Recently watched: Our Man in Havana. . .

Despite also being directed by Carol Reed, this doesn't come close to the brilliance of his Third Man, but regardless, there are certainly worse ways to pass a couple of hours. I'd never seen this film before and always wanted to, if only because of Noel Coward's appearance as Hawthorne. The scenes between him and Ralph Richardson are delicious - especially a moment towards the end when Coward is trying not to insert vacuum cleaner puns into the conversation. And I always enjoy Alec Guiness in whatever movie he appears in. Graham Greene wrote the screenplay, based of course on his novel. Good fun.

Dada, what did you do in the war?. . .

I celebrated St. Patrick's Day by having a bit of an encounter with the Irish, although a few countries removed. Last night I saw Soulpepper's production of Tom Stoppard's very challenging play Travesties, which imagines James Joyce, Vladimir Lenin and Tristan Tzara in 1917 Zurich. Joyce is working on Ulysses; Lenin is working on a book about imperialism and trying to get back to Russia and the revolution and Tzara is creating poetry out of random words pulled out of a hat and establishing the Dada movement. Commenting on it all is Henry Carr, who works in the British consul and has a tiny footnote in Joyce's bio - he took part in a production of Wilde's The Importance of Being Earnest, organized by Joyce, and later was involved in a lawsuit over the cost of a pair of trousers. Stoppard makes the most of this quirky encounter and inserts some of Wilde's best lines right into the context of Travesties.
Oh, the whole play is brilliant - non-stop verbal puns and in jokes about artistic movements, political schemes and some very poignant and observant bits about the war. Wonderful language to listen to, and I'm very impressed that Soulpepper tackled this play. It wasn't an outstanding production - in particular the weak link was David Storch who played Joyce somewhat cutsy - he reminded me of a leprechaun challenging his inner Lytton Strachey. But the rest of the cast was very good, even if their accents, alas, tended to roam all over the European map. The set and lighting were gorgeous and the director added a clip from a 1920s surrealist movie that opened the show very effectively. A great start to Soulpepper's ambitious season. I'm looking forward to their next offering - David Mamet's great Glengarry Glen Ross.

Woolf's Hogarth Press Books on Display. . .

Many thanks to the Woolf listserve which alerted me to this exhibition running until the end of April at the University of Alberta. On display are a number of books published by Virginia Woolf's Hogarth Press. Since many of the dust jackets were designed by artists such as Carrington, Duncan Grant and Vanessa Bell, this promises to be a very interesting and beautiful exhibit. And perfect timing - I'll be in Edmonton briefly for work in April and will definitely try to drop by. The exhibition booklet is also for sale - just contact the library.

I'm in a New York state of mind. . .

Just back from a lovely week of vacation spent in New York City - I hadn't been there in over a decade and I was so lucky with the weather (the city had a huge snowstorm right after I got back). It felt like spring - sunny and 5-10 degrees - perfect walking weather, and I pounded those pavements, let me tell you. Visited a lot of bookstores and museums, saw two films, drank a lot of lattes, ate far too much chocolate and pastries (there seems to be a bakery or cupcake store on every corner) and managed to avoid many Deborah Kerr moments by keeping my feet firmly on the pavement every time I craned my neck to look at an interesting bit of architectual detail.

I also went to the theatre every night and was lucky enough to catch the first preview of Blithe Spirit (of course I had to go!) starring Angela Lansbury and Rupert Everett. It was a fairly traditional production - lovely use of music, standard drawing room set (bit too much fussing with a small table that was not only used for the seance, but also breakfast the next day), and decent performances from all the cast. It was such a treat to see Lansbury on stage (there was huge applause at her first entrance and at every scene exit) - she played Madame Arcati as wonderfully dotty and slightly ethereal, getting big laughs as she eccentrically moved around the stage in her swirling velvets. Yes, she forgot some of her lines but so did Everett, and Lansbury hid it much better (it was a preview after all). The most solid actor in the cast was Jayne Atkinson who played Ruth and it nicely showed what could be made of that part - in some ways the most interesting, as it doesn't depend on theatrics. I found myself listening much more closely to her lines, than I have in previous productions. All in all, a very enjoyable evening, although I prefer the Soulpepper production done in Toronto a few seasons ago, which was more daring in its interpretation - the dead ghost of Elvira showed up in a striking red dress for example, instead of the traditional white or silvery grey. If I have one big beef with the New York Blithe, it's with the artwork used for the posters and the programmes (which I normally like to frame but I don't know if I can bring myself to do it with this one).

Ghastly, isn't it? It looks as if the cast is about to make an appearance in a Scooby Doo cartoon. I wish they'd had time to take a photograph of the cast instead of this silly rendition.

One theatre company that did it right is Roundabout's production of Hedda Gabler, starring Mary-Louise Parker which I also saw. See their poster here. I went in with some misgivings as it had received mixed reviews due to its modern translation, but while I can quibble with the set design and some of performances by the supporting cast, I thought Parker was magnificant and completely embodied the spirit of Hedda. She owned the stage and the music and costumes were terrific. I also sat (suffered) four hours of a rather dreadful Mourning Becomes Electra, saw one of my favourite British stage actors - Simon Russell Beale, along with an excellent cast - in Sam Mendes' production of The Cherry Orchard, and ended my stay on a really high note with a new play called Becky Shaw, written by Gina Gionfriddo. This incredibly sharp and funny comedy about complicated family dynamics, a blind date that goes horribly wrong and debates about how honest one should be in relationships, had me in stitches. The writing was just so fresh and clever, and it was well served by great ensemble acting and a very inventive and effective set. I will see anything in the future by this playwright!

The Essays of Virginia Woolf: Volume 5

What a glorious day. I now have my copy of the recently published fifth volume of The Essays of Virginia Woolf: 1929-1932, edited by Stuart N. Clarke. I'm not alone in thinking Woolf one of the best essayists (as well as novelists) of the twentieth century and while many of these pieces have previously appeared in her Common Reader: Second Series collection, or in other anthologies, I'm still pretty excited to add this 700 page tome to my shelves. As Clarke notes in his introduction, "The essays fertilised the fiction, and vice versa" (his emphasis) and he's noted the parallels in the footnotes. Woolf was writing The Waves and Flush during this period and if I ever get around to starting my 2009 resolution of re-reading her novels in chronological order, I will definitely be dipping into a similar selection of her essays alongside the fiction.

