RIP CHALLENGE: Edgar Allen Poe ( with ratings!!!) Vol. 1

10 ravens= scary as hell

5 ravens= mildly discomforting; but really just me thinking E.A.P was on drugs

1 raven= try harder: that Gilmore Girls Episode with the dueling Raven-recitations when the Poe Society visited Stars Hollow was scarier.

The Pit and the Pendulum:

Bloody hell! I could hear the pendulum squeaking back and forth in creaking time like the deathly toll of a clock. This is one long-played-out-heart-catching-throat-tightening tale of horror.

From the beginning of the story when the narrator ( I am hesitant to say protagonist because it is hard to know anything about him: other than his willful wiles when it comes to executing a desperate plan ) is sentenced to death and he pronounces his absolute hopelessness at his situation; through his captivity in a prison like a damp catacomb; to his reaching through a parade of rats for the heavily spiced meat meant to spring him into even further thirst and madness by his tormentors and finally through his realization that he has been strapped to a board with the dangling axe of a lethal pendulum swinging ever nearer him, I was completely hooked. This is brilliant suspense reading and kept me, as it did the narrator, hanging by a thread.

The fact that the story is set during the trials of the Inquisition painted an even more eerie canvas 10 RAVENS

( read it online)

The Black Cat:

Okay, this one is just gruesome. Poe, you are one strange cookie. There is some thematic relevance pointed when the narrator’s affection for the cat is thus transplanted to the cat when the narrator first kills him.

Yes, there is a dead cat: with a white patch of fur noose-like ringing his neck and one eye gone. There is also a woman. And a wall. And blood and gore and monsters and gore and …..

Weirdness. 6.3 RAVENS

(read it online)

The Masque of the Red Death:

Ummm…. So I guess our friend Poe is into history because here we are again in another century: this time engulfed by the Black Death or Plague. A pompous prince throws a shin dig at his gothic castle and from tile to buttress there is an impending whistle of doom. This castle is populated by several coloured rooms: one a glowing, ethereal red that just forebodes death and destruction. And, well, whatdy’a know…. It does.

WTF? 2.0 RAVENS

(read it online)

The Fall of the House of Usher:

This one begins very much like I imagine Robert Frost’s Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening to play out. Traveler on the crust of the woods overlooking an estate he knows ----or once knew---- but, it really turns into very much like I imagine Robert Frost’s Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening to play out if it ended with BLOODSHED, DESTRUCTION and MAYHEM! And people built into walls and houses crashing ( think House of Clennam at the end of Dickens’ Little Dorrit ) and DESTRUCTION and MAYHEM. I bet E.A.P. had trouble sleeping at night. 8.7 RAVENS

(read it online)

The Tell-Tale Heart

Umm. This is the one with the floorboards. And the creaking. And the throbbing and the pulsing and the ….GOOD GOD ….make it stop. It reminds me of that bloody pendulum. 9.0 RAVENS

( read it online)

The Cask of Amontillado

This is the one that you don’t want to read if you are in any way, shape or form claustrophobic. 8.0 RAVENS

(read it online)

More Poe soon to come: including The Poe Shadow by Matthew Pearl: because if he did such a stellar job of Dickens, his Poe can't be half-bad!

I love RIP CHALLENGE TIME!

RIP CHALLENGE: The Last Dickens by Matthew Pearl

The Last Dickens by Matthew Pearl was a spontaneous addition to my RIP Challenge reading… and a perfect choice.

I am very interested in Dickens. Thus, I was excited to dive into Pearl’s novel about the shady circumstances surrounding Dickens' untimely death and the mysteries unsolved regarding the unfinished manuscript of The Mystery of Edwin Drood.

Drawing on figures fictional and historical and even Charles Dickens himself, Pearl weaves a splendidly theatrical and at times chilling and horrific yarn about one of the world’s most famous writers and one of literature’s greatest mysteries.

The chapters devoted to the past and, in particular, to Dickens' reading tour of the States are as compelling as those unraveling in present time. While in Boston last year, I was delighted to trace snippets of Dickens throughout the gorgeous historical city and those interested in how massive book events came to pass in the 19^th Century will be really intrigued. Also, it was well known that Dickens devoted himself to largely theatrical unveilings of some of his larger-than-life characters ( imagine women swooning as he retold the gruesome butchery of Nancy at the hands of the evil Bill Sykes in Oliver Twist). Pearl’s research on this subject and on Dickens’ literary tour are sublime.

Publishing aficionados will be in heaven with Pearl’s exposition of the trade and especially of Bookaneers: book pirates who would steal into readings, take jot notes and re-sell the material overheard in cheap abridged versions thus completely obliterating the strict ethical code dueling publishers held sacred. I also very much enjoyed reading about the transportation of manuscripts from England for serial publication in the States: a high-stakes game, publishers would have to sneakily pick up the goods whilst stingy and wily bookaneers kept evil watch on the sidelines. It is here that The Last Dickens begins. Publisher James Osgood is horrified to learn that the trusted clerk, Daniel Sand, he sent on a mission to retrieve the last existing installment of Drood before Dickens’ death, has been run down by a cart in the street. The police prove that Daniel Sand was under the influence of opium at the time and while Osgood and Daniel’s sister Rebecca find this highly uncharacteristic, the missing piece of the Drood puzzle requires a trip to England and into a dark and sinister web of characters, plots and deeds.

