circa 1987

So, I have to admit to really, really liking 1987 Michael Ignatieff.

When I first started reading The Russian Album, a friend asked if it made me like the federal Liberal leader more, and I said no, not particularly. Really, early on in the book, I had little more than passing admiration for the way the author managed to distance himself from his own family history. Here he was, telling tales of princesses and counts and nation-building and rank-climbing with an eye to the details of history. That didn't make it any less entertaining, or any less challenging, to read. But it carried a whiff of academia in its first pages, as Ignatieff wrote about what the family photograph could mean.

Borrowing from an 1877 article in Macmillan's Magazine, he quotes: "... the sixpenny photograph is doing more for the poor than all the philanthropists in the world..." Further, he argues, "In democratizing the privilege of a family portrait gallery, the sixpenny photograph deserves a place in the social history of modern individualism." (p. 3)

Moving further along, however, the book captures the emotions of adventure, bravery and family history. As Ignatieff gets closer to his own roots in Canada -- through his father's ascent in Nicholas II's court, the passing details of family jealousies and betrayals, through the family's escape from Communism -- The Russian Album becomes a definitively engrossing read.

Perhaps, when one gets to the concluding chapter, and follows Ignatieff's own travels to revisit the past with his elderly uncles, one might find tears in one's eyes.

If one were to have tear ducts, of course.

"I have learned that you can inherit loyalties, indignation, a temperament, the line of your cheekbones," Ignatieff writes, "but you cannot inherit yourself." (p. 220)

The writing, in all, is just gorgeous. I can't help but envy Ignatieff's pre-politics career. His 2009 True Patriot Love is supposed to be a companion to The Russian Album, in that it follows his mother's Canadian roots. In a brief forward, Ignatieff says he began writing the book before he became a politician. Pardon my raised eyebrows on this count.

to 2010

1. Shannon's right. This is smile-inducing. I heart Pacey.

2. I probably heart Joseph Boyden more, though. I'm late telling you all I finished Through Black Spruce -- it was seriously drop-dead gorgeous. It's Boyden's way with dialogue that gets me, his ability to craft separate and complete characters through first-person narrative. Frankly, his voices of Canada's First Nations people are voices I never had the chance to read when I was a child, and I really hope his books are in Canadian classrooms today.

3. Speaking of first-person narrative, Jonathan Lethem's Motherless Brooklyn is a tough slog at first. At first, Lionel Essrog's Tourretic speech is grating, difficult to get into. But pages into the detective novel, it gets really, really good. Admittedly, where other book club members are big on plot, I tend to be big on character development. (Could I read Carol Shields if not?) I found both in this one, and am excited to read another Lethem novel soon.

4. Yes, as Erin pointed out the other night, Motherless Brooklyn will work its way to the big screen later this year, written, directed and starring Edward Norton.

5. On the themes of movies and men I heart, The Young Victoria. I have nothing else to say, really. Oh, yes, I have to marry Prince Albert.

6. Princes.... Michael Ignatieff could have been a prince. In that his grandmother was a princess. Weird, eh? I'm reading The Russian Album. It's absolutely fascinating -- he manages to hit this very academic understanding of his own family history, yet write in such a way that entertains (he did win the Governor General's Award, after all). And, had world history taken a different turn, he would be a Russian count. I know, I know -- like Tory researchers don't have enough to work with.

7. Although I've been big on memoirs lately, I decided to go with a novel for the next book club. We're reading Elizabeth Hay's A Student of Weather.

8. I have a good feeling about this year. I may actually get my own new year's resolutions done for once. More yoga, for example....

Cheers,
T.

remember who you are

Ok, this might be my favourite book dedication ever:

Mom and Dad,

I could never have done this without your faith, support, and constant encouragement. Thank you for teaching me to believe in myself, in God, and in my dreams.

This book...aside from the nine F-words, thirteen Sh-words, four A-holes, page 257, and the entire Warren Beatty chapter...is dedicated to you.

You might want to avoid chapters twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, anything I quote Mom saying, and most of the end as well.

Sorry. Am I still as cute as a button?

Love,

Elna

Cute, right? It's from The New York Regional Mormon Singles Halloween Dance. So far, hilarious.

I'm in the mountains for a few days, and have a pile of books to read. Literally, a pile. Think Cameron Diaz in The Holiday. Yes, I watched that movie. What of it?

My get-relaxed-quick readings include:

Margaret Laurence's The Fire-Dwellers (a companion, it appears, to Laurence's A Jest of God);

Margaret Atwood's The Edible Woman;

Michael Ignatieff's The Russian Album;

Rajaa Alsanea's Girls of Riyadh;

Lizzie Skurnick's Shelf Discovery;

Karen Blixen's Out of Africa;

Joseph Boyden's Through Black Spruce;

and Elizabeth Hay's Garbo Laughs.

Yes, lugging this many books through an airport does land you in a conversation with security folks who have novel suggestions. (Apparently I should read Cormac McCarthy.)