You can hear a radio interview with Clarke here (scroll down a bit).

A Flock of Holman Hunt comes to Toronto. . .

There's a great exhibition on at the AGO which I saw last weekend - Sin and Salvation: Holman Hunt and the Pre-Raphaelite Vision. And to my great delight, one of my favourite paintings was on display (Our English Coasts painted in 1852, and pictured above). I always go to pay homage to it at the Tate when I'm in London and now that it's hanging in Toronto until May, I'll definitely be making multiple visits to see it again. One of the best things about being a Cinematheque member is free admission to the AGO with every film ticket stub. This exhibition is also part of the regular admission price, so if you haven't yet checked out the renovations, here's one more great reason to go.
It was fascinating to learn about Holman Hunt's Canadian and even Toronto connections (there's a stained glass window in one of our churches that is based on one of his paintings) and I enjoyed viewing many of his other paintings, particularly a striking piece called Isabella and the Pot of Basil, based on a Keats poem which depicts a beautiful woman clutching a wild and healthy pot of basil containing the skull of her murdered lover. Alas, in the poem the pot is taken away from her:

And so she pined, and so she died forlorn,
Imploring for her Basil to the last.

Can I ever look at pesto the same way again?

My kind of love story. . .

There was a recent article in The Globe and Mail about Michael Ignatieff, our Leader of the Opposition, and how he and his Hungarian wife Zsuzsanna, recently read War and Peace to each other (a similar article definitely couldn't be written about our Prime Minister Stephen Harper - he'd doubtless think reading books was too elitist, never mind reading them aloud). Meanwhile, single booklovers across Canada are sighing, and suddenly a dozen roses on Valentine's Day looks pretty ho-hum.

I've always thought the most interesting love stories are cross-cultural, especially when literature becomes a common point of reference. Such is the case with Tokyo Fiancée by Amélie Nothomb, translated by Alison Anderson. It's published by Europa Editions, which is also responsible for translating Muriel Barbery's wonderful The Elegance of the Hedgehog and the two novels, though very different, make wonderful reading companions. Again we have the story of a friendship between a French woman and a Japanese man, though Nothomb's story involves younger characters who are more romantically involved, and instead of sharing a passion for Tolstoy, it's Marguerite Duras's Hiroshima mon amour that is referenced(about yet another French/Japanese couple).

Amélie first meets Rinri when he answers her ad offering French lessons. She has come to Tokyo to work, learn about the country and improve her Japanese, and while their initial encounters are full of cultural and linguistic misunderstandings, they quickly become a couple and end up spending a lot of time together, though never at Amélie's own flat. But even as she revels in the beauty and customs of the Japan that Rinri introduces her to, her increasing uneasiness about the future of their relationship dampens her enthusiasm and independent spirit. In the end, she is forced to make a decision about both the man and the country that she loves.

This is a lovely, wistfully funny novel for world travellers, romantics and those who ponder (or obsess about) the "what ifs" in life. There's a beautiful chapter describing the climb up to the summit of Mount Fuji (definitely high on my list of things of things I want to do someday) and an instructive chapter on why tiny live octopuses are best avoided on the menu. Nothomb has a very breezy, personal style of writing - I read most of this delightful tale in one sitting. She's definitely an author I want to read more of, but I think I want to try and tackle her next in French. I have a copy of her earlier novel Stupeur et tremblements (actually referenced in Tokyo Fiancée) sitting on my shelves.

Three mysteries in translation. . .

It's been one of those weeks when my brain has been feeding on nothing but crime novels. So I managed to fully complete one of the categories in my Lost in Translation reading challenge, by devouring three mysteries in translation. And I can highly recommend them all.

Bernhard Schlink's bestselling book The Reader has been in the news a lot lately given the movie's Best Picture Oscar nomination and all the accolades and acting awards coming Kate Winslet's way. I also enjoyed Schlink's recent novel Homecoming which covers some of the same themes of second generation Germans trying to grapple with their Nazi past. Self's Punishment by Schlink and Walter Popp, translated by Rebecca Morrison, is the first in a series of crime novels featuring Gerhard Self, a man in his late sixties who also has to deal with a personal shameful episode stemming from the war. It is many years later, and he is hired to investigate a possible security breach at a local factory run by an old friend. Just when he thinks he has found the man responsible, a murder ensues, and the case becomes far more complicated. Of course I won't give it away, but the ending was shocking and unconventional for a mystery novel. I very much liked the character of Self - he's self-aware and self-effacing - and I look forward to reading more of his adventures.

I've been a big fan of Fred Vargas for a few years and love her Commissaire Adamsberg mysteries. My favourite so far has been Wash This Blood Clean From My Hand, mainly because it was partially set in Canada and featured a terrifically improbable but no less brilliant and original take on how to foil the police and exit a country via a major international airport without detection. I've just finished her latest to appear in English - The Chalk Circle Man, translated by Siân Reynolds - even though it actually is the first Adamsberg book she wrote (don't you just love how translation decisions are made?) This doesn't really pose a problem as all her books read perfectly as stand-alones and can easily be read out of order. It's nice to go the beginning however - Adamsberg has just arrived in Paris and his new colleagues are eyeing his methods rather suspiciously. Still, he knows that there's something sinister behind a series of blue chalk circles that show up on Paris sidewalks during the night. Each has the same engimatic quotation written around its edge and contains a seemingly innocuous object in the center. Until one night a murdered body is found in one of these circles. And then another. Vargas excels at interesting, quirky characters - suspects and members of the police force alike - and her plotting is second to none. She's probably my current favourite among contemporary mystery writers. I loved this book!

I also enjoy Nordic crime novels and my newest fave is Iceland's Arnaldur Indridason. His latest is Arctic Chill, translated by Bernard Scudder and Victoria Cribb. His detective Erlendur, must surely be the gloomiest of all the fictional sleuths working the bookshelves, and probably the only Icelander who has ever preferred the winter to the summer (Iceland only gets about two or three hours of daylight during the winter). He has problems with his estranged grown-up children, a complicated love life, and an unhealthy obsession with missing persons reports, stemming from a childhood trauma when his younger brother disappeared during a blizzard and was never seen again. This latest mystery touches on some of the current racial problems facing many Scandinavian countries as immigrant workers try to integrate into society despite language and cultural barriers. A young Thai boy is found murdered near his apartment building and in searching for his killer, Erlendur comes up against these racial tensions. It's an apt title - the identity of the killer truly is chilling. This is the fourth Erlendur mystery that I've read and I think it's the best one so far. I look forward to seeing if (and how) Indridason deals with Iceland's current bankruptcy in future novels.