The Last Dickens splits its time equally between Boston, London and India. The novel (especially the portions in India) focuses greatly on the Opium Trade ( see: Opening Chapters of Edwin Drood ) and Dickens’ son Frank’s military service (Canadians should note that Francis Dickens also served time as a Northwest Mounted Policeman and can read of his adventures in Dickens of the Mounted).

There are some really chilling moments: in an opium den, revisiting a gruesome Boston murder and a tale in a graveyard involving a father whose missing son’s bones rained down upon his head from a hidden roof compartment. The scenes at Dickens’ writing cottage in Gadswill are splendidly atmospheric and the premonitory events following Dickens’ Staplehurst train incident ( a pivotal moment in the author’s life and in the book) are just about as climactic and heart-stopping as one will find in suspense fiction.

The elements of theatricality permeating the tale expose themselves in eerie and grotesque ways: especially when characterized by a female stalker who forces Dickens to read her manuscript aloud in a tragic and darkly humorous scene and by the elusive Dick Datchery---- a sinister and mentally unbalanced figure who claims that since Dickens hypnotized him he has been reincarnated as one of the colourful characters from The Mystery of Edwin Drood.

This novel is very rich and very suspenseful. While there is more than a healthy dollop of history ( especially literary history ) interwoven, it is an engaging read. Pearl certainly understands even the minutiae of the time period and his characters, including Charles Dickens, leap off the page. The dialogue is wonderful and every slight happenstance is rendered with the greatest assertion of verisimilitude. It is one of the best written books I have read in a stint.

I was absolutely smitten.

this makes me happy....

Y' know Arthur Slade?: best Canadian YA author ever?

yah. him.

Anyways, read this over at his LJ. This picture made me very happy!

And while you're at it, go read this or you can go read this and maybe even pre-order this (which comes out on Feb 13th-- the day before my birthday! huzzah!)

okay. I have a party to go to.

Go read things.

The Jewel Box by Anna Davis

The Jewel Box by Anna Davis has been my subway book the past week. I picked it up on a whim at the Reference Library in the Browse section while I was picking up other holds.

It’s not that great--- but it is perfect for the subway.

In the morning while I am sitting, half-awake, I need something light and that doesn’t require a lot of thought: this was the right book.

It was unremarkable but amusing.

Diamond Sharp is London’s gamine and sparkling columnist. Sort of the Candace Bushnell of her day, Diamond recalls swinging 1920s West End Life: martinis, dance clubs, flappers, bobs and the hottest music and wildest men.

In real life, Diamond is Grace Rutherford: a smart if somewhat dourly introspective publicist who lives with her sister, niece and nephew and her mother and yearns for the past.

When Dexter O’Connell, famed, prize-winning American novelist arrives on the scene and awakens elements of the past, Grace and her sister are forced to confront secrets that they have holed silently for years.

I really enjoyed the setting as I have rarely read books set in 1920s London.The love triangle between Grace, Dexter and neighbour John Cramer was a tad redundant but, I suppose, did move the strain on the sister’s relationship to a well-established breaking point.

While I enjoyed the insertion of Grace’s “Diamond Sharp” columns and respected Davis’ handle of the lingo of the age, I couldn’t help but feel something was missing. Some spark or sense of passion.

It all played out very paint-by-numbers. That being said, it was a good pick for wiling subway hours away. Davis mentions in an afterward that the likes of Zelda and Scott Fitzgerald and Ernest Hemingway inspired the lush and lavish landscape of her gilded tale. This book left me with a hankering to revisit the real thing.

RIP CHALLENGE: Where Serpents Sleep by C.S. Harris

Hurrah for Labour Day weekend! I got to finish the first book from my personal RIP Challenge list!

Yesterday during a few beguiling hours in Philosopher's Walk ( a favourite reading spot in Toronto), a pumpkin spice latte warming my hands from Toronto's first chill and today: on the subway, before meeting up with friends to play boardgames, and now, at night in my own little apartment..... I READ! READ! READ!

In the fourth Sebastian St. Cyr Mystery, Where Serpents Sleep, Sebastian is summoned by Hero Jarvis to help him solve the slaughter of eight prostitutes, brutally murdered and then burned inside the Magdalene House for Reformed Prostitutes. Hero is the only witness having been near the Magdalene House doing research on how 18th Century Society determines which women will survive and which will be tossed into the streets by financial circumstances and birth.

An unlikely ally and the daughter of the Prince Regent's First Cousin, Hero proves years ahead of her time. Unlike the other society women of the Ton, Hero is rambunctious, smart, brave and stubborn: a perfect counter to the gentlemanly and darkly enigmatic St. Cyr. Together with Sebastian's usual companions: Tom, his "tiger" and helpmate and Paul Gibson, a veteran and surgeon, Sebastian and Hero race against time to stop a plot that peripherally involves the assassination of Britain's Prime Minister.

Harris, as always, does a wonderful job of keeping the suspense in first-rate order from the beginning of the book. Moreover, she inserts enough factual historical detail to make one insatiable for more of the period after turning the last page.

I preferred this to the first three St. Cyr novels ( though altogether excellent ) because I prefer Hero Jarvis as a companion to Sebastian and not Sebastian's (rather cliche ) lover/actress Kat Boleyn.

Having revealed a plethora of St. Cyr family secrets in past volumes, Harris was able to plot the characters and unravel the mystery without being burdened by side-stories and revelations. For this I was very glad.

