Hesse, Thoreau, Musset, Gide, Barney, Stowe, Huxley, Pope, Agee

Since my last post, I've finished the biography of Hermann Hesse by Mileck, and I've read Lestringant's Musset, Pierre Lepage's Gide, Jean Chalon's Chere Natalie Barney, Hedrick's Harriet Beecher Stowe and Harding's Days of Henry Thoreau. I also read Bedford's life of Aldous Huxley, a biography of Alexander Pope, and a biography of james Agee.

I won't bore my few readers with everything I didn't know about this or that writer, that Aldous Huxley was visually impaired, to the point he learned Braille, that Thoreau's life was pretty mundane, that Musset died young, that Natalie Barney was independently wealthy. Bedford's biography petered out into quotations strung together, but I suppose we cannot be too harsh as the Huxley papers were lost in a brush fire at their home in California.

I suppose what I have now concluded is not just that writers must have examined their own life, but they also must have experienced very intense moments. This usually means pain and suffering. I have also concluded that they need to struggle for their art. When life is too easy, writing becomes difficult because there is no reason to try and survive. .

Hardy, Allen, Smart, Jonson, Miller, Hesse

Since my last post, I've read biographies of: Thomas Hardy, with many critical comments to his wife despite the fact that he was repeatedly and constantly unfaithful; Elizabeth Smart, a Canadian writer of affluent background -- her life certainly doesn't resemble anyone else's life, at least none of anyone I know who was alive in the thirties, for example; Ben Jonson, about whom I knew very little; Henry Miller, who used his sex life to write, but in a much more direct way than many before him -- was this pornography?; and the memoirs of Walter Allen, a British writer I didn't previously know about, and whose reminiscences were not all that illuminating for me.

I'm now in the middle of a Herman Hesse biography. Overall, I'm starting to think that all writers are hard on the people around them, and suffer money problems. Not a novel conclusion, of course, but there it is.

Baudelaire, Heine

Since my last post, apart from making lots of stuffed pasta for Christmas, I've read a biography called Baudelaire the Damned, by F. Hemmings. It would appear Baudelaire was perpetually in debt, and troubled his mother and stepfather. The book contained photographs of his mistresses, some of which were richly portrayed as Rubenesque. Such a nice change from current fashions. I also read a biography of Heinrich Heine, by Jeffrey Sammons, another writer, of socialist leanings this time, who was a trouble to the women in his life. If it's not money it's women, with these writers. Heine was an assimilated Jew of the Germany of XIXth, and I was interested in the fact that he didn't know until he was an adolescent. I was also interested, as I usually am, in the salonnieres of the period.

Wylie, Wilde, Boll, London, Symons, Carlyle, Seton, Woolf

Since my last post I've read an issue of The Economist, The National Enquirer, The New Scientist, The New Yorker, and The Globe, two issues of OK Magazine, and three issues of Eclectic Reading.

I've also read Carlyle by Louis Cazamian, Carlyle by John Nichol, two catty volumes of Virginia Woolf's journal, although her depression must account for some of the comments; Elinor Wylie by Thomas A. Gray, which made me wonder why the biographer bothered if she was considered second-rate; Ernest Thompson Seton by Magdalene Redekop, about a Canadian writer I've never heard of; Mme du Châtelet by Esther Ehrman, a woman scientist; Heinrich Böll by Robert C. Conard; Oscar Wilde by Heasketh Pearson, which proved witty; Arthur Symons by Karl Beckson; and Jack London by Robert Baltrop.

Gladstone, Palmerston, Flaubert, Camus, Burney, Charrieres, Melbourne

Since my last post, I've read two issues of The Economist and OK Magazine, four of Eclectic Reading, and one of The National Enquirer.

As well I've read Herbert Lottman's biographies of Gustave Flaubert and Albert Camus -- English influenced by the French language; Isabelle de Charrieres by Raymond Trousson; and the six volumes of Fanny Burney's letters and journals. I didn't know Charrieres existed, so I've learned a good deal about her. About Burney, as with my reading of Woolf's diaries, I don't knwo enough to appreciate them fully, and they are not penetrating enough to hold my attention.

I've also read David Cecil's Melbourne, which was excellent, and Philip Magnus' Gladstone, also very good. Aristocrats writing about other aristocrats. I also read Denis Kay-Robinson's The First Mrs. Thomas Hardy. This was written to settle a controversy regarding Hardy that I know nothing about. I've now read a biography of Palmerston by Espley, to complete the quartet of biographies of Victorian prime ministers -- the positions Palmerston took were understandable for the period, but I found them hard to fathom. I've also read a biography of Bessie Head by Gillian Stead Allersen. This latter is written in good but slightly stilted English -- English influenced by Danish.

