On the Booker shortlist

Fortunately or unfortunately, nothing validates a piece of work or undertaking more than winning a sort of prize. Just think about it, there are now all sorts of prizes for practically everything. From prizes for movies (Oscars, Palme D’Or etc.), Music (Billboard top 100, Grammys etc),Television (the Emmys ) to more serious activities that get awarded the Pulitzer and the Nobel prizes. The literary world is by no means exempt. One of the more prestigious awards is the Man Booker Prize. It purports to award the best fiction of the year written by a citizen of the Commonwealth or the Republic of Ireland. Of course this is not to say that the judges choices are always unanimously received by the reading public. But like it or not, the prize has the power to change a writer’s life. In this year’s list for example, there are several new authors that we would never have heard of if not for the Booker (see Booker Short List). I don’t think I will have time to finish reading all the books on the shortlist (as of now, I’ve read two out of 6) before the announcement of the winner on the 14th of October. But what I’ve read so far has been really good. It’s a good thing it’s not my job to decide who the winner will be.

After White Tiger (see review under Book reviews category), I plunged into Sea of Poppies by Amitav Ghosh. It tells the story of a group of disparate strangers, brought together by fate in the guise of the workings of the British empire in the Far East to one place, the Ibis. The Ibis is an old slave ship, newly out fitted for its new purpose of trading opium from India to China. But before it commences its opium journey, it must first transport a group of slaves destined for the islands of Mauritius.
With this premise, Ghosh carefully lays in place the stories of the principal characters. There is Deeti, with the clear gray eyes of a witch who loses her husband to opium addiction and is forced to flee her abusive brother in law. Paulette Lambert, an orphan who seeks a way of returning to Mauritius, her mother’s birthplace after she learns that she is to be engaged against her will. Then there is the disgraced Raja Neel Halder, who unwittingly loses all his property to his British partner Benjamin Burnham. And finally there is Zachary Reid, a free mulatto man seeking to make his fortune in the Far East. Despite their different stories they are all forced to flee their circumstances and somehow end up in the Ibis. In the hands of a less skilled writer, the weaving together of these different tales might well seem implausible, even contrived, but such is Ghosh’ skill that he is able to do so in a perfectly convincing way. It is to our benefit that he takes his time to piece together each tale so that they blend together seamlessly. There is also a strong narrative structure that propels the story forward. Length ceases to matter as the story takes you irresistibly along. Don’t be put-off by the shipping jargon and free use of the Bhojpuri language. This is an epic and addictive tale and you will be swept along.
More than the engaging story however and the irresistible narrative, what really elevates Ghosh’ work is the way he perfectly captures the sense of displacement that is engendered by colonialism. Set in the 1830’s when opium was the primary trading good of the British, these were the days when Indian farmers were forced to grow poppy, and only poppy. As Deeti puts it “in the old days, the fields would be heavy with wheat in the winter, and after the spring harvest, the straw would be used to repair the damage of the year before. ..But now, the factory’s appetite for opium never seemed to be sated. Come the cold weather, the English sahibs would allow little else to be planted; their agents would go from home to home, forcing cash advances on the farmers making them sign asami contracts. It was impossible to say no to them.”
Little wonder then that hundreds would be forced to take desperate measures to save their lives and their families, even such measures that would take them far away from all that they know and love. One of the most beautiful passages in the book comes almost to the end, when the characters have crossed the line into the Black Water (the great Ocean), the great unknown…"How had it happened that when choosing men and women who were to be torn from this subjugated plain, the hand of destiny had strayed so far inland, away from the busy coastlines, to alight on the people who were, of all the most stubbornly rooted in the silt of the Ganga, in a soil that had to be sown with suffering to yield its crop of story and song? It was as if fate had thrust its fist through the living flesh of the land in order to tear away a piece of its stricken heart.”