This was a perfect addition to the RIP challenge because it was chock-full of suspenseful, scary moments ( including a claustrophobic episode trapping Sebastian and Hero beneath the ground near St. Clement's as the tide threatened to pull in and drown them. Darkness shrouds them with nothing but a flickering lantern to quell their seemingly disastrous fate). Harris does a wonderful ( if gruesome ) job of describing the carnage wreaked on the unwilling victims: culminating in the death of one of the most likeable characters in this instalment.

Throughout, Harris mentions the transition from the age of oil to gas and I was especially intrigued by her expositions on lanterns. I could easily imagine the sleek dark streets, peppered with the transient light of gas. I could smell the refuse lining the ramshackle streets and hear the clop of horse's hooves as Sebastian steals through the London night.

An excellent series pairing two very unlikely people against a callous and horrible series of crimes.

Sebastian remains a winning and complex hero with more than one skeleton in his past. I await the day when we learn more of his experiences in the War and how they shaped his current moral compass.

I can't wait to read more of Hero and Sebastian's dual adventures!

Visit C.S. Harris' website

Death by Fame: A Life of Elisabeth, Empress of Austria by Andrew Sinclair

After my trip to Vienna this summer, I became somewhat enamoured of the enigmatic and ridiculously fascinating Elisabeth or "Sisi", wife of Franz Josef.

The Austrians adore her in the same way that the Brits adore Princess Diana and, like Eva Peron, she remains a figure of conflict: to some an emblem of quiet charity, to others an over-spender who fell victim to a life of excess.

Elisabeth is anything but a slight princess of rigid occupation who settled quietly into the string of the seemingly unending Hapsburg Rule. Sisi was a thinker, a modern woman, an athlete and a sportswoman who, in many ways, forged the path for modern femininity.

A victim to the structure of her marriage ( at 15 ) to Emperor Franz Josef and all too in love with yet fearful of the public eye, Elisabeth was a martyr to the cult of her beauty.

She enjoyed her foot-long tresses ( it took several hours to braid them in regal crown ); her 20 inch waist and her strict physical regime.

Elisabeth's diet ( one of the earliest recorded of anorexia) often saw the Empress undergoing monstrous control: from two glasses of goat's milk a day; to beef broth and a single biscuit: all while strenuously hiking, riding and performing acrobatics in her personal gym.

I was fortunate enough to trace the steps of Elisabeth in two cities: Innsbruck and Vienna.

At the Sisi museum in Vienna, you are walked through the Empress's life and her keen, glorious sense of fashion. You are also led through the Royal Apartments at the Hofburg Palace: which have been kept in the same resplendent fashion which welcomed Elisabeth, her husband and her children. Though she did not occupy as much time at Schonnbrun Palace, there are still traces of her there.

At the Hofburg in Innsbruck, rooms set for the traveling Elisabeth are kept in pristine order.

Elisabeth was a poet who yearned to emulate the style of the great classicists ( and even learned Greek in her latter years); a nomad who couldn't bear the refines of Court life so fled all over the continent; a master hunter ( Sinclair's book notes her riding and hunting skills and even excursions which put her in the path of the great English hunters and even Queen Victoria; and a tortured woman succumbing to melancholia.

Though she spent herself in the case of beauty and precision; she abhorred the feeling that everyone was staring at her.

Several events which catapulted the near end of the Hapsburg Reign ( from the execution of Maximilian to the infamous double-suicide of her son Rudolf and his mistress Marie ) are explored in depth in this expressly readable biography.

The climactic scenes of Elisabeth murdered in Geneva at the complacent hands of an Italian assassin who merely wanted to kill a Royal, not caring which one, are moving.

I thoroughly enjoyed revisiting the life of this fascinating monarch.

Sinclair argues that in Sisi's case, like Grace Kelly, Princess of Monaco and Diana, Princess of Wales, Fame becomes a harrowing catalyst and while the after-death popularity of each of the aforementioned strains to the point of near-cannonization; the lives of each lived are tumultuous, fascinating and a supreme example of the many contours of human life.

Incoherent Ramblings about the BBC Sherlock Part II: The Blind Banker

First. Read this article because I seriously like it.

Here we are in the second installment of the series and after the teaser involving some ceramic tea pots we cut to Watson who is trying to figure out how to use one of those automatic Grocery check-out machines. Cue a bit of domestic tension as Watson arrives home to Baker Street and he and Sherlock have a spat about who should be in charge of groceries, Sherlock should go to the bank…etc., etc., So they GO to the bank and there is much deduction to be had because a former schoolmate of Sherlock’s points him to ciphers that have been painted over two refined portraits in the upper class bank.So Sherlock deduces and scopes things out and his brilliant coat ( which has had much attention here and here ) flutters against the sleek London backdrop and Watson is just brilliant and there are MYSTERIES! And CIPHERS! And CHINESE CIRCUSES and ACROBATS getting through windows.

....ANNNNND! SHERLOCK ALMOST GETS STRANGLED!

....And WATSON gets a date.

....All is very well as the two run about decoding things and being altogether swell. 

WHAT LARKS! The GAME IS AFOOT....

Several sources have noted that this is probably the weakest of the three instalments and I would agree. But, it is only weak in comparison to how dazzling the book-end episodes are. Compared to other telly it is simply marvelous.If I am ever in a tight spot, I want Martin Freeman to bail me out.Their domestic spats are charming and the relationship is slowly, and brilliantly, developing. I sort of missed Lestrade in this episode because I am a big fan and his casting, as with the rest of the series, is perfect.You want some Moriarty?---- whispered against the backdrop like a gothic sigh? You got him.