Time for a break from mysteries now - I feel the classics calling to me.

Joan of Arc x 2. . .

Cinematheque Ontario is presenting yet another fascinating series of films this spring - I'm basically camping out there for the next few months. One of their themed offerings is a look at six very different films about Joan of Arc. I decided that three was about my limit for watching the maid burn and I've now seen the first two - both rare cinematic treats. First up last night was Carl Theodor Dreyer's 1928 The Passion of Joan of Arc. Focusing on the end of Joan's trial and her death, this movie is a stunning example of the power of black and white films and why even a large tv can never replace the effect of the big screen in a darkened theatre. Dreyer zooms in on stark close-ups for most of the film with the faces completely dominating the screen against mostly a white or gray background. It's an astonishingly work of visual power - even scary at times. Every tear that slowly coursed down Maria Falconetti's face was riveting. This film also takes an extremely bleak look at death, from shots of maggots squirming in the empty eyesockets of a skull to the slowly blackening form of Joan dying on the stake. A special treat for this silent film screening was its live accompaniment by pianist William O'Meara. While I've certainly watched silent films on DVD from my couch (a favourite is Pabst's 1929 Pandora's Box with the enchanting Louise Brooks - the Criterion DVD allows you to choose from four different scores to accompany the film), this was the first time experiencing a silent film the way they were originally conceived in the cinemas. I was in awe of O'Meara - not only for being able to play non-stop for 80 minutes, but to completely react to the various moods and timing of the film. I think I now need to get the DVD, which has a different musical accompaniment - an opera entitled Voices of Light, composed by Richard Einhorn who was inspired by the film. It will be interesting to compare an orchestrated and multi-vocal musical score with the piano that I heard, though I think in some ways, one piano seems more appropiate for the camera's singular focus on mostly one character at a time. This was a wonderful, unique experience and I'm so grateful to Cinematheque for screening this film as it was meant to be seen.

It was back to the theatre this afternoon for a Hollywood treatment of Joan - Otto Preminger's 1957 Saint Joan, starring Jean Seberg in her first movie role, Richard Widmark (who I kept thinking bears an uncanny resemblance to Ed Harris or vice versa), and John Gielgud. This is based on the play by George Bernard Shaw. I've seen it on stage at the Shaw Festival and it's one that I like very much mostly because of the epilogue where all the main characters re-unite as ghosts some years later. It always makes me laugh at the brush-off given to Joan by the men. The screenplay was written by none other than Graham Greene who effectively starts and ends the film with parts of this epilogue. He also gives Gielgud an absurdly ridiculous bit of dialogue (something along the lines of how heaven and hell are like Oxford and Cambridge - they don't mix well) -and Gielgud delivers it so straightfacedly, one can't help but giggle. One doesn't often picture Joan of Arc as a woman with a fetching beauty spot on her cheekbone, but Seberg is so earnest and charming in many of her earlier scenes and so defeatedly haggard and hollow-eyed during her trial, that in the context of Shaw/Greene's character, I think she was a perfect casting choice.

These were two completely different films in tone, focus and technique and yet I very much enjoyed them both. We'll see how Ingrid Bergman fares next week in Victor Fleming's 1948 Joan of Arc. The film won an Oscar for Best Cinematography - it's in colour - and I'm curious to see how it will differ emotionally and artistically from these two black and white films.

I think I also need to dig out my copy of Marina Warner's book Joan of Arc: The Image of Female Heroism, which looks at Joan's constantly changing image over the centuries.

Easy on the ears. . .

Feeling a little blah this January? Tired of all the dull, cloudy, cold days?

Well, while waiting for the movie to be widely released, get a copy of the Easy Virtue soundtrack. Based of course on the Noel Coward play, the CD is full of upbeat, toe-tapping songs from the era, many of course by Coward. There are also more contemporary songs such as Tom Jones' Sexbomb and Billy Ocean's When the Going Gets Tough, that are orchestrated as though they had originated from the 1920s. The CD opens with a not-bad rendition of Mad About the Boy sung by Jessica Biel who stars in the film along with Ben Barnes, Colin Firth, and Kristin Scott Thomas (the latter two don't sing, but Colin does have a speaking line in the last song). One of the tracks is the instrumental tango that Colin and Jessica dance to near the end of the movie. I saw (and really liked) the film at the Toronto Film Festival last fall, and let me tell you - that tango was very hot. Lots of female sighs in the audience.

I'll definitely be seeing the film again when it opens - in the meantime, listen to the soundtrack. I guareentee an immediate mood improvement.

The Elegance of the Hedgehog. . .

The Elegance of the Hedgehog by Muriel Barbery, translated by Alison Anderson is the first book completed in my Lost in Translation reading challenge and it is as stylish as its title.
The "Hedgehog" is Renée Michel, a fifty-four year old widow who works as a concierge in an apartment building made up of wealthy, snobbish people. To them she's a dull, slow and shuffling servant who is easily ignored. And Renée is happy to project that image to the tenants to divert their attention from her real passions. Once her door is closed however, she escapes to a world of books and foreign films in an ongoing attempt, not only to educate herself, but to engage with the beauty of art and life. Her world changes when two of the apartment dwellers - an introspective and intelligent 12 year old named Paloma, who is planning to commit suicide by her next birthday, and the newest tenant, a middle-aged Japanese businessman named Monsieur Ozu - suspect that Madame Michel is not who she is and set out to prove it. As Paloma writes:
Madame Michel has the elegance of the hedgehog: on the outside, she's covered in quills, a real fortress, but my gut feeling is that on the inside, she has the same simple refinement as the hedgehog: a deceptively indolent little creature, fiercely solitary - and terribly elegant.

The narrative alternates between Renée's story and excerpts from Paloma's two journals which inscribe her "Profound Thoughts" and "Movements of the World". In the latter, she dissects everything from synchronized diving to the spectacle of two women fighting over the last pair of panties at a lingerie sale as "masterpieces of matter" that constitute examples of art and beauty as she searches for reasons to continue living. A bonding moment with Monsieur Ozu in the elevator occurs when they realize they've both been closely observing their secretive concierge, and the three form an unusual friendship - Ozu and Madame Michel initially connecting over a shared love of Anna Karenina. Ozu's friendly overtures in particular, initiate some big changes in Renée's life and allow her to confront a painful episode in her past.

