Just Kids: A Book Review

Just Kids is Patti Smith's autobiographical book about her relationship with the artist Robert Mapplethorpe. It is not particularly satisfying as an autobiography because it skims the surface, leaving me wanting to know more details, hear more about the nitty gritty of their fascinating lives. What it lacks in detail it more than makes up for in emotion.

This book is a deathbed promise realised; a gift of love and respect.

Their relationship, built on a chance meeting in New York City in the late sixties when they were both "just kids", literally starving artists, transcends love, lust, sex, friendship. It is the true embodiment of the term "soulmate", so easily thrown around for anyone one has known for more than five minutes.

This is what really touched me, moved me to tears and emotional pain. I am always fascinated by strong emotional attachment because I don't think I have felt it truly, powerfully since I was "just a kid" myself.

But this book also made me think about my own yearning for an "artistic" life as a teenager. Do all teenagers yearn for a bohemian life of creativity and social freedom? I know I did. But in hindsight my desire for stability was much more powerful than any artistic daydreams I may have harboured. Like Patti, my practical side took control. In her case she was able to balance and find room for both. But it was a different time.

She speaks of the artistic force which drove both her and Robert and it is certainly not something I felt very strongly. This force was everything to them; that they eventually found critical and financial success was more good fortune than pure talent. Many equally talented people fall by the wayside for a myriad of reasons.

I really enjoyed this book, it had a strong emotional impact on me. I haven't been Patti's biggest fan. Apart from loving her collaboration with Bruce Springsteen "Because the night", her "Pissing in a river" from the Times Square soundtrack and the recently discovered "Redondo Beach" from her first album "Horses" I haven't delved deeply into her music. But her story really surprised me, not only is she not who I guessed she might be but she writes beautifully; I was left wanting more yet emotionally both buoyed and devastated.

Book Review: Beyond Fear

Recently I was given the opportunity (by the Soup Project people) to preview a new Australian book Beyond Fear by Jaye Ford, an Australian journalist turned author. It was fun getting to read a book before it's general release and this was a book that really appealed.

It is a book I can relate to - the story of four Sydney women going away for a much needed girls' weekend in the country. Having been on a few such girls' weekends away myself I know how much they are anticipated. I also know how isolated I feel, being a city girl through and through, when the lights go out and the serenity of the country turns into that creepy feeling ... I have often laid there in bed in the dark, feeling acutely aware of the isolation and the oppression of the "nothingness" around me.

For the four friends in this book things go wrong very quickly and then they go from bad to much, much worse.

Our main protagonists are Jodie, a teacher with a dark secret, and Matt, a detective with a complicated past. Their lives collide in the tiny town of Bald Hill when a girls' weekend away turns into a nightmare.

Once the action gets going it is relentless and heart-racing exciting. It does take a little while to warm up but once the drama starts it doesn't stop until the very end. In hindsight the slow start is a good balance to the fast paced second half.

I would have liked a little more character development for the secondary players and possibly a little less emphasis on the romance (would you be thinking about the hunky ex-cop when two psychopaths are about to rape and murder you?) but overall it was well written and a very entertaining read.

Tidying up 2010

The last week of 2010 ended in the usual way.

The birthday of Baby Cheeses was celebrated with too much eating on our deck with family and friends. The weather was gorgeous, leading me to go through a little bit of guilt as half of our country is flooded and the other half was scortching (a land "of droughts and flooding rains" indeed), not to mention Europe and parts of the US which were frozen.

Nothing to be done about it but open gifts, eat many more prawns and oysters than is strictly necessary and gaze in wonder at the 10kg ethically raised ham.

Speaking of gifts I can now proudly confirm I am the owner of a WeeSing Robbie Williams for Wii game. After a couple of glasses of Bella and a couple more lychee martinis I may have tortured entertained our guests with a spirited rendition of Something Beautiful and Rock DJ before their pained expressions forced me to accept that too much of a good thing can be a bad thing.