Highly entertaining, funny and fast-paced and sort of like Sign of Four and sort of like the Adventure of the Dancing Men and all in all a modern homage to the greatest series ever!

So hugs all around( and a double hug to Benedict Cumberbatch because that guy rocks my socks in this role! )

RIP CHALLENGE

I did Carl's RIP Challenge a few years back and did I ever enjoy!

I have been hankering for Fall more than ever this year ( probably due to how hot and unbearably humid Toronto has been this week ) and I am aching for scarves and cups of tea and foggy, dark Autumn nights with sleeked wet pavement, low-light and a good book.

A good gothic-type book with the hooves of hansom cabs; the flicker of kerosene; the dense atmosphere; a murder or two....

So, I am excited EXCITED to take part in this challenge!

I have decided to read the following for this year's RIP CHALLENGE:

1.) Where Serpent's Sleep by C.S. Harris

2.) Edgar Allen Poe's Tales of Mystery and Madness

3.) The Perfume of the Woman in Black ( and other stories ) by Gaston LeRoux

4.) The Keeper of Secrets by Judith Cutler

(5.) optional: The Physick Book of Deliverance Dane by Katherine Howe

I also really enjoy the fact that there is a film component to this challenge. For this, I plan to view:

The 39 Steps

Double Indemnity

the Big Sleep

a cornucopia of books I have read recently whilst i have been avoiding this blog

The Book of Fires by Jane Borodale is set in 18^th Century rural England and London. After surviving a hellish rape and subsequently stealing enough to forge her way to the grimy and vast city of London, Agnes begins a life pregnant and alone.

With the exception of a tawdry and mysterious woman she meets on the coach, Agnes is altogether alone. Happenstance finds her on the doorstep of the Rochester-like Mr. Blacklock; a surly and seemingly meretricious man whose great possibility lies in his quest to add light to fireworks. As his assistant, Agnes deals in all manner of pyrotechnics; liaises with the other mistresses of the Blacklock household and flirts with the advances of a mature admirer or two.

This book is dense and the writing is beautiful. I found the subject matter and Borodale’s attention to detail captivating. Moreover, I enjoyed the unique feel of the book and the wholly unexpected turn at the ending.

Readers of Geraldine Brooks will be in their element.

I have also read the entire Isabel Dalhousie series by Alexander McCall Smith. Isabel Dalhousie is an erstwhile detective with a tender and seminal perspective into human psyche, morality and a casual judiciousness which sets her apart from numerous other female detectives. With the same quirk, warmth and heart as Smith’s other great lady detective, Isabel is rather the Precious Ramotswe of Edinburgh. Smith paints his native Scotland with a coloured grey light often calling on Auden and Burns to collaborate in his portrait.

C.S. Harris is my other discovery of late, What Angels Fear was intended as a quick beach read; but I soon found myself falling for the series. I have heard the hero, Sebastian St. Cyr referred to as a hybrid of Mr. Darcy and James Bond and this representation is accurate. Harris writes a gripping and graphic mystery and the first two of the series ( the rest are already checked out of the library ) were wonderfully-paced and chockfull of interesting tidbits from the Regency Era. The inclusion of politics and the seedy underworld of England at that time are well-rendered and I especially love her characterization of the foppish and boorish Prince Regent himself.

A Civil Contract by Georgette Heyer was a book I had wanted to read for quite awhile. I had heard it didn’t fall in line with the traditional romance ---- especially not any romance of Heyer’s ilk. What I found instead was a careful meeting of minds. A marriage of convenience, tradition and civility that blossomed not into passionate love rather into mutual understanding and respect. I must admit to being someone devoid of my usual Heyer-fulfillment at the end due to the fact that Jenny’s long unrequited love for the dashing and solemn Adam was not reciprocated in the way she desired. Instead, it seemed as if she was settling for the only love from him she was likely to have. The story wrapped up neatly; but not with the same heart-stopping felicitation as other Heyer novels. This certainly made it more believable and certainly the dark undertone of the story spoke to Heyer’s malleability and craft. That being said, I read Heyer for romanticism and while I got it in a small scooping, I wish I had been overcome with it at the end of the novel. A very well written book.

The Help by Kathryn Stockett was one of the best-written books I have read in an age. Mindful of its hype, I stepped in hoping it would make a passable plane read. It certainly did. I read it in the 9 hours from Austria to Toronto. The vernacular of the two contrasting African American maids and the southern white woman who records their circumstances and stories is nothing short of amazing. Stockett permeates her book with a strong emotional conscious reflective of her own experience with her own maid. At once heart-warming, tragic and amusing, the book holds all the yo-yo ups-and-downs of real life. Moreover, it boasts a contextual relevance and inspires a frightening realization that the history so painfully rendered in the novel is not so far off.

Incoherent ramblings about the BBC Sherlock: Part 1 A Study in Pink

DISCLAIMER: this is just me rambling on and on and on....

The BBC Sherlock is the greatest thing to ever happen to the world. Seriously.

The absolute best thing to ever happen to the world.

For a Sherlockian, there is a ton here to be geeked out about and I don’t really know where to start because practically every minute offers something that makes me clap and giggle and jump up and down.

So, to begin on what may just turn out to be the best and most complete rendition of the canon since Jeremy Brett, I really should take us episode-by-episode.