But this novel is far more than just a modern day Cinderella story (Madame Michel doesn't go to a ball, but does get invited to a fancy dinner). It explores and celebrates so many things we often forget in the craziness of daily routines, such as the importance of really appreciating - and in fact creating - those tiny little moments of life, as simple as luxuriating in the taste of a delicious pastry, or looking closely at a beautiful flower. Reading a wonderful book. Paying attention to the placement of commas. Or truly taking the time to connect with another person, whatever their age or background. It illustrates how art and literature transcends all cultural divides and is the most universal entity that we have. And it makes you think. Have you ever negatively judged a person by their occupation? Or alternatively have you ever dumbed down your own abilities (or reading passions) to fit in at a party or even at work? Even if you work in the book industry? Guilty on both counts. As such, this is such an inspiring novel (I love Proust, Tolstoy and foreign films, okay, and I'm proud of it.)
This novel will make you smile, laugh, grimace, and weep. It will make you feel. I absolutely loved it.
And now if you'll excuse me, I need to make myself a cup of green tea and find some films by Yasujiro Ozu.

The Human Factor. . .

It's been a horrible day weatherwise in Toronto - snow, freezing rain, ice pellets, more snow, blowing wind - I was so glad to have the day off and not have to venture out into it. Instead it felt like a lazy Sunday. I spent the day taking intense, grateful pleasure in the warm, cozy things that are part of my apartment, such as these two pillows:

I found the material - which has a soft velvet texture, lovely to rest one's head against - in a sale bin at a fabric store. It only cost $3.00! and there was just enough in the remnant to get two pillow covers out of it. I sewed these over the holidays and I just love them - they pull together all the colours of my living room.
Today I needed to read not only something enjoyable but aesthically beautiful as well. Folios have always been my weakness. I've belonged to the society for some years now (you only need to buy four books a year) and I just love their selection, the bindings, the paper, the illustrations -these are truly beautiful books to hold and behold. And the volume calling to me today was Graham Greene's The Human Factor.

I've read about five books of his (The End of the Affair is my favourite) and he never disappoints. He's the type of writer I turn to when I have the time to sit and read a book straight through in one or two sittings. And I'm partial to spy stories. The Human Factor follows a group of ordinary men who work in an office of the British Secret Service, and the investigation that follows when a leak is suspected. As with all of Greene's work, morals, loyalty, politics and love are all individually questioned, defined, and debated. The cover, designed by Bill Bragg who also illustrates the interior, is absolutely perfect, capturing not only the utter loneliness and anonymity of doing this type of work, (and the insomnia that goes with it) but re-enforcing the recurrent theme of knowing your particular "box" in life and staying within it. Here's a wonderful passage in which one character uses an abstract painting by Ben Nicholson containing squares of different colours to articulate a certain cold, bureaucratic philosophy:

Percival pointed at a yellow square. "There's your section 6. That's your square from now on. You don't need to worry about the blue and the red. All you have to do is pinpoint our man and then tell me. You've no responsibility for what happens in the blue or red squares. in fact not even in the yellow. You just report. No bad conscience. No guilt. . . Nothing to keep you awake. Do just try to understand that picture. Particularly the yellow square. If you could only see it with my eyes, you would sleep well tonight."

But of course that yellow square isn't just paint but contains a human being. And the reader, perhaps is also bathed in a yellow square of their own, cast by their reading lamp. Delicious chills abound. A used bookstore - Halliday & Son - also plays a large role in this thriller, as does the incessant rain. Here is one of the interior illustrations by Bragg.

Yes, it really was the perfect book to read today.

Lost in Translation Reading Challenge. . .

One of my many New Year's Reading Resolutions - along with trying to read 125 books this year, to re-read all of Virginia Woolf's novels, (some of which I haven't dipped into in over 20 years) and to finally tackle Dante - is to participate in this very interesting Lost in Translation Reading Challenge which is not only a great way to get tons of reader recommendations, but also to discover some very interesting blogs. Bloggers sign up and agree to read at least six books in translation this year, and then blog about them. Frances at Nonsuch Book who has put the challenge together, then links to reviews and reading suggestions as well as blogging about books she has also come across.

I'm going to put my own individual spin on the challenge though, incorporating another of my reading resolutions which is to read more of the books already sitting on my shelves. I already rather voraciously read literature in translation - I took a count in my 2008 reading diary and I read 29 books last year in translation - so reading six won't be a problem at all. But as I was browsing my shelves to pull out potential titles, the pile just got bigger and bigger. So instead of just six books, I've devised six different categories of reading in translation - my personal challenge will be to read at least 3 books in each category. Here they are and I hope they also offer some good reading suggestions for others participating in this fun challenge.

1. Books that mirror the (admittedly loose) literary aims of this blog (i.e. books that were written in the period of Virginia Woolf's lifetime (1882-1941):

The Magic Mountain by Thomas Mann, Jenny and Kristin Lavransdatter by Sigrid Undset, The Notebooks of Malte Laurids Brigge by Rainer Maria Rilke, Shoot! and The Late Mattia Pascal by Luigi Pirandello, Beware of Pity by Stefan Zweig, The Last Days by Raymond Queneau and The Pure and the Impure by Colette. I also want to read more of Iceland's Hallador Laxness since I recently read and loved his most famous book, Independent People. Iceland's Bell, World Light and The Fish Can Sing keep staring at me from the shelves.

2. Books by contemporary writers:
There's so much to choose from in this category, but these are the ones on my shelf demanding immediate attention:

To Siberia and In the Wake by Norweigan writer Per Petterson (I loved his novel Out Stealing Horses)
After tackling 2666, I need more Roberto Bolaño- The Savage Detectives and By Night in Chile.
All Our Worldly Goods and Le Bal by Irène Némirovsky
The Tin Drum by Günter Grass
Gargoyles by Thomas Bernhard
The Name of the Rose by Umberto Eco
Invisible Cities by Italo Calvino
New Lives by Ingo Schulze
Beijing Coma by Ma Jian
Norwegian Wood by Haruki Murakami
The Sailor from Gibraltar by Marguerite Duras

3. Writers from Quebec:

I really should be reading more in my own backyard; I'm horribly ignorant about Quebecois literature and definitely need to read more. These are some of the books I've picked up over the years:
The Cashier and Windflower by Gabrielle Roy, Charles the Bold and The Years of Fire by Yves Beauchemin, Birth of a Bookworm by Michel Tremblay, Mauve Desert and Yesterday at the Hotel Clarendon by Nicole Brossard and Spring Tides by Jacques Poulin.

