So mothergoddamnis currently at my house and has finally forced me into catching up with Dexter.

I can't reveal who is the cause of my broken heart in this programme, on threat of violence*, but I did spend last night berating her for promising me a much-loved character didn't come to a sticky end... only for them to indeed come to a sticky end. My heart is broken into tiny, tiny fragments of bitter shards and I am ashamed to say that I have randomly interjected conversations today with, '********* is dead!'

I don't know if I can carry on, though I guess I am as we've just downloaded the next episode.

Finally also watched Kiss, Kiss, Bang, Bang, which is handy as I now understand the macros I've seen floating around on drama communities for that film. Very funny and good to see Val Kilmer not being annoying.

*Srsly. She hit my dog. My twelve-year-old, disabled, dog. Who was crying a little from arthritic trouble. She. Hit. My. Dog. The icon in this post is Amy After the Event, looking perplexed and suitably beaten.

(Put down the pitchforks; it was more a flying TV remote accident, followed by profuse apologies to dog in question and accusing stare from dog.)

Other than that, a fine lazy TV-catch-up Sunday. With a roast dinner, oh yes.

I've done a lot of reading lately. These are the books I can remember: 

The Magic Toyshop - Angela Carter
I picked this up because the blurb didn't make any sense whatsoever. Once again, Carter does it. She had such a way of turning the most mundane, everyday things into something wondorous and magical. The story is of three children leading comfortable, happy lives who are orphaned. They have to go and stay with their tyrannical and imposing uncle in London, who enjoys stifling the life out of everything around him, preferring his malleable puppets in the toyshop. However, his Irish wife and her two brothers who live with him have their own sadness and wish to escape his clutches.

I can't say much more without spoiling the plot, but I loved this book for its suspense and tenderness. Carter was such an amazing writer. She admired Anne Rice and wished she could have written like her. Oh, the irony.

Engleby - Sebastian Faulks
At first, I was very, very pleased with this book. Why? Because we had a working-class character who  was at a prestigious university on merit, who wasn't stupid, who didn't have a thick accent, who wasn't traumatised by his humble upbringing, who wasn't an annoying attempt by the middle-class author to give his book some realism.

But of course, Engleby has to have a big problem. Of course. I can't go into it because it's part of the twist, but sheesh! Is it ever, ever going to be possible to have a well-adjusted, clever and well-spoken working-class character in British fiction? EVER? I swear, they do exist! 

The story was all right, but this tired trope really ruined the book for me.

My Dirty Little Book of Stolen Time - Liz Jensen
This was such a fun book! I was unimpressed when a friend with a penchant for chicklit offered it to me, but I had once again run out of English reading material, so gave it a go. And I'm so glad that I did.

The story centres around a prostitute in fin-de-siecle Denmark, Charlotte, who tries all kinds of wiles to get money for herself and her 'mother', a deeply stupid and uncouth woman who follows her around. I was rather shocked at the beginning, because the character is so frank about prostitution and doesn't care when people call her a two-bit strumpet.

She ends up working in a grand old house for a nasty widow who is guarding a secret. Anyway, her natural curiosity gets the best of her and she's transported to 21st-century London, with her mother in tow. This is handled brilliantly, with acerbic comments on modern rituals - this has, of course, been done many times before, but it's the humour that got me. Whilst Charlotte adapts quickly to the 21st century and uses her 19th century wiles to her advantage, her mother becomes obsessed with microwave meals and the vacuum cleaner.

Anyway, there then follows a lot of love trouble, a trip to modern Denmark and the plight of an entire group of Danish time-travellers, and it's great. I just found the book witty, frank and funny and will definitely check out more from this author.

To Kill a Mockingbird - Harper Lee
Okay, so everyone and their dog has read this book, but I haven't read it since I was eleven years old, when my dad gave me it. I'm pleased at young me for catching so many of the themes and so much symbolism first time around. This time, however, I was moved to tears by it. And yet, still, it's not a depressing or tedious read, but there are moments of real affection and great characterisation. Unlike Capote (it fascinates me that Lee and Capote were best friends and yet they come across so differently in writing), Lee gives even the most annoying or despicable characters elements of goodness. Such a deserved classic.