When we speak of vintage clothing, what exactly do we mean? It is generally agreed by dealers that clothing made prior to 1920 is considered antique and therefore have their proper place within the hallowed halls of a museum. From 1920 to 1970 on the other hand can be considered vintage. The 80s are a little bit more problematic and for most, don’t fall within the age to be considered vintage. These days it’s all about vintage. Never has old things been so new than in our days of high technology and high definition. I myself am hard put to say what it is that is so appealing about things that are, if you think about it used and have often seen their best days go by. I would say though that a large part of its appeal would be its “uniqueness” factor. It is undoubtedly much more cool to show up in an outfit that wasn’t put together thanks to Zara, Mango, or even Chanel. The fact that most vintage pieces were not mass produced contributes to its distinctiveness. For other people, vintage is simply another way of recycling; finding new owners for old things that are still beautiful. For whatever reason, vintage is now all the rage, mainstream even as the true purists lament. Nowhere was this more evident than at the recently concluded Salon du Vintage at the Espace Pierre Cardin.
This is the second Salon du Vintage of the year with over 60 stands participating. While a number of the stands carried clothing and accessories, there were a number of stands carrying furniture to satisfy design fans. The theme for this Salon was the Orange Years with a special focus on the 60s. For aficionados it was sheer heaven. Like I said there were a number of stands carrying vintage clothing including Didier Ludot and Isabel Klein who carry wonderful pieces. I love their stuff, though to call them that seems almost to demote their value. These two are simply in a class all their own. Between them their pieces range from early turn of the century (notably Klein) to full on 70s glory. It was so much fun perusing their racks and seeing not just the familiar names (Hermes, Chanel and company but other less known names) what they had preserved. Isabel Klein likewise carried a wonderful selection of accessories, notably beautifully preserved croco skin bags whose patina reflects the loving care their previous owners had given them. When you’ve got time to spare, check out Ludot’s store at the Palais Royal which has these great store windows that look more like a museum window rather than a store. Other notables at the Salon included a stand carrying nothing but retro sunglasses in all shapes and forms and in a range of prices too. I suppose I’ve also got to mention the participation of Killiwatch, though vintage purists might well protest their inclusion, since Killiwatch is probably the most “accessible” vintage store of Paris. Oftentimes they look more like a second hand store rather than an actual vintage store. Their racks were full to bursting with peasant dresses, fur jackets that smelled rather strongly and all manner and kind of boots.
And as if I needed further proof of how mainstream vintage has come, who should I see at the Salon, perusing the same racks as yours truly, but Marc Lavoine and Gerard Darmon. There they were trying on the aviator leather jackets, looking for all the world like regular folks out to spend a few hours in the Salon du Vintage.

Ennuyeux comme la pluie?

Un Jaoui/Bacri, ça s'attend, et ça se déguste comme les bonbons de notre enfance, qui étaient si acides mais si bons.

Mais parfois les loupés arrivent même au meilleur, et on n'arrive même pas à leur en vouloir.

Un film avec à la fois Jaoui, Bacri et Jamel, cela aurait dû être drôle, enlevé, acide. C'est passablement drôle, mais surtout passablement ennuyeux. Est-ce dû au non-renouvellement des acteurs/auteurs? Bacri joue superbement bien, mais il joue encore le même rôle. De même que Jaoui, on ne change pas une équipe qui gagne... jusqu'au moment où elle lasse.

C'est là qu'intervient l'élément extérieur: Jamel, que plus je découvre, plus j'aime. Malheureusement son rôle est réduit au cliché de l'"Arabe", dont la mère est bonne à tout faire pour des Blancs, que le mari bat, et on en passe... Je sais que le discours du film est de mettre en valeur ces préjugés, mais franchement, il y a des moyens plus subtils (et efficaces) que ceux-là.

Bref, on passera notre tour, et on attend le suivant... en espérant qu'il soit meilleur...

This week was literary week as we had two readings and a lecture on our schedules.
On Monday, we made our way to Theatre Montansier in Versailles for a “lecture” of Olga, a play written by Jean Claude de Brisville. Having never been to a French “lecture”, I took it to mean a sort of reading, no different to the readings I am accustomed to. I was in for a surprise as a French lecture is indeed a reading, not of a small part to whet the appetite but of the entire play! In our case we had Michaël Lonsdale, Edith Scob and Jean-Daniel Laval reading Olga on a bare stage. After the initial surprise, I settled down and what is challenging is paying attention to the play as it unfolds without barely any movement on stage except for inevitable shift by the actors as they make themselves comfortable. Olga is the story of Anton Chekhov and Olga, a young actress who would become his wife and their fateful summer in Yalta. In essence it is a dialogue between the two on art and literature and its role in their respective lives. Not much comes to pass in terms of action but the real pleasure to be derived in the play is its ruminative take on art and the way it intertwines with life. To my mind, Lonsdale was perfectly cast as the aging, increasingly tired Chekhov who wants nothing more than to be left alone to create his work. On the other hand, it was a bit disconcerting to watch Edit Scob, (who is undoubtedly a good actress) play a much younger woman given that she is certainly already of a certain age. An interesting night altogether and well worth the trip to Versailles.

This week, I also had the opportunity to meet two authors at their readings at my favorite Anglophone bookstore. Maybe it’s the groupie in me but I was so excited to meet Cara Black and Amy Bloom. I love Amy Bloom’s writing and it was a pleasure to hear her read from Away, her latest novel. It’s always interesting to hear authors read their own work as it gives an added dimension to the characters and readings always give you an opportunity to discuss with them. What is even more interesting is to have a behind the scenes kind of glimpse of their work especially since both undertake an enormous amount of research for their books. In writing Away for example, Amy took a trip to Alaska 4 times and was privy to all manner of journals and memorabilia of early 20th century. According to her, those journals are even more incredible than fiction since they were true stories. Cara on the other hand, sets her stories in Paris and her research leads her to all sorts of nooks and crannies of our city. Who knew for example that the 10th arrondissement used to have over 60 stores dealing solely in crystal? Or that it was the Turkish district? Up until I read her book, I certainly didn’t.