4. Mysteries:
I currently have many unread mystery and crime novels sitting on my shelves by Henning Mankell, Fred Vargas, Georges Simenon, Arnaldur Indridsson, Leonardo Sciascia and the one whose title I absolutely love (so it really should go to the top of the pile) is Carlo Emilio Gadda's That Awful Mess on the Via Merulana. Also, I just finished Roseanna, the first in the series of Martin Beck mysteries by Swedish couple Maj Sjöwall and Per Wahlöö and I want more. The Man Who Went Up in Smoke is the next in the series.

5. Classics:
This is probably being overly ambitious but two big classics in translation that I've always wanted to read are The Tale of the Genji by Murasaki and Boccaccio's Decameron. Then there is Gottfried von Strassburg's Tristan, Goethe's Faust, and oh, I really need to tackle Dante's Divine Comedy sooner rather than later. And does Sir Gawain and the Green Knight count as a translation? I certainly can't read the original Middle English. Plus I've always wanted to tackle Dostoevsky's The Brothers Karamazov and for the winter months, I think Ivan Goncharov's Oblomov would be the perfect choice (about a guy who spends an inordinate amount of time in bed).

6. Children's Books:
For fun!
Emil the Detective by Erich Kästner, Finn Family Moomintroll by Tove Jansson, Rock Crystal by Adalbert Stifter, Pinocchio by Carlo Collodi, Inkheart by Cornelia Funke, The Killer's Tears by Anne-Laure Bondoux, and The Pull of the Ocean by Jean-Claude Mourlevat.

Whew! This should keep me busy for awhile.

My Favourite Reads of 2008. . .

Happy New Year!
I spent the day tidying up my apartment, ostensibly because my mother was coming for lunch, but also to start the year somewhat fresh and clutter free. And it was time to dust the bookshelves. Then I went through my reading diary for 2008. I finished 109 books last year, somewhat shy of the 125 I had hoped to complete but several of the books were over 800 pages so I'm not going to beat myself up about it. As I look over the list, I realize I've read mostly contemporary and new fiction (nothing wrong with that, I enjoyed most of it) but didn't tackle anywhere near the number of classics, books about Woolf, books set in the period of Woolf's life, Viragos, Persephones, and books about WWI that I've been madly collecting over the last few years. And they're now glaring at me from their shelves. So these are what I'm determined to focus on in 2009.
But I read some terrific books last year and here are my top 10 favourites (in alphabetical order by author - I just can't pick the best of the bunch)

The Secret Scripture by Sebastian Barry
This should have won the Man Booker prize. One can quibble about the ending, but I didn't see it coming and I was so enthralled in the story that I didn't even think to question it when it did arrive; I was completely caught in a narrative spell the entire time.

2666 by Roberto Bolaño, translated by Natasha Wimmer
One can't help but admire the immense writing skill behind this - a very long, but entertaining, thought-provoking and original novel.

The Go-Between by L.P. Hartley
Probably the most beautifully sustained writing of any novel I read this year.

A Strange Eventful History: The Dramatic Lives of Ellen Terry, Henry Irving and their Remarkable Families by Michael Holroyd

One of the last books I read this year and I'll blog about it in more detail soon, but these lives were fascinating and I can only remain awed and grateful for the years of research this book must have entailed.

The Summer Book by Tove Jansson, translated by Thomas Teal
Just a perfect little gem about the wonders of childhood, the experience and wisdom of aging, and everything in between. This is a book I know I'll return to many times in the future.

Here at the End of the World We Learn to Dance by Lloyd Jones
Two interconnected love stories spanning the world and decades. I am now hooked on Argentinian tango music.

In Spite of Myself by Christopher Plummer
What a storyteller - this book made me laugh and laugh, sometimes with an almost prudish horror and ultimately with delight. Plummer is a great writer as well as being a terrific actor.

Unforgiving Years by Victor Serge, translated by Richard Greenman
I've always been fascinated by the interwar years, spies and the complicated relationships - political, personal, and ideological - that people had with communism, especially during the 1930s. This powerful novel was horrifying and unputdownable.

Between Each Breath by Adam Thorpe.
Thorpe is one of my favourite British writers who has a real ability to make readers feel morally uneasy about the smugness of our comfortable lives. This novel is about a frustrated composer and his guilt over sponging off his wife's money; his problems only escalate when he has an affair while visting Tallin, with an Estonian waitress. It's a novel about creativity and music, and the re-evaluation of one's life and values, and the writing is just so beautiful. Here is one of my favourite passages:
It's as if walking without looking where I was going - walking backward, heels first, virtually improvising - I have suddenly turned my head. I very much like what I see stretching out in front of me. It was always there too, I just didn't realize it. It just needed a turn of the head.

War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy

2008 was definitely the year to finally read this masterpiece as I also managed to watch Sergei Bondarchuk's 7 hour plus 1968 film version all in one day at Cinematheque, and I also saw the Canadian Opera Company's production of Prokofiev's opera this fall. I was surprised by how immensely readable and gripping this was.

Wholly gorgeous. . .

My nicest Xmas present (especially since I rarely get books as gifts). The Half by Simon Annand is a beautiful photography book of theatre stars, shot in the half hour before they go on stage. They've been taken over twenty-five years and so there are shots of a very young Kenneth Branagh, Colin Firth and Jude Law among many. A really beautiful book. Thanks K! Hope everyone is enjoying a wonderful meal today with loved ones and everyone got a great book from Santa.

All recent roads lead to Berlin. . .

I've been on a bit of a blogging break but I have a good excuse - I've been absorbed by several rather all consuming projects in addition to getting a lot of work done so that I can enjoy the holidays guilt-free. (And life after all, is for living first, and then blogging afterwards). But I'm now off for a couple of weeks and outside my cozy apartment the wind is raging and there's a lot of snow piled up. Time for cocooning, knitting, reading and watching movies.