There was also some gorgeous Pandora earrings and a new charm under the tree from my very generous family. A fantastic new glass mixing bowl for my KitchenAid from my sister's main man M (who is now forever more known as the Gift Whisperer). A fabulous new Sheridan quilt cover set and pillows from mum.

The Entire Beast cookbook by Chris Badenoch (from the first series of Australian Masterchef) which is a book I've been coveting since I first watched Chris cook on the show (who can forget his Roasted Half Pig's Head?). I have to say that this book is worth the price of admission if only for the fabulous, darkly quirky styling and the great Introduction by Chris which really resonates with me. The recipes themselves are simply an extra bonus. Thank you JB for this special gift.

Lots of other bits which have escaped me right at this moment. As always I was very spoilt as was everyone in the family. We're a generous bunch, if I do say so myself.

Boxing Day entailed more entertaining, more eating, more gift giving and receiving... as well as a game of Sticky Wicky (a cricket game invented by one of the families at our school, so I'm giving them a plug). Despite the heat and my general abhorrence of anything cricket related it was really fun and even mum had a go. We cooled off in the pool to finish off a really great day.

The Monday public holiday was spent relaxing (a little), cleaning up from the two prior days and getting ready for more entertaining. That evening Big Jay's birthmum, uncle and friend came for dinner (as well as his brother, SIL and their little son who were here for the whole holiday period). So yet more cooking, cleaning and overeating. Let the good times roll.

Tuesday we hit the city for some sale shopping (I'm nothing if not a glutton for punishment) with my gorgeous, super stylish SIL and my best ladies C and M. Finishing with a big family dinner (all the dads and kids joining us) at Wagamama at King Street Wharf. The big surprise for the evening was bumping into a friend from the dim dark past fondly remembered as the Fitzroy Street Squat days. Mark (aka Woody) has certainly made something of himself - not that you would have predicted that back in 1982 - and now has a gorgeous wife, four kids and an important job with the Bank of America. Go figure!

So where are we? Yes, Tuesday the 28th of December. I worked the next two days (oh, the bliss of a quiet office, a nice cup of tea and no meals to cook for the hoardes).

Friday Big Jay was working and I wasn't so I took the kids and our visitors to Paddington and Woollahra to visit Victor Churchill (it's like porn for carnevores) and some more fashion for the SIL. We finished with a late lunch at the Seafood Markets (note to self: avoid Doyle's at all costs... they should be embaressed by the crap they dish out, have been coasting on the name for too long now).

Which brings us to NYE. When Big Jay came home from work we settled in for some eating, drinking and fireworks gazing on the deck of the apartment his brother and SIL had rented in the building next door to ours. Their apartment was on the top floor and while the apartment itself was quite ordinary the deck was magnificent. It was not only huge but afforded 320 degree views of the Sydney skyline, including the city (or at least some of it, the main part of the Harbour Bridge was obscured by some buildings). Anyway, we were able to see not only the big city fireworks but also the many and assorted smaller ones going on all around the greater Sydney area. Cool!

New Year's Day we sat around the pool all morning which was not only gorgeous and relaxing but meant I finally finished Val McDermid's The Mermaids Singing (the first of the Tony Hill novels which became the Wire in the Blood series). While I like her writing the book didn't really blow me away because I am so familiar with the show and particularly with Robson Green as Tony Hill and I guess there really wasn't any suspense factor because I knew what happens in the end. I'm just glad I finally got through it because it feels like I've been reading it for years. So then I started straight onto Thousand Splendid Suns (love my Kindle, finish one book, download another) which is the book for January for the local book group I'm thinking of joining.

Oops, just realised I'm technically into 2011. Better stop now. Some photos to post and then let's roll in the new year. Twenty Eleven will be a big one.

Loving the Kindle

I'm very happy to report that I love my Kindle. I purchased it with some amount of trepidation, wondering how on earth an electronic gadget would be able to replicate the experience of reading a book.

Well I can easily say that the experience is not deminished, at least not for me. My first book purchase was Nick Hornby's Juliet, Naked and I loved it; reading it on the Kindle didn't detract in any way from my enjoyment.