First off, if I have not alluded to this before, I am a massive SH fan. I have been since I was in grade 9 and read Silver Blaze for a class assignment ( followed by every subsequent short story and novel ---56 of one, 4 of the other )

So, this massive SH fan was very uber excited to see how the genius behind  Dr. Who would give a modern adaptation of Sherlock treatment.

I have always thought that SH could easily be transplanted into the 21^st Century because his brilliant mind is not exclusive to Victorian sensibility and his methods and deduction are so precise they could easily take a sharp-shooter approach to modern crime. Holmes’ fascination with forensics and his ability to observe what others have merely seen are certainly not century-specific. With this deduction --- not agnostic to time--- he could easily apply his genius to modern day London. Moreover, the characters and specifically the relationship between Watson and Holmes is what is so lasting about the series.

A Study in Pink, the first of the three part series, is a wonderful re-imagining of the first story introducing Holmes and Watson. It first appeared in serial format in Beeton’s Christmas Annual and propelled the characters into almost instantaneous fame. The most pivotal moment of the story is when Stamford introduces Watson to Holmes after determining that each is looking for a flat mate.

This immortal scene, set in St. Bart’s Hospital, has even been commemorated in London with an historic plaque. The meeting is here modernized; but its exposition is almost exactly the same.

Set up: Watson, having returned from the modern conflict in Afghanistan, has been suffering from a psychosomatic limp and seeing a therapist who attempts to work through his trust issues and wean him away from his horrific experiences by encouraging him to keep a blog. This, for narrator ( or Boswell ) Watson, is a stroke of genius in the modern adaptation. Watson is given an introduction as a writer and a perfect platform to relay his adventures with Sherlock. He runs into an old colleague and expresses the state of his dwindling army pension ( see: original ). Stamford introduces him to Sherlock who immediately observes his military bearing and his need to go “snacks” ( that’s Conan Doyle terminology ) on a flat in Baker Street.

Sherlock is introduced staring interestingly at a cadaver which he subsequently takes a riding crop to in hopes of highlighting bruising which would crack a case. This is, of course, barbaric way to meet someone and certainly not Inspector Barnaby but it is wholly canonical and thus alright with me.

The visuals in the series and the representation of Sherlock’s genius are very well married to the modern feel of the production. For example, when Sherlock is explaining how he knew so much about Watson on first observation, there is a freeze-framed flashback of what Sherlock saw on Watson’s physiognomy and on his phone ( rather like the moment he deduced that Watson’s brother was a drunk in the Adventures). Watson is, of course, thoroughly impressed and their relationship established.

As in the series, Sherlock is always flattered and surprised when Watson compliments him. The canon recites him “blushing like a school girl” when Watson or Lestrade praised his methods: offering a funny counterpoint to the often arrogant attitude he displays.

The mystery itself is intriguing as it presents a puzzle of seeming murder-suicides, the key being a lady in pink who breaks the trend of all previous victims. As in A Study in Scarlet, it appears as if she was writing the word “RACHE…” on the floor before she expired.

Watson and Sherlock attempt to crack the code while pitting themselves up against a maniac who almost outsmarts Sherlock. In the end, Sherlock’s willingness to risk his life to prove himself clever is a resonating theme.

The appearance of Mycroft ( here noticeably smaller in size ) is just as poignant and wonderful as in the book.

Also, for those aching to have a little Moriarty in their Mystery: the famed arch-villain is certainly alluded to.

One of my favourite scenes has Watson questioning Holmes about a mysterious person he has met:

“ I just met a friend of yours”,he explains. Sherlock, having no friends, is absolutely baffled. As soon as Watson responds with “An enemy” Sherlock immediately says” which one?”

Another favourite moment establishes the reticence of the police to work with Holmes. While Lestrade certainly summons him when they are out of their depth, his team, as is the case in the novels, is not so willing to oblige.

Anderson, a forensics expert calls Holmes a psychopath to which Holmes replies: “I’m not a psychopath! I’m a functioning socio-path. Do your research.”

{The above are infinitely better when seen on screen}

Not That Kind of Girl Blog Tour

For a practicing Evangelical Christian ( who posts regularly about Christian fiction) , I was very interested to read about a woman who had discovered life outside of the confines of her Evangelical upbringing.

I enjoyed reading Carlene Bauer's well-written memoir, Not That Kind of Girl which provided an expose on the difficulties of balancing a truth ingrained since childhood with a palpable discovery of a new world as an artist, writer and New Yorker.


Where does one draw the line between what one believes intrinsically and what has been emblazened on one as a sort of second-hand tradition as a product of environment?-- such is Bauer's thesis in what is a gripping and irreverent memoir.

I didn't find this at all an attack on Christianity, fundamentalism or Evangelical life: rather an observation laced with personal anecdotes. Bauer's experience is certainly not universal and while those who are not connected or familiar with the church will indeed be strangers to a lot of the lingo she uses, the themes of insecurity, developing as a person and writer and deciding what, if anything, constructs faith are universal.

A true kuntslerroman, familiarity with literature ( especially of the Beatnik and College Survey course ilk ) are certainly helpful in piecing together the patchwork of Bauer's experience.


Descending from Plath and her contemporaries, Bauer is very interested in capturing moments: fleeting or prolonged in a melange of words carefully formatted to reflect the avant garde poetry she enjoys.

While this at times seems forced, especially in a memoir, and bogs down the otherwise readable prose, her inner artistry and penchant for craft are apparent.