My first big task over the last two weeks was to tackle Alfred Döblin's 1929 novel Berlin Alexanderplatz. According to the blurb on the back of my copy, he was apparently the first German writer to write in the style of James Joyce although I found Döblin a much easier read. There are certainly a lot of similarities with Ulysses - the evocation of everyday, urban working class life and references to classical mythology and religious imagery - though not the sustained retelling of the Odyssey that is found in Joyce. And Döblin also plays with interior monologues, experimental language and different narrative techniques.

Essentially the story revolves around Franz Biberkopf who at the beginning of the novel has just been released from prison after serving four years for the killing of his girlfriend Ida. The story follows him over the next few years (we're in the late 1920s) as he tries to rejoin society, first by vowing to go straight and only work at honest jobs, then after subsequent betrayals by people he trusted, a return to a life of petty crime, pimping and alcoholism. We follow his relationships with several women, including Eva, a high class prostitute from his past who remains in love with him, and Mieze, a seemingly naive, young girl who comes to a horrific end. Franz also forms an unlikely friendship with the sinister Reinhold with tragic results, not once but several times. This is a world where everyone is just trying to survive and though politics does intrude (Franz at one point sells Nazi party newspapers and wears a swastika armband), it's not the heart of the novel, which essentially revolves around Franz accepting responsibility for his own actions instead of blaming an elusive "Fate". Though there is an eerie presentiment towards the end of the novel when Franz is watching a party parade out of his window and vows not to join in: But if I march along, I shall have to pay for it later on with my head, pay for the schemes of others. That's why I first figure out everything, and only if everything's quite O.K., and suits me, I'll take action. Reason is the gift of man, jackasses replace it with a clan. . . If war comes along and they conscript me, and I don't know why, and the war's started without me, well, then, it's my facult, it serve me right. Keep awake 'mid the strife, we're not alone in life.

I read this novel in preparation for watching Rainer Werner Fassbinder's fifteen hour plus 1980 adaptation of Berlin Alexanderplatz. Called the "Mount Everest of Cinema", I convinced my good friend K, to accompany me - we sherpas of celluloid - to Cinematheque Ontario's screening. Fortunately for our butts, the 13 parts plus epilogue were spread out over three days. Now that I have some distance in time from the experience, I can write about it more calmly, but I will admit to exiting the theatre raging with indignant irritation and cursing Fassbinder. Why? His bloody, bloody epilogue! There is much about the film that I really enjoyed - basically the first 13 parts. The acting was superb, in particular Günter Lamprecht as Franz and Hanna Schygulla as Eva. The sets, costumes, lighting, camera shots, musical score - all beautifully done. Then came the epilogue which is completely jarring in style, both visual and aural. After 14 hours of realism and attention to historic detail, all of a sudden we're hearing Elvis and Leonard Cohen on the soundtrack and visually we're being subjected to a messy melange of horror film, bad B movie melodrama and porn. And it goes on and on and on and on and on. Honestly it felt longer than the previous 13 parts put together. And this is where I got angry - because after enduring fourteen hours of a film - who is going to leave at this stage? It seemed like a completely self-indulgent insult to the audience who were now basically held hostage until the bitter end. I have no problem with Fassbinder acknowledging hindsight and showing glimpses of the future (the epilogue takes place mostly in the hallucinations of Franz while he is in an insane asylum) with references to the Holocaust and the atom bomb, and upon reflection I realized that he was probably paying tribute to one aspect of modernism which is to shock one out of complacency and narrative expectations (and he certainly succeeded in getting me all riled up) - but did it really have to be so incredibly cheesy? And so darn long? And now I can never think about the whole film without shuddering at the ending, whereas I certainly would like to watch some of the episodes over again. A very odd film-going experience to say the least.

And so back to reading and tackling the 900 page novel that has made so many Top 10 lists of Best Books of 2008 - Roberto Bolaño's 2666. This is the first novel I've read of his but I will definitely be seeking more of his work, especially as so many of the excellent reviews it's received from critics and bloggers alike, point out recurring themes and preoccupations from previous work. I loved the scope and ambition of the novel - told in five parts - each concentrating on a different narrator/subject and each told in a different style. If I had all the time in the world, I would have immediately started re-reading the book moments after turning the final page to absorb all the connections and allusions I had missed the first time around. For a novel that deals with some very serious issues - the murders of over 200 women in Mexico, the horrors of fighting on the Eastern front in WWII - there is also a surprising amount of wry humour. I particularly loved the first section, The Part About the Critics, which follows four academics who become complicated friends through their mutual obssession over an allusive German writer named Benno von Archimboldi. It is very, very funny. And then, lo and behold, when I get to the final part - The Part About Archimboldi - should I be surprised that Archimboldi comes across a notebook that proves greatly influential, and in this notebook the writer expresses a great admiration for Alfred Döblin's Berlin Alexanderplatz? Which come to think about it makes sense, as society's indifference to the fate of murdered women is also prevalent in 1928 Berlin. I can't recommend 2666 enough - it's definitely worth the time and effort.

Where Literature and Politics mix. . .

Canadian politics is getting very interesting (yes, really). Our next Prime Minister may just be a Booker short-listed author!

To recap briefly for my international readers (where Canada hardly makes front page news) - we've had an interesting few weeks to say the least.

In our recent federal election, Conservative Prime Minister Stephen Harper was re-elected with a minority government. His lacklustre proposals for dealing with the economic crisis have angered the three main opposition parties who threatened to form a coalition government and vote against his budget (effectively ousting the Conservatives from power). Canadians have been quite divided over their support for a coalition government (which would include members of the Bloc Quebecois - the separatist party) questioning whether it's really democratic or not. Harper then went to our Governor-General and invoking a rarely used constitutional clause (more heated debate), got her to suspend Parliament until January, thus avoiding a non-confidence vote and buying some time for his party. In the midst of this, and under severe pressure from his party, Stephane Dion, the Official Leader of the Opposition, resigned as leader of the Liberal Party, leaving two main candidates in a race to replace him - Bob Rae and deputy leader Michael Ignatieff (who were once college room-mates). Then this week, Rae dropped out of the race leaving Ignatieff as the new Leader of the Opposition. He has been cautious and cagey about his support for the coalition government, so when and if the budget vote goes against Harper at the end of January, either a new election will be called and of course if his party wins, Ignatieff becomes the new Prime Minister. Or this coalition government may be called upon to form the government and he would be the head of that. A lot can happen between now and then.

