(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....)

Heathcliff....

This is a totally work-safe video.

It is also the suckiest/awesomest thing ever. And book-related.



Wow, eh?

It reminds me of a high school talent show.

Or the faux videos Dawson on Dawson's Creek used to do, where all his friends totally couldn't act and the camera work was questionable.

(Yeah, baby. That's a Dawson's Creek reference. Next I'll hit you with a little Les Miserables/Joey Potter action....)

Have good weekends....

all my embarrassing secrets

Friends: "Your British accent is really, really terrible."
Me: "Hey! Just this morning I was reading Sense and Sensibility out loud to myself and I sounded great!"
Friend: "NO! That can't be true!"
Other friend: "It's her secret single behaviour...."

I'm not midway through Sense and Sensibility, but I must admit I've seriously come around on Elinor.

Yes, she's boring (not Fanny Price boring, but still). Yes, she's not as romantic as Marianne. But she's also not as silly, frankly. The way I think of Wuthering Heights as a teenage girl's fantasy, I think of Marianne as a heroine to the Crushing on Zac Efron crowd. (That's who the kids like these days, right? Zac Efron? Is it bad, by the way, that I too walked out of 17 Again with a wee crush on him?)

Elinor's a heroine to the been-there, done-that, keep your chin up for the love of dignity, set. I think Jane Austen may have liked her better.

And the girl can take a slap in the face like no one's business.

Also, just started reading Joan Didion's The Year of Magical Thinking for book club -- a very strange juxtaposition. [Oh my God. Wikipedia says this book is a classic in "mourning literature." Is there such a thing? Mourning literature? How is that helpful? Of course, it's not supposed to be "helpful," I suppose. For that, one moves on to the self-help section? Ok, stopping my not-based-on-any-facts-at-all rant.]

I've been warned about this one: Writing's gorgeous but the chances of getting seriously depressed are good.

The book starts on this note -- words I imagine typed, zombie-like, soon after the author's husband's death:

Life changes fast.
Life changes in the instant.
You sit down to dinner and life as you know it ends.
The question of self-pity.

2008

So, I rang in the new year at work. Sad, eh? Feel free to feel sorry for me. But not too sorry. A couple friends visited me with coffee and conversation. And I did get to watch Edmonton's fireworks show -- the city's biggest ever, apparently -- live on Global.

Now I'm sipping Baileys and milk and watching When Harry Met Sally... for the second time in a week. (In my defence, I had a head cold all weekend, so I nursed myself with three Meg Ryan movies, including Sleepless in Seattle and You've Got Mail. As the years pass, it appears Ryan's forehead loses its ability to crinkle. Clearly a case of miraculous de-aging.)

(As I type this, it's the orgasm-in-a-deli scene! Woot!)

Anyway, it's time to set a resolution, but all I can think of is "do not lose my gloves this year" and "come up with better name for blog that doesn't steal directly from Tennyson." By the way, if anyone has help in these areas, for example one half of a set of black gloves or a good idea for a title, feel free to send'em along.



Now, some thoughts on books, since my Christmas break was spent in a zen-like state of relaxation at home, curled up reading.

• Wuthering Heights is quite good. In the end, I really enjoyed it and couldn't put it down. I still don't get why it's billed as one of the most romantic books ever, but there are two very likeable characters in it towards the end, and you do pull for them. Sidenote, one of my favourite lines in Bridget Jones's Diary is: "It struck me as pretty ridiculous to be called Mr. Darcy and to stand on your own looking snooty at a party. It's like being called Heathcliff and insisting on spending the entire evening in the garden, shouting 'Cathy' and banging your head against a tree." And now I love that line even more.