What resonated most with me (a Christian who longs for intelligence, fierce drive and a reclaiming of a religion which preaches thoughtful engagement rather than stark hatred and resentment) was Bauer's empty feeling as a burgeoning critic, reader and thinker: " there was nothing in evangelical Christianity", she writes" suggesting intelligence should be used as a weapon for God, I was sure that when people talked about using our gifts to glorify Him, it meant that Godwas going to put me to work writing devotional guides for teenage girls" (p.60). Bauer is thoughtful, angry, introspective and often right.


The saddest part of the book for me was not her personal fall from Christianity so much so that her voice had left the faith bereft: for a religion which could use a healthy dollop of intelligence and clever, snappy writing, I was sad that we (Christians) had "lost" her.


An engaging, satisfying and very different read about a spiritual journey with more than one road bump.

Bauer respects religion and often tells laugh- aloud stories of its persistence in her life: whether she is trying to run fast away or diving head first in something new.

A refreshing read.


Bauer is quite a prolific writer and you can read an interview with her here

Please visit the TLC tour homepage to learn of other blogs hosting this cutting edge book.

Please purchase a copy of Not That Kind of Girl here!


I would like to thank TLC tours for the copy of this book.
Next up on the schedule:

Monday, August 2nd: A Certain Bent Appeal
Wednesday, August 4th: Sara’s Organized Chaos

I WENT TO AUSTRIA: the post with some bookish undertones and some PICS!

I am currently waiting at Pearson airport for my friend's ultra-late flight to arrive. She had a stop-over in Chicago and seeing as it's thunderstorming there and thunderstorming here in Toronto, our paths will not cross for another---- wait for it-----2.5 hours.

Luckily, I have an Isabel Dalhousie with me and this exceptional new work laptop --- oh so light and compatible and fast and remarkable---- to help pass the time.

Also, kudos to Pearson Airport's free wireless internet.

So whilst I am stuck here.... I thought I might as well talk to all of you..... about musicals and books and musicals and WAIT! shameless Austria photos:

Vienna!

Salzburg ( home of Maria Von Trapp and Von Trapps singing and singing hills and Uncle Max and raindrops on roses and schnitzel with noodles)

Above, near where I am standing, is the gazebo that Leisl and Rolf-the-telegraph-deliverer-Hitler-youth retreated to to dance in the rain.

Exhibit B: me standing high, high atop the scaling cliffs winding to an ancient monastery, the rooftops and spires of the gorgeously Baroque city below.....

I had wanted to go to Austria since I was a little girl. In fact, my love of Austria stems from a book that I read EVERY FRAKKIN' CHRISTMAS


Since I was 11 years old, Vienna has stayed firmly in my mind as a dream place to visit. Since so few people have an almost life-long dream ( and fewer still have that dream come true), I was very blessed to go and have such a fabulous time.
I love to travel and travel as often as I can --- for work and for play---- but I always saved Austria until the time was right and I could do it in the way I wanted to.
So, I started with five glorious days in Vienna--- then a few days in Graz---- then off to Salzburg for three days ( and a slight detour to the Bavarian Mountains to see Hitler's Eagle's Nest) --- then off on a train to Innsbruck for three days ( Innsbruck was amazing) and, finally, to Zurich and Meirengen, Switzerland ( see post below ) because I am a Sherlock Holmes fanatic.
But, back to Vienna Prelude: Have you ever wanted to visit a city, town or country because of a book?
I know that traipsing around England, especially, was satisfying for someone who had spent her formative years knee-deep in Dickens. Equally so was the experience of drinking melange in the Hotel Sacher underneath the portrait of Emperor Franz Josef ---- the self-same place the hero in VP sits midway through a point in a book I almost know by heart.....
Here's a bit of what I wrote about VP on a blog I used to keep back in April 2005 when I was still in University:
Ever since I was a small kid, I have been absolutely captivated by "Vienna Prelude. I still love this book. I always will. It is historical and musical and fascinating. Elisa Lindheim ( our fair-haired protagonist ) is the daughter of a Jewish Entrepreuner but lives in Vienna under the name Linder so she is able to escape the laws forbidding Jews to play music during the lead up to the Reich.

She is a violinist with the Vienna Symphony Orchestra and spends most of her days on trains across beautiful Europe or at the Musikverein in downtown Vienna chatting up some of the hotties from the bass section. Although she looks Aryan, Germany knows the name Lindheim, and once she is seen with her father at a train station even her pseudonym cannot protect her. Her father is taken off the train and held for questioning and Elisa finds her only chance of rescuing him lies in the capable hands of a brash young American reporter who is often referred to as looking like Jimmy Stewart. Elisa and reporter John Murphy have an on-again mostly off-again romance and Elisa becomes an agent in a plan to smuggle jewish children out of Vienna with fake passports. It is nostalgia for me. I read it every Christmas. I also sell out of it quite a lot at the store. It is very romantic and it continues to make me laugh. Rudy Dorbranksky the witty and cavalier concert master who swings his violin bow around like a sword remains one of my favourite literary characters.And Elisa goes off in a taxi at one point and John screams after her while kneeling on the wet cobblestones and it makes you think of Dvorak somehow. ( everything alludes to music in this book).Vienna Prelude is the first "grown-up" book I fell in love with and, thanks to its author, I want to go to Vienna so badly my eyelids hurt.

I just got back from Vienna, Gordon, I hear ya!