The features of the Kindle really blow my mind. Being able to search the Amazon Kindle Store by (free) wireless connection from just about anywhere and then purchase and download a book with just a few clicks and a wait of only 10 or 20 seconds is truly amazing. Then there are the features I can appreciate though I would probably rarely use. Like the text size adjustment, the text-to-speech feature available on most books, the inbuilt dictionary which allows you to pop up a definition simply by positioning your cursor next to the word in question, the ability to email PDF documents to yourself at your Kindle email account. The list goes on.

For me it's simply the ease of use and the simple elegance of always having a library in my handbag. After reading Juliet, Naked I downloaded The Remains of the Day which I have been meaning to read after loving Never Let Me Go so much. Recent Kindle Store searching has revealed bargains like the entire Jane Austen collection for $5.19. Many classics are even available for free but I haven't downloaded one yet so I'm not sure what the "catch" is.

Now I'm working my way through a stack of unread paper books and very quickly they seem bothersome to me. Big, heavy and annoying. You could say I have embraced the new technology and I'm not looking back. If you are a book lover I'd say take a look, you might surprise yourself.

You can't stop progress

I am awaiting the arrival of my Kindle (Australian version) from Amazon. I spent some time arguing against the introduction of such technology. After all, books are a beautiful thing, not just a practical thing. The reading experience is not just about absorbing information.

But then I realised:

a) I am drowning in books. When we moved out of our old house, where we had bookshelves overflowing with books, we cleared out a lot of them and donated them to Lifeline (who hold a giant book sale every year for fundraising). However, many moved with us and live in plastic crates in the garage. The single bookshelf in the (not so) new apartment is overflowing with books and the stack on my bedside table is about to topple.

b) If only they made them out of edible paper, how much more practical would that be? You could have a double-y enjoyable experience and you wouldn't have mountains of books to trip over.

c) I was sounding like one of those people who argue that albums sound so much better than CDs (and iPods). They talk about the crackle and the "warmth" of the sound. Bollocks. Whatever "warmth" I may be giving up for the convience of having my entire music collection on a gadget as big as half a cigarette packet I am more than happy to sacrifice.

d) In my world convience generally wins over warm and fuzzy philosphical ideals.

Thus the Kindle is about to enter my life and I am so excited. The idea that I can have many books on hand, in my handbag, with me at all times, is mindblowing. Planes, doctor's waiting rooms, the bench at my children's swimming classes, will no longer be places of lost time and boredom. I will be whipping out my Kindle and catching up on all the reading I rarely get to do. Oh, bliss.

Stay tuned for a review: or what happens when reality crashes into my dream landscape.

The Slap

I've just finished The Slap by Christos Tsiolkas. I know it's a bit 2009 to be talking about this book now. It really was the book of last year. I've been wanting to read it for some time but reading time is always a bit of a rarity for me.

Christos Tsiolkas wrote Loaded, which became the wonderful, in your face Australian film Head On. I loved the book and I loved the film even more. It started with a very memorable opening sequence featuring Alex Dimitriades' cock. Thank you very much! The book and film, featuring a great deal of homosexual sex, were certainly not everyone's cup of tea. Personally I don't mind a bit of homosexual sex.

Speaking of which I am about 2/3 of the way through Edmund White's autobiography My Lives. He is one of my three favourite Gay American Writers. The Not Funny One. I am not sure what exactly attracts me to his work. Looking back I think I accidentally ordered his first three books when I belonged to a book club about a gazillion years ago and he sort of got under my skin. I went to see him speak at the Sydney Writers' Festival a few years ago. Any old how, Edmund, like Christos (like many gay authors I suppose) has a liking for blow jobs. Nothing wrong with that, I'm quite partial to them myself. However, some people don't seem to like reading descriptions of sex acts, BJs, or any other type.

This is one of the criticisms of The Slap which I heard a few times when it was discussed on radio. For me it wasn't the descriptions of sex which were problematic, it was the amount of sex the characters were having. Possibly Christos inhabits a parallel universe where people such as this exist. If people in my universe are having that much sex then they sure as hell aren't telling me about it. [Speak up people, I want to know.]

