sitting room window in the Guesthouse at the University.

I thought these old houses were attractive, but apparently no one wanted to live there. My students were more happy if six of them were crammed into one apartment room the size of my sitting room. We lived in almost embarrassing luxury, and we learned that the Guesthouse was called the "Panda Cage" by the locals: a place for pampered and spoiled foreigners.

I was awoken my first morning by the sound of someone sweeping the street with a straw broom, even before the university loud-speakers came on with the national anthem and y-er-san-si exercise routine.

Once, I was sitting on my balcony overlooking this street, when a cat ran by. Someone came out of one of the side streets you can see, and asked me if I'd seen a cat. "Was it a white cat?" I asked, and, when the answer was a nod, I pointed down the way the cat had run. This very mundane conversation had added glamour and was a source of pride for me because it was all conducted in Chinese.

I can't imagine a house that isn't full of books. It's always the first thing I do, when I go to a friend's home for the first time: make a bee-line for her bookshelves and start perusing. I have so many books now, especially since I inherited all my mother's, to start an online bookshop of my own. And I still might. But sartorias' post this morning about buying books and how her habits have changed over the years made me think about where and how I acquired many of my own books.( Read more... )

I'm inspired by gillo's thoughtful post on the anniversary of the death of Diana, to post some reflections of moments in my life when news items came into sharp focus. Usually, we are overwhelmed with a sea of images and events, especially nowadays when there are so many opportunities to access information. Even as a child, however, I was aware of a swirl of news around me all the time. My mother had the radio on all day long; my father was an information junkie and used to watch two or even three news broadcasts every evening, on top of his reading of the daily newspaper. Some events, though, rise to the surface of that sea of information and have a distinctness that others lack.

( The Kennedy Assassination )

( Churchill's funeral )

( The Moon Landing )

( Watergate )

( Shooting of John Lennon )

( Challenger Disaster )

( Diana )

( 9-11 )

The rules:

1. Leave me a comment saying anything random, like your favorite lyric to your current favorite song. Or your favorite kind of sandwich. Something random. Whatever you like.
2. I respond by asking you five personal questions so I can get to know you better.
3. You WILL update your LJ with the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and offer to ask someone else in the post.
5. When others comment asking to be asked, you will ask them five questions.

My questions and answers are ( behind the cut )

a_d_medievalist was writing about how she's just always been an sf/f fan without even thinking about it, partly through her early television viewing habits. Like many others, she cites Andre Norton as her first conscious "sf" reading. (I think mine might have been Eleanor Cameron's Mushroom Planet books, if they count).

Anyway, that got me to thinking, about how one's reading tastes are shaped, and all that "give me a [girl] before the age of seven" stuff, and what was I reading at seven and at fourteen, and have I always been an sf/fantasy reader even if I didn't know it?

Well, yes.

I was reading fantasy before it was a "genre," and before YA was even invented as a marketing tool.

At seven, my mum was reading me The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe out loud, and I wept when Aslan died. My other favourite books were the Arthur Ransome series. That trend continued. I seem to have had parallel affections for "magic" and "realism" - perhaps the mindset that seems to have so many readers of sf also reading Patrick O'Brien or Dorothy Dunnett. Through my elementary years, my favourite books were the Narnias, the Moomins, and the Carbonels. My absolute favourite book, if I had been asked at nine years old, was Alan Garner's The Wierdstone of Brisingamen. I also loved Arthur Ransome and the Little House books, and Noel Streatfield, so there you go.

At twelve, I discovered Tolkien, and I was lost. I also read Ursula Le Guin's A Wizard of Earthsea around that time (the next two in the trilogy came out when I was in my early teens; Tehanu not till I was in my 30's). I had been reading Lloyd Alexander as well, and Joan Aiken, so by this time my tastes were getting pretty much locked into the fantasy area. Also Over Sea Under Stone by Susan Cooper came out around that time. Boy. Someone was saying something about this being a "golden age" for YA or children's fantasy - what were the 60's and 70's, for heaven's sake???

I remember my first real experience of science fiction rather than fantasy (other than the Mushroom Planet books, that is): Ray Bradbury's S is For Space, that my mum got me one weekend from the library. I was completely captivated, and hooked, though I've never been as much of a "hard" science fiction reader as I am a fantasy reader.