• When I think Douglas Coupland, the term "Gen X" pops into my head. Not sure if that's a compliment or not, it's just the first thing I think of. (And there's worse things than being associated with Generation X.) Anyway, I picked up my first Coupland novel, Hey Nostradamus! and it was fabulous. Starts out with a high school shooting in a Vancouver-area high school in the 80s, but more specifically it starts from the point of view of a girl stuck somewhere between life and heaven after she's been shot to death. From there, the book moves on to the life moments and narration of three other people connected, somehow, to the shooting. Amazingly, the book starts and ends on notes of hope. But the meat of it is somehow so disturbing and dire. And so well written. I think Coupland's one of my new favourite Canadian authors.


• I got piles and piles of good books from all the people I love in my life, and I'm so thankful to everyone for their kindness. One of the first books I've delved into is The House on Mango Street, courtesy of my brother and his partner. The vignettes are very, very short, and startling in their choppy prose -- absolutely perfect for taking on a plane, by the way. An example of the clear writing: "My great-grandmother. I would've liked to have known her, a wild horse of a woman, so wild she wouldn't marry. Until my great-grandfather threw a sack over her head and carried her off. Just like that, as if she were a fancy chandelier. That's the way he did it. And the story goes she never forgave him. She looked out the window her whole life, the way so many women sit their sadness on an elbow. I wonder if she made the best with what she got or was she sorry because she couldn't be all the things she wanted to be. Esperanza. I have inherited her name, but I don't want to inherit her place by the window." (p. 11)

crazy in love

When I'm wrong, I say I'm wrong.

(Eh? Like Baby's dad? I know, not funny. Another sad comment on the pop culture quotes running through my mind at any given moment.)

Turns out Wuthering Heights doesn't suck. (I think I just heard the sound of a thousand teenage girls rolling their eyes.) I'm not sure I'd go so far as to call it delightful, but I would certainly say it's gripping. One can't help but continue to read the horrors represented by Cathy and her Heathcliff, like listening to the train-wreck story of truly demonic or insane relatives.

How's this for overdramatic?

"I was only going to say that heaven did not seem to be my home; and I broke my heart with weeping to come back to earth; and the angels were so angry that they flung me out into the middle of the heath on the top of Wuthering Heights; where I woke sobbing for joy. That will do to explain my secret, as well as the other. I've no more business to marry Edgar Linton than I have to be in heaven; and if the wicked man in there had not brought Heathcliff so low, I shouldn't have thought of it. It would degrade me to marry Heathcliff now; so he shall never know how I love him: and that, not because he's handsome, Nelly, but because he's more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of his and mine are the same; and Linton's is as different as a moonbeam from lightning, or frost from fire." (p. 59 in the Wordsworth Classics version of Emily Bronte's tale -- Catherine Earnshaw is explaining to the housekeeper why she will marry a neighbour suitor, and apparently the housekeeper remembers every work 20 years later)

The story is so dark that, while it seems you are presented with the end before the beginning, you have to keep reading.

Again, I know this is a teenage favourite, and clearly I missed out in high school. I'm not sure what makes it such a favourite, though. Enjoyable, it is. But the characters are completely unlikeable. Any young girl silly enough to think this is a depiction of true love is probably asking for heartbreak in her early life.

(Of course, even those who have never met Heathcliff on the page are bound for heartbreak at some point, right? And there's my positive thought for the day.)

But at the very end of the day, what I find most fascinating is how Emily Bronte could possibly have happened upon her subject matter at all.

hot dogs, nudists and Bronte

So, I'm on the night shift this week, which means I'm very easily amused. I spend my days at home writing fiction that is crap. I can't go to sleep unless I read Wuthering Heights (by the way, so far my theory that Austen lovers and Bronte lovers are totally incompatible stands). And I laugh out loud at oddities I find on the internet.

Sad shadow world, eh? But I've been addicted to this blog for months, and this is just one of the many payoffs. (Thank goodness Canadians are generally too uptight to do such things. I have never met a bus driver I wanted to see naked.)

Also, who knew such a thing as this existed? Perhaps I should do PR for them, marrying my love of street meat and gabbering on about things that are completely unimportant.