Apart from the sex The Slap touches on many issues which are the cornerstones of middle class Australian society: the complex relationships within marriage, parenthood, non-parenthood, immigrant families, getting older, being old, moving from childhood into young adulthood, sexuality and identity. The epicentre of the drama is the moment in time when a man hits a child who is not his own at a bbq. This one action leads the narrative which touches the lives of some of the people present.

I enjoyed the style of the writing, I enjoyed the characters, I enjoyed the story and it's presentation. It certainly made me think. Even the parts which didn't sit well with me were valuable because I had to question why they irked me. It may not be a book to change the world but I think it's a very worthwhile book.

Possible spoilers... read on at your own risk...

The question of THE SLAP itself had me swinging. A man smacks a very naughty, undisciplined child who is possibly going to hurt his child at a bbq in front of a group of his family and friends. The family of the smacked child call in the police and press charges of assault, there is a court case. Who is in the right/wrong?

I am 90% on the side of the slap-er, as oppossed to the slap-ee. I don't think anyone should be smacking anyone else's child, generally speaking. But this child is presented in a way which makes me loathe him and his useless mum and dad. He is four and a half, almost at school, and he is still being breastfed. That's a red rag to a bull for me. That speaks of a mother with deep psychological problems, not a child who is in need of nutrition. The child is badly behaved and uncontrollable because the mother won't discipine him, treats him like a deity. He is a little shit.

Would I smack a child like that? Probably not. But I would want to. Really badly. And I would applaud anyone who did in the circumstance which is described in The Slap. Overall it seems like such a trivial issue but these days it is not. I am sure twenty years ago such things were commonplace. No-one would bat an eyelid should some other parent discipline their child. These days it is an issue requiring police action and court intervention.

I know every generation thinks the same thing, but it's a funny old time we live in.

And The Ass Saw The Angel

No, this isn't an entry about a date between Al Gore and Ginnifer Goodwin (who admittedly isn't quite angelic, but is super cute and the best person I can think of this late at night to use in this example).

What it is is a book review of the old Nick Cave novel which I have finally got around to finishing.

I bought it as a Pengiun Classic a couple of months ago because a) I had always wanted to read it and b) it was reduced to $7.95 which is a reasonable price for a new book in my book.

I took it away on holidays to the Gold Coast with me because it is such a small book and I thought I could get through it quickly. I was wrong. Mainly it didn't grab me at first. The first few pages had me struggling and at one point I thought I would just have to throw in the towel because I couldn't cope with the protagonist's use of the term "ah" for "I" as a way of representing his hillbilly accent. At the beginning it nearly drove me round the twist.

Then I fell into it and the only thing that stopped me devouring it was the [lack of] time factor during the holiday.

So I've managed to finish it these last couple of weeks by snatching a few pages here and there. Not the most satisfactory way of reading but beggars can't be choosers.

I found myself very surprised to have so thoroughly enjoyed a book featuring not one single endearing character. There is not a single likeable person in the entire novel.

Nick Cave is fascinated with religion, the Bible and the dark side of society and the human psyche. In And The Ass Saw The Angel these points collide in a rollercoaster ride through madness.

There are certainly faults to be found for the nitpicky reader and I couldn't entirely overlook these. But overall it was a great, dark, gothic tale and the atmosphere was built perfectly. Like his songs, which resonate with my darker side, this book takes you to a place you'd rather not think about but which is fascinating nevertheless. Like a horrorific car accident, you are repulsed but can't drag your eyes away.

Spoiler Alert!

So you know how much I've been hanging out for the new Stieg Larsson The Girl Who Kicked The Hornet's Nest? I loved loved loved the first two in the Millennium series and counted the moments until I could read this latest and last installment. The second book was better than the first so by that logic I was expecting the third book to be better again.

Right?

Right?

WRONG!