I can't remember exactly when I first read Patrica McKillip, but The Forgotten Beasts of Eld appeared in paperback somewhere in my late teens, early twenties, and I was reading the Riddle Master trilogy when I was at university. I remember because the man I was in love with then, the great love of my life, gave me the last book in the trilogy when it came out, and he had read it first, and he teased me by pretending to tell me how it was all going to turn out... Oh, memories.

Old Prufrock may measure his life in coffee spoons; I measure mine in books.

Today, I noticed a big influx of rather well-heeled touristy types at my favourite cafe, then I remembered that the French Open starts today or tomorrow. Probably a good time to be leaving Paris.

I can't finish these entries without some remarks about my fellow visitors to Paris. And I apologize to some on my flist because I perforce will be making comments about people from that big country south of Canada, in which I know some of you reside, and those comments may tend to promote certain stereotypes. It can't be helped, really; unfortunately, many of those tourists from you-know-where behave precisely the way one might expect them to, based on those stereotypes.

First, though, I was struck by how truly international the tourists are here, and indeed everywhere else I went on this trip. I have encountered at least as many obvious tourists from Italy and elsewhere in France as the "usual" (or what is usual for BC, Canada) Japanese and Americans. I've run into quite a lot of visitors from Mainland China, and as my Chinese is actually better than my French, was in the odd position this morning of giving a trio of them directions in Chinese. And of course there are the Germans, who have their own brand of stereotypes to live up to, or down, or whatever. And a few Aussies, and even one or two Canadians.

Here are a few vignettes:

The young, Paris Hilton-like, bored, drawl in Sainte Chapelle (for me, the most stunning place I visited): "What was the name of this place again?"

The American women who thought "Tours de Notre Dame" meant Tours of Notre Dame and were horrified to find themselves climbing 155 or however many stairs to the top.

The unfortunate, obviously Muslim and vegetarian man in the take-out bagette sandwich shop asking in somewhat desperate tones if everything had "meat," and the clerk saying but of course!

The nicely dressed family (Americans again) this morning at the cafe who ostentatiously passed around one of those bottles of disinfecting gel before having breakfast.

The group of women in the restaurant where I had lunch today, who I could hear were annoyed because I got better service than they. I felt like saying, "well, if you don't even try to speak French, and you order Coke with the dish off the menu that they have to prepare specially instead of doing what I did and ordering the plat du jour and asking your waiter to recommend a good wine..."

Then again, there was the charming couple from Seattle whom I met at Giverny and talked to for quite a long time, and the two women from "Phillie" this morning who were absolutely thrilled to be here and delighted with everything.

There's that Italian women in my photograph above, who stopped and stared at the drunk passed out on the steps of the Sacre Coeur.

And of course, there's me, bumbling around on my own, eavesdropping on conversations, taking photographs and generally being a perfect nuisance probably :) But having a great time.

Another day of a little bit of everything. I got up fairly late, popped down to the Monoprix for weekend groceries then headed out. I went to my favourite part of Paris, Ile Saint Louis, for coffee, then headed towards the Marais, where I went to La Maison Europeene de la Photographie. There were several major temporary exhibits showing, the first of which was Richard Kalvar, "Terriens," very provocative and sometimes amusing black and white street shots from primarily Paris, New York and Tokyo.

My favourite gallery was "Trash." Let me tell you how I encountered it.

At first glance, this was a collection of large composed pictures of ... yes, trash. Discarded chip bags, empty pop bottles, dog food tins, shopping bags, all kinds of stuff, arranged artistically in frames about 4 x 3 feet large. I have to confess that I'm not a big reader of museum or gallery information boards. Even less when they're in French. So, anyway, I go up and look at one of these, thinking, okay, this is interesting, and I like the way they've laid out the stuff kind of thematically and in a nice design. So, I look at the title of the first one; it's "Ronald Reagan." And I look at the stuff and think "hmmm. Is this supposed to represent Ronald Reagan in some way? Hmmm. It's interesting, but I don't think I quite get it." Then I look at the next one, and it's called "Charlize Theron," and all of a sudden, I get it. This is actually Charlize Theron's garbage. And I went back to the introduction and from what I can understand of the French, this was a project where two guys, an anthropologist and an artist, got together and literally sifted through the garbage of the rich and famous and the pieces are the result of this. It was fascinating, in a strangely voyeuristic way. I felt somehow guilty for feeling fascinated, but it was amazing what artifacts of a life each of these pieces was, and how characteristic it was. Charleze Theron's was bags from posh clothing stores, and cigarettes, and the wrapping from nicotine patches, and a letter congratulating her on her Oscar nomination. This was not the only time I felt sad for the sender of some of these messages that ended up in the trash... I can't detail all of them, but suffice it to say that each - Mel Gibson, Tom Cruise, Elizabeth Taylor, and more - was somehow revealing and characteristic of the person it represented.