Still with me? And who is Michael Ignatieff? Well, he's an academic, historican, journalist and author of numerous books. His novel Scar Tissue was shortlisted for the Booker Prize in 1993 (losing to Roddy Doyle's Paddy Clarke Ha Ha Ha). I haven't read that novel, but I have read and enjoyed The Russian Album, his biography of four generations of his family. It won the Governor-General's Award for Non-Fiction, one of our top literary prizes. He's also written a critically acclaimed biography of Isaiah Berlin. I met Ignatieff many years ago when I was still a bookseller and we hosted a reading for one of his books. I found him charming and very intelligent. He gave a fascinating talk and insisted on engaging with the audience and taking multiple questions even though his frantic publicist was trying to get him to stop, as he had a plane to catch. If Ignatieff becomes Prime Minister, he will almost certainly give Bob Rae a prime Cabinet position. Rae has also written several books and most recently was a judge for the prestigious Giller Prize (he had to read 90 plus novels this year). Jack Layton, leader of the New Democratic Party (one of the parties that would make up the coalition) is a staunch environmentalist and socialist, and has also penned a number of books, including one on homelessness.

What's going on here? We have prominent and powerful politicians who actually read! (As opposed to Harper who thinks the arts are just for elitists and has severely cut arts funding). And with world leaders (and ordinary citizens too) looking to emulate Barack Obama (another reader and author) this can only be a very, very good thing. I have to believe it's going to make a difference in terms of funding for libraries (particularly school libraries which are just absymal in terms of their collections and the lack of full-time librarians), literacy programs, and an overall heightened awareness and attention to the societal importance of books and reading.

I have this vision of Ignatieff and Obama meeting officially for the first time and exchanging gifts of signed first editions of their books. And then the conversation would go something like this:
"Mr. President, before we tackle the economy and NAFTA and the war in Afghanistan and Iraq, I really have to know - what are you currently reading?"

New on my shelves. . .

Here are a bunch of mostly new, mostly non-fiction books I've recently acquired for the "era shelves" and that I hope to dip into over the holidays.

Survivors' Songs: From Maldon to the Somme by Jon Stallworthy. I like the premise of this book - setting WWI poetry in the context of historical war poetry and I think this will prompt some new thinking about Owen, Sassoon, Brooke etc.

Because You Died: Poetry and Prose of the First World War and After by Vera Brittain, edited by Mark Bostridge. I once had high hopes of doing a PhD on Vera Brittain, but alas, I had a reality rent check/cheque. I still try to read everything I can on her and while I've never thought her poetry particularly strong, this volume has some excellent essays and a lot of photographs that I'd never come across before. And because the Stallworthy doesn't discuss women poets at all.

West End Women: Women and the London Stage 1918-1962 by Maggie Gale. I first got interested in female playwrights during the early part of the 20th century when I was studying the suffrage movement and the work of writers such as Cicely Hamilton. Clemence Dane is another playwright whose work I enjoy and whose play Wild December I encountered while writing a paper on how plays about the Bronte sisters' lives was all the vogue in the 1920s. Dane was also a good friend of Noel Coward and is said to have inspired Madame Arcati, in his play Blithe Spirit (I love it when all my various interests come together). So I definitely need to know more about this time and I'm sure this book will have me scurrying to find copies of plays now relegated to dusty obscurity.

Her Naked Skin by Rebecca Lenkiewicz. This is a contemporary play about British suffragists imprisoned in Holloway in 1913. The play got mixed reviews when it was running in London but I still want to read it. It will be interesting to compare it with the text of a play that I did see in Toronto - Linda Griffiths' Age of Arousal - loosely based on George Gissing's The Odd Women.

And finally, keeping with the theatre theme, I've also got a copy of Michael Holroyd's A Strange Eventful History - his new biography of Ellen Terry, Henry Irving and their various troubled offspring. I love Holroyd's writing; his biography of Lytton Strachey really made an impact on me about fifteen years ago when I read it. I'm particularly interested in learning more about Terry's daughter Edy Craig who was a member of the Actresses' Franchise League along with Cicely Hamilton and who founded the feminist Pioneer Players theatre company.

One book leads to another, which leads to another, which leads to another. . .

Awed at the AGO. . .

Now that the crowds have died down somewhat, I recently went and spent a few hours exploring our newly renovated Art Gallery of Ontario. What a transformation! With a new design by Frank Gehry, the space seems enormous and the building is so airy with twisting staircases like this one, and hidden nooks and so much more wall space for its art. I wandered through the rooms, got lost, and found myself entering rooms I'd already been in, but from a different entrance, which somehow made the art look fresh again. It was really nice to see some extra space devoted to their large photography collection - there were some display cases that had German family albums of WWI photos that I'd never seen before - and I loved the many themed rooms where contemporary art hung side by side with older pieces to create many interesting dialogues. And it was fun to greet old friends, now hanging in new places. In particular, I was happy to see my favourite painting - Florence Carlyle's 1902 The Tiff - back in the burgundy salon, although now on a different wall. This painting has always seemed to sum up male/female relationships for me. What have they argued about? Is the young woman bored, tapping her fingers on the table, waiting for him to stop gazing out at the window/world? Or is she pissed off, all dressed up with nowhere to go? And I love that tiny, little bit of her skirt's underside peeping out - all fiery red, pointing to deeper passions lurking under her apparent demure nonchalance. I can gaze at this beautiful painting for a very long time; to me, there's a whole novel in it. I wish I could get a poster, but as with the work of so many lesser known female artists, obviously no one has thought a reproduction is worth selling.

Back to the building - one of the striking features is this jutting staircase pictured below (that silvery bit that looks like an eye sticking out of the back) which offers a wonderful view of downtown Toronto which I can't show you as I couldn't take pictures from within the gallery.

The AGO has also expanded their store which has a good selection of beautiful and unusual items that come in all price points. There's also a very nice cafe in the basement that has organic food and eco-friendly packaging. I had a very hearty chicken pot pie and they sell really delicious pastries. The expresso bar on the top floor wasn't yet open when I was there, but I'll definitely be checking it out when it is. I left completely inspired and feeling creative and most of all, very proud that Toronto truly has a world-class art gallery now. I'll be visiting many times, especially since every movie ticket I have from my Cinematique membership gets me in for free. Here are a few more photos of the front and side:

It now fits right in with the rest of the neighbourhood. The Ontario College of Art and Design's quirky and fun building designed by Will Alsop is just down the street.