Ayme, Effand, Burney

So I've read all of Marcel Ayme's novels. Some of them are truly excellent, although they are not know outside France: Travelingue, a tragedy ending in murder, Uranus, an immediate post-WWII novel, La Vouivre, a novel with a fantastical character who is the only remnant of Celtic culture in French myths. I loved them all, written with economy but a great precise vocabulary, characters that are interesting, plots whose ends I cannot predict.

I also read Benedetta Craveri's book on Mme d'Effand, a pre-revolutionary French salonniere. It was mildly interesting.

Finally, I started in on the six volumes of Fanny Burney's diaries. Like Virginia Woolf's, I don't know as much about their environment to recognize the people, as I did with Goncourt, say. The letters and diaries are chronological, so that I find it more challenging. On my nighttable for today: the works of Beaumarchais, best known for Noces de Figaro, and a biography of Gustave Flaubert.

Woolf, Burney

Since my last post, I've read an issue of OK Magazine. I expect to finish reading Marcel Ayme tomorrow.

I also read the second volume of Virginia Woolf's diary, which includes some pretty sharp comments about people, particularly women. Of course, a diary is not meant to be anything but honest. It also contains some despairing comments about her own writing, about being old and out of fashion, as well as recording some mundane reasons which nonetheless prevented her from writing on this day or that. It is when I read her 'fighting off the fidgets' that I feel the most compassion.

I also read a memoir of Fanny Burney, by Dodson. Being dresser to Queen Charlotte is quite an odd occupation for a talented writer. I will be reading Burney's diaries next. Finally, I am reading a biography of Christina Rossetti, by Jan Marsh.

Ayme, Franco, Queneaux, Behn

Since my last post, I've read one issue of The Economist, The World in 2010, Vanity Fair, Utne Reader, National Examiner, The New Yorker, Eclectic Reading, Hello! Canada, and two issues of The New Scientist. I've also finished Raymond Queneau, although I'm waiting for the second volume of his novels. I also read a biography of Reconstructing Aphra by Angeline Goreau, that put me more in the picture of this writer. I also read, as well as a book about Veronica Franco, The Honest Courtesan, by Margaret Rosenthal.

I'm halfway through the second volume of Marcel Ayme. As has happened over and over again, I'm reading through novel after novel that don't come alive for me, and then suddenly I hit pure gold. Le vaurien is beautifully plotted and written, and the characters are vivid. I loved it. Same thing happened as I manfully plowed through his short stories: I just started reading one about a writer who kills off all his characters before the age of thirty -- I suspect he is referring to Roger Martin du Gard -- when one of the characters' wives walks into his study to plead for his life. Wonderful. Ayme is witty -- this collection of short stories all have characters called Martin in them: a writer, a schoolboy, a farmer...

Ayme, Woolf, Queneau, Gautier

Since my last post, I've read one issue of Eclectic Reading.

I have also read the complete works of Theophile Gautier, a Frenchman primarily remembered for his poetry. I grew up hearing my mother sing her own mother's favorite songs, which were Gautier poem's set to music. Well, damn. Two volumes later, I find that he was extremely maudlin by today's standards. He was a serial writer, but he was not the master of the feuilleton that Balzac was, or Dickens. He has novels set in foreign climes, which I can legitimately claim is Voltairian, seeing as I have read Voltaire and his works on China, for example, are not well informed. I've read the first (of 5) volume of Virginia Woolf's diaries, which so far are well-written but not remarkable. I read a book about the blue-stockings in 18th century England. I've read two of the three volumes of the complete works of Raymond Queneau. He was boring, until Les enfants du limon, which suddenly and unexpectedly experiments with form. These experiments probably merit him his place in literature, but these experiments are innocuous. They neither detract nor add more than a note of unexpectedness. I have ordered the third volume, as I have the last two volumes of Woolf, and now am reading Marcel Ayme, a great descriptor of IIIrd Republic France.

Sayers, Augustin, Turgenev, Behn, Cecil, Dostoievsky, Morrell, Hourani

Since my last post, I've read Hone's Dorothy L. Sayers, Saint Augustin's Catechese, polemique, philosophie; David Magarshack's Turgenev; Janet Todd's Secret Life of Aphra Behn, Albert Hourani's History of the Arab Peoples, Stephanie Seymour's Ottoline Morrell, Avrahm Yarmolinsky's Dostoevsky His Life and Art, and The Cecils by David Loades. For magazines, I've read two issues of Eclectic Reading, and one issue each of The New Yorker, The Economist, and OK Magazine.

