selling Shakespeare

I feel like, had William Shakespeare been born in the 20th century, he'd be a total sell-out. He wouldn't live in London, writing plays. He'd move to Hollywood and write sitcoms and pan to canned laughter. Or perhaps he'd write for one of those halfway good soap operas -- the kind on CBS that actually make sense until the third commercial break, at which point you're sitting on your couch going, "Wha? I thought he died? Huh?"

(Speaking of "wha?" moments on one's couch, I'm half watching the new Peter Krause show on ABC. The guy was so good on Six Feet Under. Not sure he picked a winner here, though.)

My point.... There are artists who, I feel, would be uncomfortable the way their work has been capitalized upon.

This is something I found on another website. I feel like Shakespeare would be cool with it, and perhaps a little disappointed he wasn't making money off it.

one more for the to-read list....

So. I'm visiting my family out east soon, and I have to scale back my spending.
All book purchases, if not at Perfect Books, will be put on hold.
In the meantime, I'm adding to my wish list. Check out this site -- I'm totally looking forward to Governess: The Lives of and Times of the Real Jane Eyres, by Ruth Brandon.

(Speaking of anticipation, and on a non-book note, am I the only one who's ridiculously excited about Pushing Daisies? Yes, I know that TV previews are totally faux and overdone. But it looks so technicolour and quirky and vaguely romantic!)

three things to get excited about

1. Rick Mercer, baby. You know, talking to Americans? He tricked George W. into calling Chretien "Crouton"? And Monday Night Report, which CBC then moved to Tuesday? Well, he had a blog, and it used to be at blogspot, but then he moved it to a glorified CBC site here. Suddenly it was less about rants, and more about photo challenges, which were actually really irritating for those of us not obsessed with photoshop or similar software. How many times can you look at a spoofed pic of Paul Martin giddily clapping his hands in women's clothing before the whole exercise is just boring? ANYWAY, for most people, the best of Rick Mercer is in his rants. This weekend the Globe excerpted parts of his new book which is -- surprise, surprise -- all rants, all the time!
2. Parity! Okay, so I'm actually not that excited about parity with the American dollar.... this is going to sound surprisingly right-wing, I know, but aside from all the rah-rah our-dollar's-as-big-as-yours stuff, this isn't technically good for the economy. But you don't need a woman who pulled woeful grades in Econ 100 to tell you about that. Let's talk about books.... This in from today's Journal: "(Audrey's Books co-owner Steve) Budnarchuk was quick to point out the store can't start selling all its inventory at American prices.... "Be aware that we buy in Canadian dollars from Canadian sources based on the Canadian price, not the American price." Some publishing companies have started pasting lower sticker prices on books distributed north of the border, but prices can't change overnight, said Budnarchuk. He expects customers will start to see charges dip on the winter price lists in December and January."
3. Sir John A. Macdonald. What? You can't name all the prime ministers since Confederation, forwards and backwards? What kind of Canadian are you? (Oh, right. Not a geeky one. Makes sense. And technically I can't name them all. There were four in five years between John A's second round and Sir Wilfrid Laurier's first who were all old and Tory. One of them served for even less time than Joe Clark, and I'm fairly certain one died in office. Their names all sound the same Britishy-Scottishy and I can't for the life of me remember who they were. I hope you, dear reader, are not their great-great-grandchild, because I would hate to offend you.) Getting back on track.... (eh? a little CPR joke for you there).... a new faction book all about him is coming out soon. I love fictionalized biographies. They are so much more fun than the truth....

*How'd I dig up Tupper's name, you ask? No, no, no use of Wikipedia here. I used one of my all-time favourite Canadian history books. Yes, I have favourite Canadian history books. Whatever.

The author, Gordon Donaldson, hilariously titles the fourth chapter of his book -- detailing the short-lived reigns of Sir John Abbott (1891-1892), Sir John Thompson (1892-1894), Sir Mackenzie Bowell (1894-1896) and Sir Charles Tupper (1896) -- "The Pall Bearers."

on book club (briefly)

Myth: If it were not for book club, I would be paging through the last chapters of Stephanie Nolen's 28.

Fact: If it were not for book club, I would have read about three chapters of 28 before the discontinuity between stories made me want to take another break, and I turned to something less brainy. Like a fictionalized biography of Sylvia Plath.

Regardless, I am slowly wading into Saramago's Blindness.