Celebrating My Favourite Publishers of 2008. . .

The internet and blogworld are buzzing with year end lists of top books and favourite reads - all of which I enjoy browsing as I inevitably end up noting down a new title or two. I've kept a reading journal for years and will blog about my top 10 favourite reads of 2008, but not until January 1st. I get a lot of reading done over the holidays - to pick now would just be premature.

So instead, to inspire all those shoppers planning to give books as gifts, I'm going to list my 10 favourite publishers of 2008. I've bought and read books from all of them this year but they get my vote not only for their interesting and unique lists, but also the care and attention they take in terms of covers and design, editing, websites and blogs - they all have a distinctive and eye-catching look. Not surprisingly they are small and independent presses. Do spend some time exploring their websites - there is some amazing publishing going on here. In my fantasy store, they'd all be well represented. In my private library, they are.

My Top 10 Favourite Publishers of 2008 (in alphabetical order)

Coach House Press. Lots of great Canadian writers got their start with this press and I still discover new talent every year. One of my favourites is Sean Dixon's The Girls Who Saw Everything, about a very unusual type of bookclub. The books always have a savvy design and they use beautiful paper.

Dalkey Archive Press. A publisher that keeps classics alive and introduces all sorts of interesting international literature and literary criticism. They publish one of my favourite contemporary novels of all time - Janice Galloway's Foreign Parts. This year on a trip to Seattle, I picked up one of their newer books that was calling out to me from the tables at the famous Elliot Bay Book Company - Olivier Rollin's Hotel Crystal. And started reading it (where else) but in my hotel room.

Europa Editions. I love the bold covers and French flaps of these trade paperbacks and they have a quirky selection of interesting European crime novels sprinkled among their literature. They had a big hit this year with The Elegance of the Hedgehog by Muriel Barbery, translated by Alison Anderson. It's on my to-be-read pile.

Gaspereau Press. This tiny press in Kentville, Nova Scotia designs the most beautiful books. They are works of art. Their mission statement says it all:

At the core of our philosophy is a commitment to making books that reinstate the importance of the book as a physical object, reuniting publishing and the book arts. Many of our covers are letterpress-printed, feature original artwork by artists like Wesley Bates and George Walker, and are printed on fine paper, in some cases even handmade. Most of our books are smyth-sewn & bound into card covers and are then enfolded in letterpress-printed jackets. Our house paper is Rolland’s Zephyr Antique Laid, a creamy, sensual book paper. Overall, the result is strong, flexible, attractive books that are comfortable, attractive and durable.

My favourite Gaspereau book is The Logogryph by Thomas Wharton. And I'm definitely going to pick up one of their newest - Eva's Threepenny Theatre by Andrew Steinmetz.

Melville House Publishing. A small press that combines all the best of what I love - literature in translation, the classics and interesting, current non-fiction. They have a wonderful Art of the Novella series that republishes classic shorter works, sometimes for the first time in English as with this fall's The Lemoine Affair by Marcel Proust, translated by Charlotte Mandell. A companion series is The Contemporary Art of the Novella which celebrates current international writers. I recommend Customer Service by Benoît Duteurtre as a prime example. And the book I am most excited about is coming out next spring - Hans Fallada's Every Man Dies Alone, which Primo Levi called, "The greatest book ever written about German resistance to the Nazis. " It'll be part of a Fallada revival as his previous work, The Drinker and Little Man, What Now? will also be reissued. Their famous blog MobyLives was also resurrected this year after quite a hiatus.

New Directions. I'm always excited to see what is coming next from this publisher. They consistently discover new and long-forgotten innovative writers from around the world and their book jackets are always edgy and cool - especially their black and white covers. This year I bought The Way It Wasn't - an autobiography (of sorts) by the founder James Laughlin. I also have many books by Javier Marias sitting on my shelves that I just haven't found the time to read yet. I do have one tiny beef with them - they have a great website for alerting readers to new books and events, but their online backlist catalogue gives no descriptions of the books and since many of their authors are not recognizable names, I think they are losing a lot of potential sales here.

New York Review of Books. Just a perennial favourite. I've enjoyed several of their new books this year, most notably Unforgiving Years by Victor Serge, The Queue by Vladimir Sorokin, The Summer Book by Tove Jansson and The Post-Office Girl by Stefan Zweig. I can honestly say that I've never picked up an NYRB classic and regretted the time I spent reading it. Impeccable editorial eye. Plus they also re-released one of the funniest children's books ever - The 13 Clocks by James Thurber.

Open Letter. This is a fairly new publisher out of the University of Rochester devoted to literature in translation and I love that their books are boldly designed hardcovers with no dust jackets. One of their unique marketing ideas is to offer a monthly subscription so that you can receive a new book in the mail each month. You can choose between a six or twelve month subscription and start with any book you like. The website only allows for U.S. orders, but if you e-mail them directly, they will set up an account for you to ship anywhere in the world (they will re-calculate shipping costs). A great idea and I'm rooting for this press big-time. One of their new releases this month is Marguerite Duras's The Sailor From Gibraltar, translated by Barbara Bray. Do also check out their terrific blog Three Percent.

Other Press. This press is great at publishing contemporary international fiction and two of my favourite reads of 2008 came courtesy of their editorial eye. The Open Door by Elizabeth Maguire is a fictional account of the life of bestselling American author Constance Fenimore Woolson, including an interesting take on her relationship with Henry James that becomes more fascinating if you've also read (as I have), Colm Toibin's The Master and David Lodge's Author, Author. I was also introduced this year to Chilean writer Elizabeth Subercaseaux with her moving novel A Week In October.

Persephone Books. Another favourite and a press that I collect . I'm always intrigued by what gem they will discover next. And they publish the most beautiful catalogues and newsletters - collectibles on their own. I feel my bookcases straightening their spines and holding themselves just a little more proudly whenever I add a new Persephone to their shelves. This year I was thrilled that they republished The Crowded Street by Winifred Holtby and A Very Great Profession by founder Nicola Beauman.

There's been a lot of doom and gloom about the publishing industry lately and the economic downturn is definitely going to affect the larger publishers and chain stores. But readers needn't feel depressed - there are still a lot of exciting new authors to discover. Buy lots of books this season for your loved ones and support your independent bookstores!