I didn't even know who Dorothy Sayers was (a crime writer, among other things), so reading her life was a revelation. But I have two other books about her and I don't think I'll read them -- I think I have an idea of who she is. Saint Augustin was relaxing to read. It was a recent translation from the Latin, and given that I had read a lot of theology in the past, I could follow these texts from a Father of the Catholic Church. The writings were intended to be pastoral, anyway, so they are usually more accessible. I read Turgenev with interest, since I had read in the last couple of years the memoirs of Herzen, but the Dostoevsky biography was sad. He was imprisoned in Siberia for four years, he was an epileptic, he was a compulsive gambler, he was in debt...I guess it's easy now to see the genesis of Crime and Punishment and The Idiot...I was glad to read of Aphra Behn, I'd never heard of her, but I also thought this book ought to have been entitled The Possible Life of Aphra Behn, as the author uses historical context to speculate on what might have been. In the end, I found that a little disappointing.

Albert Hourani's book deserves its accolade as a classic. I found I learned more about the history of Arabs in the chapters covering the early, post-Prophet years than in the chapters of more recent times, but it was excellent. Finally, I read Ottoline Morrell and The Cecils for pleasure. The Morrell biography filled in a lot of gaps for me, as I had heard the name repeatedly as that of a great eccentric. turns out she was an impoverished member of a very rich family -- Mother failed to leave her as much money as her brothers. It must have been very difficult. I had read a review of The Cecils commenting on how great events were barely mentioned, but having read about the Tudors at great length, I liked a book focusing on the great secretary and his successor son.

Carroll, Michelet

Since my last post, I've read 3 issues of Eclectic Reading, and an issue each of OK Magazine, The New Yorker, The Economist, and The New Scientist.

I've also read a book by Stuart Carroll about the Guise ducal family of France, Martyrs and Murderers, and Michelet's 3000 page history of the French Revolution. Michelet was almost too long and too detailed, I had trouble with the forest for the trees. I was also struck by the similarities between it and the Russian Revolution, with the assassinations of Marat/Trostky, the massacres by troops in the capital, the extermination of the monarch's family, etc. As far as the Guises are concerned, I was particularly interested in the discussion of various historical interpretations of la Saint-Barthalemy, the massacre of protestants by their Catholic countrymen in France.

Giono, Gracq, Graves, Hamsun

Since my last post I read three issues of Eclectic Reading.

I read both volumes of I, Claudius by Robert Graves. The first volume was more entertaining than the second, and I read it primarily comparing it to the trashy BBC series from the 1970's. I also read Knut Hamsun's Growth of the Soil, a Norwegian pastoral, complete with long-suffering men and women committing infanticide. I enjoy pastorals, but this was fairly ordinary. I then read the first three volumes of Giono's novels. There were occasional passages where Giono captured the exact feeling of being along in nature, the rythm, the peace. Then I tore through Julien Gracq, and it was quickly done since I had read his main novel already, Rivage des Syrtes. I confess I found him a little ordinary to be included in this distinguished series, La Pleiade, named after a constellation.

Giono, Himelstein, Shelden, Wilson, Kilcullen

Since my last post,I've read an issue of Gentleman's Quarterly, OK Magazine, The New Scientist and Eclectic Reading.

I have also read the first three volumes of Jean Giono's novels, which are in chronological order, and his essays, journal, and short stories. I found his essays and journal of little interest, except for his pacifist essays and his impressions of the Liberation of France. He does break out into short plays and embryonic film scenarios, in the middle of essays, which shows a certain freedom about forms. I found his early novels and his short stories or novella also to be of little interest, but his latter novels are much more interesting, more gripping and more lively. I had to order the last 3 volumes of the complete novels from inter library loan, and I now look forward to reading them, as opposed to a chore.

I also read three biographies, two literary and one popular. I read a biography of George Orwell, by Michael Shelden, which I found both sad and interesting, and a biography of Siegfried Sassoon through the end of World War I, by Jean Moorcroft Wilson, which was incredibly detailed for his youth and somehow quite superficial for the crucial war years. I also read a biography of Smirnoff, the vodka maker, by Linda Himelstein, which was not very interesting because it was in a journalistic style.

Finally, I also read David Kilcullen's Accidental Guerrilla. This book, about a new kind of counterinsurgency and what to do about it, is going to be read by a lot of people. It is written in accessible language, and it proposes quite a simple change to the way of thinking about insurgency. I'm not sure it will make much difference, however. I have my own competing theory, that this about strong-side versus weak-side strategy, and if I am correct, then my criticism of Kilcullen is valid. However, the chances of my work attracting any attention at all, since I have no experience in military counterinsurgency, are very low.