So then I headed back to the Ile Saint Louis, where there was an exhibit of original artwork connected with "Persepolis - you know, the graphic novel? Well, apparently they've made an animated film which is showing at Cannes, and this was an exhibit of art from the film or connected with it. I nearly bought a limited edition print and shall probably regret not doing so (I could, still), only because I couldn't think how I would get it home (they were framed).

Then I went and bought a glace (blackcurrant and mango) from Berthillon, which supposedly has the best ice cream in Paris - it was wonderful, more like gelato than ice cream. This, I ate strolling through the streets and then on the banks of the Seine. I stopped and sat down for quite a while on the Seine, looking at Notre Dame, which viewed head-on looked remarkably like a space-ship, or something in a Miyazaki film.

Then I headed across the river to the St Germaine des Pres district again. I found a shop specializing in comics and Manga and bought a graphic novel version of Proust (!!) and an Herge marque page, and a little plastic figure of Snowy in a space suit. I then strolled up the Blvd St Germaine and was thinking of going to the Bon Marche, but was too tired, so I came home. And here I am.

I remember that last year in London jet-lag hit me with a wallop on the second day I was there rather than the first; the same is true now. Happy as I am to be here (and I am), it was an effort to get up and get out the door this morning.

Nevertheless, I accomplished my goals for the day. I procured a Museum Pass, found the Cartes d' Art shop and bought some unusual postcards, tracked down the shop my father visited in ... possibly ... the late 40's or early 50's. He was in the RAF, posted in Germany, and his job at the time was to carry dispatches from his base to Paris. Lucky him! I have something that he bought when he was here on one of those trips, and had some very, very faint hope of finding the shop. But non. It is now a trendy clothing shop in the Rive Gauche. Never mind. It was something to have traced his steps.

This afternoon, I explored more of "my" neighbourhood, and found first of all a Supermarche and bought some necessities like butter and salad dressing and more wine and more chicken (it is a less than closely guarded secret that I could happily live on Rotisserie chicken and salad). I found another market area a little farther afield (turn left at the Irish Pub!!) and made my way to the Parc de Monceau, a welcome oasis of greenery and flowers and statuary, within about a ten to fifteen minute walk from my apartment.



Life is made somewhat more difficult by not speaking the language. I completely abandoned the idea of buying an ice cream cone in the Parc because I simply didn't know what to ask for. Then again, sometimes things are just more difficult than they need to be. I knew that I could get the Museum Pass at the tourist information office at the Louvre. Consultation with the little map on the internet showed this establishment to be near the Carousel area, by that Arc de Triomphe de Caroussel that I saw yesterday. It's quite clearly marked on the little map. So I go there, and ... no... there's no Tourist office to be found. So, there was a kiosk of some kind with a couple of official looking guys in it, and I went up and said, I'm looking for the Tourist Office. Where is it? "Downstairs" he said. Um. Downstairs? Oh, yes, over there, there's a completely unmarked hole in the ground that leads you to this very official complex underground where, yes indeed, there is the office of tourism and one can get a Museum Pass. Phew. Some signage would be helpful, if anyone's interested...

The Museum Pass is good for 4 days, so I have to plan strategically. The next few are supposed to be cloudy and showery, then Monday is rumoured to be fine. Perhaps I will go to Versailles (covered by the pass) on Monday, and spend the next few days in the museums that I want to go to. I also want to go back to Saint Chapelle and see if I can get concert tickets (as well as just seeing the place).

Best Paris moment today? Definitely the jazz band playing on the Metro. (no, not in the station - actually IN the Metro) It was very very cool.

Any spelling mistakes or wobbly grammar, by the way, have to be put down to the fact that I'm drinking another bottle of wonderful wine that cost me about the equivalent of a 2L bottle of Coke at home. I'm surprised that alcoholism is not rampant here.

A bientot.