(still) geeking out in the UK

Have I mentioned this city seems to inspire me at every turn?

I'm really, really sorry if I'm boring you with my London updates. Quickly, on books:

Cassandra and Jane is really good if you happen to be an Austen fan. Say, if you spent a portion of your Saturday afternoon at the London Literature Festival listening to how difficult and wonderful it is to work with Austen's texts to make movies and other books.

Okay, well maybe you don't have to be that big a fan.

But you should probably like Austen and be sort of familiar with her history (may I suggest Carol Shields' brief biography?). Because for all that Jill Pitkeathley is clearly riffing her own take on Austen and the relationship she shared with her sister, her take isn't really all that different from the official history. Which is kind of a surprise if you take a skim through other books on offer from Harper's historical fiction titles:

Revenge of the Rose -- "In a court of the Holy Roman Emperor, not even a knight is safe from gossip, schemes, and secrets."

The Fool's Tale -- "Travel back to Wales, 1198, a time of treachery, political unrest...and passion."

The Scroll of Seduction -- "A dual narrative of love, obsession madness, and betrayal surrounding one of history's most controversial monarchs, Juana the Mad."

See? So it's kind of shocking how tame Cassandra and Jane is. However, given the depth of love so many fans have of their Jane, Pitkeathley probably played it pretty close to facts for her own safety. Rather than a love story that would throw question on whether Miss Austen did in fact die a virgin, Pitkeathley opts to tell a tale of sisterly love in a first-person narrative from Cassandra's point of view.

My other travel companion in the last couple weeks has been Novel Destinations, a birthday gift from a dear friend. I can't possibly get to even half the places the book notes in London and England alone, but it's really just the start of a life journey.

Bought? Well, so far I've been really good about keeping my wallet in my purse.... Knowledge the pound continues to outstrip the Canadian dollar by nearly 2:1 helps. But I couldn't resist Let's Call the Whole Thing Off, an inspired collection of break-up tales I found at the South Bank Book Market that's perfect for reading before I go to sleep after I've toiled through hours of studying....

Yes. Yes I am supposed to be toiling right now.

But quickly: The London Literature Festival. My new favourite thing. Even though it wasn't exactly packed with people on the weekend. And the Austen industry talk featured at least two women sitting in the front row who gasped, giggled and sighed whenever they agreed with or were shocked by presenters' words. They were particularly agog by the idea someone might mash up Pride and Prejudice and Zombies. (Which, by the way, has now been published in 22 languages and 37 countries, leading to a spike, too, in sales of the original book. Still, harrumph on principle.)

A Wuthering Heights seminar saw more people in attendance, but mostly because there is a new British mini-series expected out in the fall, and members of the press were invited out to see clips of the film and hear from the screenplay writer.

What was so interesting, to me, was how writers can work towards taking apart the original manuscripts and rebuilding them. Wuthering Heights, particularly, presents a problem because of the style of narrative, the two characters who tell the story but aren't really part of it. The screenwriter said he literally had three copies of the book, one of which he took a knife to in order to break apart the story and reorganize chronologically in order to navigate the tale.

Not initially a fan of Wuthering Heights -- I still think it presents a hero only infatuated teenage girls could truly love -- the evening discussion had me reconsidering. I never thought of Cathy and Heathcliff's children as the rays of hope, as the real hero and heroine of the novel....

I do wonder about the idea every generation needs its own Pride and Prejudice, or its own Wuthering Heights. Perhaps this is the line of thinking born of having a broadcast community almost wholly funded by the government?

Meanwhile, I should really get my hands on an old text to manipulate and reform as my own....

(Yes, Gurinder Chadha was at the lit fest -- she seemed really cool! And apparently she's sort of kind of maybe trying to work out a way for Bride and Prejudice to become a stage production....)

of UK, books and India

Some pics from the UK....

If the layout on your computer looks anything like the layout on mine, the first three are images from the rowing regatta at Henley-on-the-Thames. The next handful are from the Portobello Road Market, at Notting Hill. And the last speaks for itself....

By the way, on books: 1. I was really all set to encourage everyone I know to read Such a Pretty Fat. And then, in the last five pages, the author is mean to a homeless person. No, this will not ruin the end of the book for you -- it's a well-written memoir about a woman struggling with her weight and body image -- unless, of course, you can't stomach people who are mean to the homeless and disadvantaged. 2. I packed along Cassandra and Jane, thanks to a friend, and plan to update you soon on how this "Jane Austen story" reads -- Hint: it's been an excellent travel companion! 3. I am continuing my love affair with all things Lonely Planet. And, it turns out, all things Moleskine.

Oh, and 4. There's a new book club book! It looks as though this meet will take place sans moi, however the hosts have an excellent invite I just have to share (hopefully they don't mind):

Hello friends,

See, when you come to Bangalore, and stop at a traffic light, some boy will run up to your car and knock on your window, while holding up a bootlegged copy of an American business book, wrapped carefully in cellophane and with a title like:TEN SECRETS OF BUSINESS SUCCESS! or BECOME AN ENTREPRENEUR IN SEVEN EASY DAYS!

Don’t waste your money on those American books. They’re so yesterday.

I am tomorrow.

(from White Tiger by Arvind Adiga)

So begins, pretty much, last year’s Booker Prize winner, and your next selection for The Little Book Club That Could, the date for which is Yet To Be Set.

I know what you’re thinking. Another Indian won another Booker Prize? What hold does the sub-continent have on Booker Prize committees? I’ll note that last year’s panel had a British-Sikh comedian (aside: WTF?), and my people are not known for their reasoning or diplomatic skills (“Choose White Tiger, or I will slit your throat…”).

And while I am as befuddled by the appeal of The God of Small Things as the next reader, I will say that India, with its rocketing economy, teeming population, ancient, varied, strange, vibrant, and gorgeous cultures, its place in the Information Age, its new global stature, to go along with its old global stature, is an ideal place to incubate and produce compelling pieces of art. We may add Arvind Adiga’s White Tiger to the list.

The story of Balram, the servant driver from the Darkness of India, and his ascent and adventures as a “social entrepreneur” left me conflicted. The book is written in a charming, sardonic, underdog voice, which is greatly appealing. Adiga says he’s inspired by the Black American 20th century novel, epitomised by Ralph Ellison’s Invisible Man, and the voice of those in the lower places, those that know the score, the reason for their Hell, and are enraged by it.

Adiga is no Ellison, but he captures, or imagines the reality of one foot soldier in the Army of the India’s Servant Underclass. Scores of men, women and children from the “Dark”-er states of India drive the cars, serve the tea, and till the fields of those in the Light. This book is an antidote to the elephants and ashrams and spices we’ve come to expect from the sub-continent. It casts a light on the side we never see.

Or, at least, I think it does. We really have no way of knowing. The book’s authenticity rings true, but that might have more to do with my overeducated, liberal ear than whatever might be the case. Does the poverty described in the book fall into the same exoticism trap the rest of country seems to fall into? Can we survey the country without seeing saris and dance numbers, without hearing strains of the sitar and thumps of the tabla? My fear is that I’m trumpeting a book that might be adding a brick to the edifice it professes to break down.

I hope you read the book and bring your thoughts. To confuse you further, A. and I will serve a selection of delicious Punjabi dishes and their accompaniments. Please let us know if you’ll join us.