Giono

Since my last post, I've read one issue of Hello Canada, OK Magazine, The New Yorker, The New Scientist, Vanity Fair, and The Economist.

Because I'm reading only complete works right now, my blog has slowed down, so I thought I'd give an update. I'm reading the novels of Jean Giono at the moment, in three volumes, and I'm working on volume 2. He is more bucolic than I realized. I've ordered about 13 complete works to see me through the December break.

Julien Green, Sunstein, Bottigheimer, Mackenzie

I have completed reading the works of Julien Green. I have found that his diaries were fascinating and his writing there, so alive, was like learning French all over again. His novels and plays, however, I find his plots psychologically improbable and his characters curiously flat and lifeless. I suppose it is with good reason that his journal is considered his masterpiece.

I also read three essays -- a history of fairy tales by Bottigheimer, which was interesting for the sake of the preservation of culture through folkways; and Infotopia and Rumours by Cass Sunstein. These latter two books tread on ground I'd covered before. He seems to write books about topics that others have written about more, and in greater depth, a recapitulateur, we would say in French.

Finally I read Lewis McKenzie's Soldiers Make Me Look Good, his autobiography. I didn't much like it. It seemed to me a book written by someone who lost his professional status and never got over it, never quite found his place in the world.

James VI and I, Sunstein, Mantel, Crawford

I read three biographies of James VI and I, because I had read several times that he was unlikeable. I read his biography by Antonia Fraser, David Mathew, and by David Wilson. I found that his manners were poor by the standards of the English court, and that he was some sort of bite problem that made him an ungracious eater, but so what? I also read a history of the end of smallpox, which was written by one of the workers in the trenches who insert himself too much into the story, and a book on Shop Craft as Soul Craft, by Matthew Crawford, which I found unconvincing since the author has given up the manual labor. I also read three of Cass Sunstein's works, Why groups go to extremes, Going to Extremes, and Worst-Case Scenarios. I was reading them to try and figure out what students do when they use the Internet, but these books were about a different topic. I also read Hilary Mantel's Wolf Hall, which I didn't find enthralling.

Julien Green

Since my last post, I've read an issue of The Economist, two issues of The New Scientist, three issues of Eclectic Reading, an issue of OK Magazine, and two issues of The New Yorker.

I've also finished reading the three volumes of Julien Green's journals, which were wonderful in every respect. I've now moved on to short stories and novels, and the characters are flat. He is indeed a better diarist than a novelist. I also read a Stephanie Plum novel by Janet Evanovich. I wasn't enthralled. Now I'm reading another murder mystery, using Internet stalking, and that managed to scare me. Can't remember the author off the top of my head.

Celine

I have now read all of Celine's novels. I read that his contributions to literature influence Hemingway and many others, I assume from introducing the vernacular spoken word into literature. But I find that he influenced primarily the development of pulp fiction, much as Jane Austen gave rise to Harlequin romances. I also found Celine difficult to read, as I was not familiar with the vernacular of France in the 30s, 40s and 50s. He employed an interesting stratagem for his trilogy on World War II, which is supposed to be Celine at his best: he used a character called Celine, obviously himself, in all three. It was interesting from an structural standpoint, but was primarily effective in making me wonder how much was fiction, as he is known to have traveled to the places at the times described in the novels. I also read an issue of OK Magazine, an issue of The New Yorker, two issues of Eclectic Reading, two issues of The Economist, and an issue of The New Scientist since my last post.

I have now returned to the delights of Julien Green's journals.

Jules Renard

I read his novels and short stories, and I understand the verdict of history on him, that he was the poet of the countryside, and also that he is like Mallarme in his experiments with structure. I think he is largely successful in his experiments, unlike Mallarme himself. I also read his journals, which are combined with his writer's notebook. It was harder to pick out the journal parts from the notebook part, but I did think it was interesting to read about the notes he took as time went by. I didn't read his plays.

Since my last post, I also read OK Magazine, an issue of Eclectic Reading, an issue of The New Yorker, and an issue of The New Scientist. I'm reading two issues of The Economist simultaneously.

Yourcenar, Vidal

I read Myra Breckinridge first thing this morning, and I must say I was a little shocked at the content. In the introduction to the edition I was reading, Vidal mentioned a Russian publisher telling him Myra would never be published there, and I believe him. The sexual content is shocking...I've finished reading Yourcenar's memoirs and her essays, so I've completed the lot. I liked her memoirs, there's something unvarnished about them, and it's interesting to read about the French bourgeoisie. I also read an issue of Electic Reading, an issue of The New Yorker, and an issue of The New Scientist. Now I've figured out why I didn't read Dostoievsky's Adolescent -- it's unfinished, and I don't read unfinished works as a rule. I'm now diving into the journals of Jules Renard.