A very amusing interview with famed Canadian actor Gordon Pinsent on his decision to take part in the new adaptation of Pillars of the Earth ( which we are all watching for Matthew MacFadyen and Rufus Sewell while completely disregarding the fact that it was written by Ken Follett)

Intrepid young canadian on literary pilgrimage abroad follows in Famous Detective's doomed Footsteps

I recently returned from a fabulous vacation where I traipsed around Austria for two glorious weeks. I am sure there is a lot more to come on this. I tacked on Switzerland to the end of my trip for one sole reason: Meiringen was within my grasp. All Sherlockians are familiar with the Reichenbach Falls and our famous friend’s near-destruction at the hands of the disastrous Moriarty. Literary Pilgrimages, it would seem, are alive and well in my world and I re-capped the adventure and the rather sketchy funicular for my friends. Read on Sherlockian:



Intrepid young Canadian follows in the footsteps of the doomed literary detective during an ill-fated funicular ride


Tonight is my final night in Europe.

My last clean shirt had been saved for today's momentous occasion to the Reichenbach Falls in Meiringen. The Reichenbach Falls in Meiringen, the setting for Sherlock Holmes' demise at the hands of Prof. Moriarty in "The Final Problem." Next to Baker Street ( where I have been *natch*) this is the most important landmark for a Sherlockian.I left my swanky Zurich hotel this morning very early to catch the first train out. Meiringen is a little village about two hours north of Zurich and the earlier I got there, the earlier I could ensure I got back.... I didn't want to get stuck out there forever....

The train trip was beautiful and well worth the price of the train ticket alone.... even deplete of the destination. It was through the picturesque Interlaken district and our train wove around the Alps and through tunnels and over lakes the bright aqua colour one remembers from Banff. You will laugh at my pictures.

They have certainly capitalized on the Sherlock Holmes ( read: 65 year old British male retirees who wear cargo shorts with socks up to the knee and bucket hats with straps while snapping shots with disposable cameras) tourist population.There is an Arthur Conan Doyle Platz, a Holmestrasse ( or street), a statue of Holmes, a Sherlock Holmes hotel, a Sherlock Alpen nightclub and various pictures and reminiscences and signs of Arthur Conan Doyle and Sherlock Holmes.Without Sherlock Holmes, I suspect everyone would skip poor little Meiringen.I might. I had lunch there and it SUCKED. I ordered the traditional swiss lunch: which was beer and a plate which tried to win the title of "how many colours of stewed cabbage can we fit on a platter?"

Some Sherlockians in London have paid a hefty sum for a lot of the work there but the small museum and funicular rides up the Reichenbach Falls are run by a little old Swiss lady and her husband. I loved supporting them. The museum itself has nothing really to show for it, other than a magnificent set of original Strand magazines imported from London and a recreation of the famous Baker Street drawing room.I went in with about 12 British retirees... all about 40 years older than I. I didn't care. I love Holmes.We looked around and I spoke "canon" ( that is to say, any and all things Sherlock ) with some of the men who were flabberghasted by my knowledge.What was best, is they were a bus group from the Sussex Downs ---- where I stayed when I studied in England. Knowing the region, I said: "Where in the Sussex Downs?"To which they answered: " Hastings. Have you heard of it?"Hello?! Christopher Foyle, anyone?

After, I trekked the half hour hike along the trail to reach the funicular which would speed me up the mountain for a view of the Reichenbach Falls and the great, crested stone ridge.Unfortunately, and considering how well I have struggled to conquer my fear of heights this trip (mounting a sketchy bus up that steep, foggy ridgeway to Hitler's Kehl's Stein; how I have climbed 360 steep stone stairs [ without railing, mind you ]to the Glockenspiel in Graz; how I have climbed up 280 stairs to the highest point of Innsbruck: a Cathedral-like Dome which has little to steady you from heading into the baroque rooftops of the great city; how I climbed the abbey walls in Salzburg and saw the benedictine monks atop a hill which not only looks the city over but dates back to 714.......how I climbed up to the Alpenzoo...)Here, of all places, my fear overtook me.A few notes on the rather sketchy Reichenbach "funicular":Funicular, I believe, is synonymous with a rickety old, open wooden cart a la Road Runner when Wile E Coyote is on his tail and the bridge is truncated. The open and exposed cart, or so I saw from my vantage point safely at the bottom, chugs along a very sketchy track ( the men were working on the track with hammer and nail once one funicular got back in preparation for the next) up, up, up to the top of the falls.There are no rails: just open wooden cart and tracks up the rock.Something else of note: there is an aptly placed hospital at the foot of the mountain, I assume to give solace to those who have plummeted to their death and, like Stephen Boyd in" Ben-Hur", rasping incoherently until Judah shows up, are languishing on the point of extinction.

My stomach turned and I looked up, up, up and saw the spray of the falls and looked down at the plaque noting Sherlock's apparent demise at the hands of Moriarty over said falls and thought: NO WONDER HE DIED ....( We will now give you cynics a moment to insert frustratingly:" HE NEVER LIVED"... which we will ignore).

So, I trudged back to Meiringen happy with pictures and more happy that I didn't die in a freak-literary-pilgrimage- accident ( can you imagine the Globe and Mail Headline: Intrepid young canadian on literary pilgrimage abroad follows in Famous Detective's doomed Footsteps"?) on the very last day of my holiday.