Here's Amy with her rapt audience



And Cara reading from her book...

To kill a mockingbird faisait partie de ma liste de classiques à lire, mais j'en ai tellement qu'il n'était pas particulièrement en tête. Amazon et ses soldes l'ont propulsé en tête (comment ça, je suis totalement influençable?)... pour mon plus grand plaisir, je dois avouer.

Prenant place dans les années 1930, ce roman met magnifiquement en scène l'Amérique de l'après crash de 1929. Une période qui semble en 2008 complètement arriérée et que j'aurais de moi-même placée trente ans avant. Le racisme ne s'y fait pas seulement sentir, il est assumé et est au coeur de ce roman.

Mais la peinture de la société va bien plus loin que ça, et Harper Lee a magnifiquement réalisé une description de cette rencontre des différentes classes sociales: paysans, noirs, urbains. Si le contexte peut clairement être daté, le fond du problème est malheureusement fort actuel, et on oublierai (presque) que cette histoire se déroule dans les années 30.

A travers le regard d'une fillette, le passage à l'âge adulte à la dure réalité de la vie est également merveilleusement bien retranscrite.

Alors, oui, j'ai mauvaise conscience d'avoir commandé par Amazon, et de participer ainsi à la mort des librairies (coincidence ou conséquence: ma librairie de quartier ferme ses portes!), mais je bénis ses e-mails promotionnels qui dirigent mes lectures...

Abba all the way!

Admit it, deep down inside there is a closet Abba fan inside you, just waiting to burst into Dancing Queen. Okay, maybe not but there are enough people that the long running musical Mamma Mia is now a full length movie. Directed by Phyllida Lloyd and adapted for the screen by Catherine Jones, the movie features a star studded cast.
Set in one of the beautiful Greek isles, Mamma Mia is the story of Sophie, who decides impetuously to find out who her father is, in order to have him walk her down the aisle during her wedding. Unfortunately her task is made complicated by the fact that Donna, her mother has never told her who he is and there are three possible candidates for the role. She takes things in hands by sending invitations to the three potential fathers without her mother’s knowledge. Chaos ensues when the three men descend on the island and Donna is confronted with the past.
This is a simple enough story that is told through a number of Abba songs. There is no shortage of exuberance in the movie as the characters burst into song and dance their way to the island. Meryl Streep is incandescent as Donna and she really goes all the way with her singing. I’ve just found another reason to adore Ms. Streep who seems to be excellent whatever role she is playing. Her gal pals played by Christine Baranski and Julie Walters were as well in top form. Of course this being a movie on love, we can’t neglect the trio of fathers played respectively by Pierce Brosnan, Colin Firth and Stellan Skarsgard. Watching the three, one gets the sense that they had enormous fun filming the movie though I have to say that I didn’t think that Colin Firth was particularly convincing in his role. T
All in all this is a fun feel good movie that will have you humming Abba all the way home.

In 1770, the Viennese court was held in thrall by the exploits of the Mechanical Turk, a chess playing automaton. His creator was Baron Wolfgang von Kempelen. The Mechanical Turk was a royal sensation and even embarked on a tour to better display his prowess. From such historical basis, Robert Lohr has crafted a historical novel about the Turk and his creator, von Kempelen. It is now a well accepted fact that the automaton was a clever hoax but not much is known of the person behind the Turk. Where it deviates from history fact is a murder for which the Turk comes under suspicion. If that were not bad enough the hapless victim is the Baroness Ibolya Jesenak , von Kempelen’s former lover.
Lohr distinguishes his novel by the rich imagery and vivid details with which he infuses his prose. Viennese court life and life of the nobility in Pressburg (now known as Bratislava) are skillfully depicted. He captured my attention immediately with the wealth of details with which he presents his story. Even more than the period details however, what really captured me was the theme of struggle between science and religion which was of foremost concern during those times. Von Kempelen (the Pressburg Promethus, as Lohr cleverly calls him), the creator of the machine was indisputably at the forefront of a movement which threatened the religious institution. A great deal of the frenzied prosecution directed against him stemmed from the fear on the part of the religious institution that he represented a great, if not mortal, danger to the institution. For the clergy, “the chess playing Turk represented a presumption in the face of God’s creation.” A gauntlet thrown with such audacity must be addressed in no uncertain terms. There is a particularly wonderful passage in the book which perfectly captures this mighty struggle. It is the scene where von Kempelen is summoned by the Primate of Hungary and Archbishop of Gran (or the Pressburg Zeus to von Kempelen’s Promethus). They enter into a duel of words where Promethus is forced to defend his thinking automaton before Zeus. If only for this part alone, the book is elevated above the usual run of the mill historical fiction.