the bomb party

Last book club today before I leave for London, and we discussed Graham Greene's Dr. Fischer of Geneva or The Bomb Party.

Greene emphasizes, throughout, that this is a story of human greed. He argues, again and again, that rich people can be greedier than poor.

Leaving that book -- and I'm warning you now, I will spoil the ending, so stop reading this post if this is a book you want to read -- I feel like I forgot to ask why Fischer killed himself?

Can it have been so simple as loneliness? Or having seen proof of the power of human greed? I feel like there was no specific reason for Fischer to have ended his life, at least no specific reason that set apart that particular night from any other. Am I missing something?

In other book news, I also wrapped up The Third Angel this week. It's a lovely read, though not nearly as straight-forward as Greene's. Alice Hoffman's stories are like dreams -- ephemeral and, somehow, just out of reach.

One of the character's in the book is an author, who mentions again and again that her children's story can be read backwards to make for a happy ending. (Read straight-forward, it has a sad ending.) Similarly, one might consider taking a second stab at The Third Angel back-to-front, in the name of continuity and, indeed, a happier conclusion.

In other news:

If I were to look forward to one Fringe show, I think it might be "The Survival of Pigeons As Observed By Human Lovers" from Surreal SoReal Theatre. Or "Death: Live!" (Yes, there were previews of both Saturday night at the Roxy.)

Mad Men is back! I literally couldn't wait all day to watch tonight's episode and see the new set. Detailed recaps of Episode 1 here and here.

third rock from the

Ok, so today's link is not brought to you by "books," per se.

Or, you know, at all.

And this is because -- like you, I imagine -- I have a bunch of things on my plate today. Like shopping and yoga and Street Performers' Festival. And, at some point this weekend, Much Ado About Nothing. Not to mention, I need to finish The Third Angel (it's bad that so far I love the drug-addicted rock star character more than the other characters, right? like another example of my bad taste in men? right...) so I can read Graham Greene ahead of next weekend's book club meeting.

So, the link: Choose-Your-Own Geek. I pick Joseph Gordon-Levitt, obviously. And, of course, got the link from the Fug Girls.

three down, like a million to go?

If I were to tell you about books today, here's what you would absolutely need to know:

1. It's summer, so I am reading an Alice Hoffman novel called The Third Angel. Some authors write characters you come to feel close to -- people you feel like you are actually getting to know. Others describe characters so steeped in mystery, so ultimately distant, you are only an observer. Hoffman happens to fall into the second category, and so the stories she weaves are fascinating and otherworldly, but nonetheless addictive. Here's a review.

2. Speaking of reviews, you have to read Michael Hingston's piece on Elliot Allagash here. He manages to bring the word "analogue" and a comparison of F. Scott Fitzgerald to the paper.

3. Also on reviews, Jennifer Weiner has another book out this summer. Which ushers in the necessary, well, whining about how serious book reviewers don't take chick lit seriously. What I think might be more interesting about this blog post, though, is the question about how much is too much self-promotion via Twitter and Facebook and social media. Is it gross that I think this is kind of a major dilemma for writers?

4. I managed to pack three boxes of books last night! Yeah, baby, I'm going to fight so hard to ensure packing up my life by mid-August is not a total freaking nightmare....

But to be totally honest, I did not start this blog post because I wanted to talk about books.

I started this particular post because I wanted to discuss how much I continue to love Ewan McGregor after all these years. Sigh.

let's get it started

(Yes, I think I'm hilarious if I can title a blog in such a way as to leave a song stuck in your head, dear reader. How to get rid of the song, you ask? I suggest Yellow Submarine, of course. Or maybe Sarah Silverman, since you can find this virtually everywhere.)

So, I'm just 60 pages into What is the What, and I'm torn.

It's written so well, but somehow seems like a slow start. It's hard to call it a slow start when the main character is bound and robbed in his American apartment -- I'm not ruining anything for you, fellow book club members, as this happens in the first 10 pages -- but I really want to get to Africa. I want to get to what happens to the Sudanese Lost Boys, to the story. I'm feeling slightly sidelined by the main character's memories of his daydreams from when he was a child.

Also, every time I read the words "TV Boy," I think of "Sick Boy." And then I think of Ewan McGregor (but not, ironically, Jonny Lee Miller), and then I've lost focus altogether.

Where was I? What was I saying?

Hm. In other news....

• Alice Hoffman has a new book coming out this spring. This is very exciting. I love Hoffman; she can make a strawberry seem fascinating, mysterious and somehow ghostly. A summer's day, in her hands, is shadowed by danger. A clear night is a dream. The moon has power. I can't wait to read this.
• While I have given up on Jennifer Crusie's blog, I appreciate it when an author has a full list of upcoming projects.
• I can find nothing new on another favourite author, Ann-Marie MacDonald. This makes me sad.
• Quarterlife apparently did very poorly in its television premiere last week. I didn't watch it either, but that's mostly because I'm addicted to its internet presence. I was especially addicted during the writer's strike, but even now I tune in every Sunday and Thursday. Even if it's horrifically overdramatic at times. But I think the hero and heroine, Dylan and Eric, remind me so much of people I've known (and The Sweet Edge, actually) and been and mocked that I can't help but enjoy.