I am very sorry to report that Hornet's Nest was a giant let down. There were many problems, here are the main points:

a) Lisbeth Salander, our heroine and super kick-arse protagonist, barely features at all. She appears in a very vague capacity and only has one great action scene in the last 50 pages. While the story seems to revolve around her, she is very much in the background.

b) There is no tension, no suspense, no which-way-will-the-arm-wrestle-end. The bad guys are stupid and bumbling and are portrayed as such incompotents that they would be pushed to find their own arse with a torch and a map. The good guys are so clever and insightful and good looking and just plain fantastic they can't put a foot wrong and don't. From the very beginning it is clear what the outcome will be. Thus no suspense. Boring!

c) I am no expert on the Swedish legal system (which may be a surprise to some of you!) but I am fairly confident when I say it wouldn't work as portrayed in this book. If it does, whoa baby, that country is truly fucked up.

d) This books makes it doubly clear that poor old Stieg Larsson was using the character of Blomkvist as an alter-ego for himself. Not only does Blomkvist screw everything that isn't nailed down (and strangely the ladies seem to find this out of shape, obsessive journalist irrisitable) but he can do no wrong, including dodging bullets.

Look, I know my expectations were high but this book was thoroughly disappointing. I read it at super speed (for me) hoping against hope that the next page, or the next, would bring that twist or drama I was expecting. But nothing eventuated. The occasional piss weak "twist" was so pathetic that the author didn't even resolve it because it was bleeding obvious that it was a sad construct which a three year old could see around.

If I was a conspiracy theorist I would go as far as to suggest that Stiegg Larsson died before (instead of after) he completed this third installment. Perhaps he had the bones of this book with the publisher and upon his untimely death the publisher had a ghost writer finish what was obviously going to be a gold mine the third book. Or perhaps Mr Larsson caught a bit of Stephen King disease (I clearly remember reading The Dark Half and thinking "what the fuck?!" - I couldn't believe the same person who had written The Stand and It and Carrie had written that piss poor crock of shit).

Whatever the explanation Hornet's Nest is not a shadow of the Dragon Tattoo and Played with Fire.

So now I'm looking forward to the next Sue Grafton Kinsey Millhone mystery in December. Surely dear Kinsey wouldn't disappoint....

One of the things I was especially looking forward to doing on our holiday was reading. I hadn't done any for a while and there was a stack of books mounting up which required my attention. I got through three and they were all superb in their own very differen ways.



In The Cut by Susanna Moore

I bought this as a cheapy on the discount table because I'd heard something vague about it when the film version with Meg Ryan was released. Anyway, I haven't seen the film but the book was fantastic. Beautifully written erotic thriller.



Sucked In by Shane Maloney

The latest in the wonderful Murray Whelan series. I love love love these books. And to think how very accidentally I stumbled upon Murray all those years ago in the gloomy book section of the Perth City Target. How easily I could have chosen another book and not had Murray in my life. Sucked In is just as enjoyable as those which came before, I loved every page. All I can say is, Murray Whelan for PM!

Specimen Days by Michael Cunningham

This is the latest book from the author of The Hours and while I haven't read that book I did see the film and cried so much at the end I thought I'd burst a valve. So I did go into Specimen Days with a touch of trepidation. Which was validated because this book is powerful and it made me feel, really feel, and think... two things which I obviously avoid doing as often as possible (hence my reality tv addiction). It hurts to really feel and think and I've decided I don't like it. I need it but I don't like it. Reading this book hurt, a lot. It is beautiful on every level and I am so glad I read it but I wish I hadn't read it on holidays. It is not a book to read by the side of a pool on a hot day in gorgeous Phuket. It is a book to read on a rainy day at home with a cup of tea and box of tissues.

On the weekend I finished reading Sharp Objects by Gillian Flynn. I read it in one week. That's saying something because these days I barely have time to scratch myself. So a book that calls out to me every evening "read me, read me... you know you want to" is a stand out.

Really it's a lightweight sort of book but I really got into the story and the main character. If you like a mystery with some creepiness, some unease, some interesting characters and a moral question mark or two, then you might enjoy it.