See you all soon

The Dream Thief by Catherine Webb

Readers of this blog are aware of my total passion for any and all things written by young British prodigy, Catherine Webb. I adore Catherine Webb's unique style and am so lucky to have invested in her career early on. Watching a young author develop from a young author into a literary force is a great privilege for a keen reader. Readers of this blog will be familiar with my rambling rants ACHING for a new Lyle book, will have read the interviews with Catherine Webb I have stumbled upon over the years and will have heard me squeal over and over again just how much she has revolutionized the reading experience for me. Whenever I lose my faith in literature ( for young adults or otherwise ), I remember that there are writers like her who are willing to take a risk, write passionately and gleefully and completely about what they love.

The Horatio Lyle books are about so much more than just character and plot: it’s the evolution of her writing, I appreciate, her London, the way her phrases string together, the outrageous similes, the poetry, the incessant italics, the dialogue, the stirring emotional resonance, the clips and snippets of 19th Century prose wedded with modern fantasy’s sensibility, the delicious interruptions by the narrative voice, the literal twinkle in her eye when she races to describe a scene. The fact that , while reading, you sense you are having as much fun as Webb did writing. A preternatural author-reader kinship.

The books have sparkle. They are dynamite. They are the apotheosis of clever writing within the umbrella of story arc.


The Dream Thief by Catherine Webb is the fourth offering in this incredulously inventive, wonderful, gripping, unique and imaginative series and it may, just may, have secured Webb an upgrade in the Rachel-Hierarchy-of-Author-Appreciation from favourite YA novelist to favourite contemporary novelist-- regardless of genre. Strong words indeed.

...For no other writer on the planet elicits such a euphoric, magical and sometimes physical response from me.


I ABSOLUTELY QUAKE in anticipation for these books. Unfortunately, their release dates are more often than not more than sketchy and oft-postponed. My copy was secured from amazon.co.uk due to the fact that this Lyle won’t see Canada until the Fall. Iwas in Austria on holiday when the order dispatched and I remember looking up from the public internet terminal at my hotel in Vienna and beaming at the nearest person ( whose bewildered stare could not PHASE my excitement).


My best friend Jess ( who you may remember from previous entries ) also secured a copy of The Dream Thief from the UK asked me to help her describe what makes the Horatio Lyle series so fabulous for her blog.


I summed up the way they make me feel. The EXPERIENCE of reading a Catherine Webb book supersedes mundane details like plot or review. What does the book DO to you?

For real readers, books are far more than pages between hardbound covers. REAL readers feel their senses employed.

Wrote I:


“After reading Horatio Lyle, I don’t want to read anything else for weeks. Everything tastes flat after her prose. It is really hard to pull myself from that world, so I end up starting her book at the beginning again.

Very few authors have that power over me. There is a snap there. A spark. Her books have a taste to them. I can taste and smell and see them and they whiz by in colour.

Her dialogue sticks with me forever after, and my heart literally swells. These books make me tingle! Some books are fun and amusing but don’t really elicit a physical reaction. Horatio Lyle makes me jump and giggle and clap and sigh and catch my breath and read and re-read and re-read sentences over and over again.

I want to hang on every one of her words. I forget to eat. I like to stay up late and revisit, step into her world and just revel in the corners of my imagination reserved for her fabulous workings. I like to click along with her wordy paragraphs and fall into her spell.

She often talks directly to the reader: she’ll invite you on the journey and whisper to you, with a little twinkle in her author’s eye to follow her and you see her alleyways and her London and meet her characters and smell the magnesium and drift into Lyle’s crazy laboratory and dance over stones with Lin.

These books do things to me.

I think it’s the closest I have ever been to being love-sick.”



Catherine Webb also writes adult urban fantasy under the pseudonym Kate Griffin. Visit Kate Griffin's stupendously well-written blog: here. It is one of my missions in life to ensure that all passionate readers of historical YA fiction... or just brilliant fiction.... find themselves as besotted with Lyle as I have been for four glorious years. If urban fantasy is more your cup of Earl Grey, Matthew Swift is going to tickle your fancy.

The Bridegrooms

I really enjoyed Stealing Home by Allison Pittman so I was excited when The Bridegrooms became available. I recently returned from vacation in Austria and before planning on a trip to a largely German-speaking land, I wanted to make sure I took enough English language books to keep me occupied on long train trips and in my hotels at night after exhausting days of sightseeing. Was I EVER right in bringing The Bridegrooms.

I love Americana!: the glorious and idyllic turn-of-the-century years of ice cream shoppes and peanuts, popcorn and baseball. Pittman inserts a healthy whipped-creamed dollop of nostalgia but also a sense of longing and wistfulness for an innocent time out of reach. Vada and her four sisters are startlingly different in personality and thus warrant startlingly different beaux. Not unlike Little Women, the sisters are believably rendered on page and their triumphs and travails were heartwarming! The book spans little more than a week in the life of four girls abandoned by their mother at a young age. The mystery of their mother’s disappearance and the spiriting in to town of The Bridegrooms: a raucous and rowdy baseball team are at the core of this fun and fast read. While so many authors would have planted romance blossoming from the heroine encountering an out-of-towner, Pittman chooses instead to study our concept of romance and our romantic ideals. How much romance can be found in the whirlwind of a traveling sportsman, how much romance exists in the steadfast and stalwart, if somewhat consistent, suitor from your hometown? Garrison, Vada’s patient and virtuous fiancé is absolutely one of the most winning ( if quiet and steady) heroes in Christian fiction this year. This was equally as compelling as Stealing Home. Pittman OWNS this era and I am so glad she stepped up to the plate and hit it into the Christian historical field.