I'm not going to lie to you. It might be over my head. Already, I can tell it's a very important comment on society, and that is what we will discuss at book club next month. I, however, will likely focus on the convoluted (Nobel Prize-winning) writing style.

How do you like this?

To put it simply, this woman could be classed as a prostitute, but the complexity in the web of social relationships, whether by day or night, vertical or horizontal, of the period here described cautions us to avoid a tendency to make hasty and definitive judgments, a mania which, owing to our exaggerated self-confidence, we shall perhaps never be rid of. (p. 21 in Comrade Barbara's hardcover version of the book)

Right. Clearly it's too early to tell whether I will enjoy this work.

define "romance"

So…. I’m about to talk about Jane Austen again. I promise this will be the last blog entry, for awhile, that mentions her. Because really, I’ve been obsessing. Not to mention alienating a certain friend who thinks she hates Austen.

Before I get to my well-argued (hah) argument, however, a few side notes for anyone planning to skip the 19th century stuff:

• I get to practice my skills at being judgemental and bitchy! A round of completely non-celebrity judges have been recruited for this project to help weed out the utter crap before it gets to the real celebrities. Apparently the serialized thriller/competition format was a total success at the Vancouver Province. Will it have legs in Edmonton?
• There’s something about filling out a passport application that makes me really excited. Like, ridiculously so, as I rip through pages of my address book to make sure I have the correct digits for my best friend’s latest abode. And yes, I had to tick off the box on the application indicating I have no firm plans for travel anytime soon. But I’m hoping to hit Italy and France this year, and Poland. Poland is where one of my other best friends lives now, and, according to my Lonely Planet guide to Europe on a shoestring, it’s a very cool place. “Poland’s relatively undeveloped coastline, with its attractive, sandy beaches, and the rugged mountains of the south are sure to delight…. There are lots of off-the-beaten-track destinations to discover, from picturesque mountain villages lost in time to big towns where foreigners are still a rare sight.” Sounds good, no?

Okay, on to the focus of my thoughts today…. And one more warning, people. Total spoiler ahead. I’m completely going to ruin the end of Emma for you, but to be honest, it’s been around for 191 years, so it’s not like I’m about to tell you what happened at the end of a Dan Brown novel or something.

Mr. Knightley is gross.

Okay, read this, and your heart’s going to melt a little around its crusty edges:

“I cannot make speeches, Emma…. If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more. But you know what I am. You hear nothing but truth from me. I have loved you, and lectured you, and you have borne it as no other woman in England would have borne it. Bear with the truths I would tell you now, dearest Emma….” (p. 290)

Aw, sweet, right? I mean, quite fitting for a guy who is kind of boring, really. Kind of dry. Stodgy, even.

But read this:

“I do not believe I did you any good. The good was all to myself, by making you an object of the tenderest affection to me. I could not think about you so much without doting on you, faults and all; and by dint of fancying so many errors, have been in love with you ever since you were thirteen at least.” (p. 312)

Ew.

Sure, sure, 19th century sensibilities, yadda yadda.

Ew.

While reading much of the second half of this classic, I was preparing to make a whole argument about the somewhat despicable formula we love to read or watch in love stories: girl knows boy; boy irritates, mocks, belittles girl; girl realizes she’s not as smart as she thought she was; boy and girl live happily ever after.

Sure, I’ve made the argument before, but I found this passage in a favourite book that suited my points so well:

“The movie When Harry Met Sally did a grave disservice to single people everywhere, by forcing them to look at every friend of the gender towards which they are drawn and wonder: is that who I’m going to end up with? And most of the time, this is not a hopeful, happy question, because if you wanted to end up with that person, you’d already be dating them. Imagine if somebody had told Meg Ryan on that drive from Chicago to New York that she would spend the next twelve years of her life single, punctuated by a handful of relationships that would be both unfulfilling and short lived, and then, finally, just as she is about to give up all hope, who will she be happy to see waiting for her at the end of the aisle? The idiot who just spit grape seeds on her window.” (p. 192, The Big Love by Sarah Dunn)

But now I have to just be vaguely uncomfortable. Yes, Austen tells you from the start that Knightley is about twice Emma’s age. To have his long love spelled out, though, is something else. Even in 1816. And especially when you read how Emma coddles her own befuddled father, a man infantile in his inability to make decisions and immature in his worries. She parents him, so who was parenting her when she was growing up, after her mother died?

Her future husband. Ew.