Other Voices, Other Rooms - Truman Capote
I really disliked this book. I just can't get into Capote's writing, at all. I don't like his narrative detachment, nor the way he turns a lot of people into nothing more than dislikeable caricatures.

I tried reading Breakfast at Tiffany's a few years ago and wondered at how charmless it was (so much so that I put off seeing the film for a long time). I lost that book* before I could finish out, so don't know if it was worth reading or not. This one wasn't.

The Death of Ivan Ilyich and Other Stories - Tolstoy
You know, I adore the short story format. I think that it can be a near-perfect medium, and when it's done well, it can beat the novel, through the sheer expertise used to get the plot and characters and theme so neatly into such a short space.

And then I realised: I can count, on the fingers of one hand, the short stories that I have really enjoyed, that I feel have pushed the boat out. And none of them were in this collection. I give up, Tolstoy. I give up.

An Atlas of Impossible Longing - Anuradha Roy
I love Indian fiction and this book is a well-written and entertaining story of thwarted love and Indian culture in general, as well as some illuminating history on the India-Pakistan split. At times, it almost veers into Kite Runner territory, which was such a stupid book with coincidence after coincidence and manipulative over-emoting, but thankfully, it manages to stay on track for the most part.

I can't sum it up completely, though. I lost this book on the metro* three-quarters of the way through.

Birds Without Wings - Louis de Bernieres
Hannah recommended this one to me. I love Louis de Bernieres' writing, and once again lapped up that magic realism, knowing that after I made it past the first 150 pages, there would be ugly and horrible stuff happening.

This one is based on that ever-festering Greek/Turk wound, this opening from the first world war. I learned more about this in the book referenced below and can barely read the history of it, let alone the fictionalised account of all that suffering and the evil, evil things people did to each other at that time.

Anyway, I lost this book on a park bench*, so I never made it past that 150-page mark. And in my mind, all the characters lived happily ever after.

World War One: A Short History - Norman Stone
Uhmazing book. This is all I wanted from a book giving an overview of the First World War. There are fascinating facts, but also a coldly modern analysis of the stupidity and shortcomings that resulted in this bloody spectacle, as well as a lot of information on aspects of the world war that may not be so familiar to a British reader (Gallipoli, for example). I gaped at the sheer folly of this 'experiment' that erupted so brutally and am thankful that it was blessedly free of jingoistic rhetoric.

One thing about the First World War which endlessly fascinates me is that of its role as a catalyst for social change. You had Russians marching into battle with sabres, on horseback; Italians who had previously only worked in fields, who were barely literate, forced to march on and on by a cruel general; lords having to go to war, dying there and their estates broken up and the working and middle-classes finally breaking free of the chains around them. This book, whilst it could not be comprehensive, offers a good analysis of this. It also gives time to Mexico and Japan, often overlooked in analysis of this time. The epilogue, which details the crushing reparations enforced upon Germany and the festering hatred across Europe (and indeed the world) in the wake of this conflict, which paved the way for World War II, is worth the price of the book alone. Great stuff. I'll definitely re-read.

Ganked from

mothergoddamn

I couldn't choose which of these three songs I'm currently loving to plaster up here, so I'm going to be greedy and post all of them:

Tenia Tanto Que Darte is an infectiously happy-sounding song that I've been catching on Spanish radio for months on end. I finally downloaded it and was taken aback by the not-so-cosy lyrics: I had so much to give you, so many things to tell you, I had so much love saved for you. Bleurgh, get over him!

Except the story is that these lyrics are about the singer's miscarriage, adding poignancy to the sunny voice which promises 'to light a candle on your special day' and who promises 'never to forget'. Lovely song.

 

The temperature in Barcelona was approaching 40c on Friday, which shouldn't be all that bad for a Mediterranean city with ample air conditioning right next to the sea, but what do you know? It's humid, sweaty hell.

At the moment, I am in Cork! It is all Irish and awesome. I am working from my B&B room (we can't travel in luxury all the time, darlings), but shall have to go down to breakfast soon, for I can smell Irish breakfasty goodness.

I really like it here - it's all green and lovely and cold. I even had to wear a coat yesterday! Exciting times. The people are also really nice, really funny. I got chatted up in the pub last night, even though there were inevitable commiserations on my being English.

Sorry, I meant to say more, but... the smell of that bacon, you know...