Yourcenar, Vonnegut, Paley, Bowles, Green, Pisan

Since my last post, I've read an issue of The Economist, an issue of Eclectic Reading, and an issue of OK Magazine.

I read Vonnegut's Cat's Cradle and I really liked it, particularly at the start. I don't find that the tone was sustained, but daring enough in its way. I saw it as black picaresque, not science fiction. I also read three or four of Grace Paley's short stories in Little Disturbances of Man, but they didn't capture my interest. I read in one go Paul Bowles' Sheltering Sky, and while I found some passages wonderfully written, I found the story not entirely outside predictability or stereotype. It's an interesting travelogue plus kind of story. I plowed through Christine de Pisan's inventory of women in hagiography, myth and history with some interest, as I had never read anything of hers. I also sprinted through some short stories, novels and novellas by Marguerite Yourcenar, having read her memoirs, and the novel Memoires d'Hadrien previously. I didn't find they held my attention.

Ah, but I am continuing to read at a leisurely pace Julien Green's journals, and those I find are teaching me all over again the French language. It is a pleasure to read someone writing in a language other than his first, English, and someone who was entirely bilingual.

Tocqueville

Since my last post, I've read an issue of Hello Canada, two issues of OK Magazine, an issue of The New Yorker, three issues of Eclectic Reading, and two issues of The Economist. I also started reading more of Tocqueville -- his analysis of the United States really is outstanding. Some BBC reporter whose name I forget now said that Tocqueville wrote the best book ever written on the United States, and he was not just the reason I am reading Tocqueville, but he was also right. The second volume of De la democratie en Amerique is not only excellent even today, it is free of anti-Americanism, something quite rare now. I also read Tocqueville's memoirs.

Tocqueville, Bossuet

Since my last post,I read an issue of Electic Reading, an issue of The New Yorker, an issue of Vanity Fair, and an issue of The New Scientist. I'm in the middle of an issue of The Economist. I also read My Memories of Six Reigns, by HH Princess Louise, which was bland in the extreme, the rest of Bossuet, sermons, panegyrics, and essays, and then the first part of Tocqueville's book on the US. There was nothing striking in any of this that I want to share.

La Bruyere, Bossuet, Diane Vreeland

Since my last post I've read an issue of The New Scientist.

I also read the complete works of La Bruyere, which didn't make much of an impression on me, and the memoirs of Diane Vreeland, D.V., which were very badly written indeed.

I had the pleasure of reading the funeral orations of Bossuet, famous in French literature, and I found them extraordinary, and moving when I knew who the dead person was...I didn't always. My reading has slowed considerably as I ramp up to the teaching part of the year.

Solzhenitsyn, Jelinek

Since my last post, I've read two issues of Eclectic Reading, an issue of The New Yorker, and an issue of The New Scientist. I also read two books by Alexander Solzhenitsyn, The Cancer Ward, depressing but impressive, and The First Circle, which I enjoyed less. Solzhenitsyn has the Russian eye for the telling detail, like Tolstoy, like Grossman. Both books were, of course, withering denunciations of the Soviet state.

I also read several of Elfriede Jelinek's novels. I had read Women as Lovers earlier, but now I've read The Piano Teacher, Lust, Greed, and Wonderful, Wonderful Time. They also are harshly truthful, and about realities of life that are in themselves harsh -- mental illness, sexuality as power, etc. This is not the idea of Austrian culture that I have had, possibly as a stereotype, until now.

Finally, I read Intellectual Character by Rittchard, which I enjoyed less than the gripping other teaching book, but was useful nonetheless.

Grab Bag

Since my last post, I've read an issue of Eclectic Reading, an issue of OK Magazine, an issue of The New Yorker, an issue of Hello Canada, and an issue of The New Scientist.

I also read Jose Saramago's Death with Interruptions, a gift from my spouse. As good as Saramago is, I found this to be following the same formula as Blindness -- start with an unusual premise, and go from there. OK, not that much of a formula. It's an easy read. I read the Meditations of Marcus Aurelius, which I found full of Polonius-like advice -- probably it's the other way around. I also read Locke's Second Treatise on Government, and I was surprise to see how little Locke I've read -- just that and the treatise on Human Understanding. Finally, I read Dazzle' em With Style by Robert Anholt, which was also full of advice that I found a little self-evident, but possibly not if I was a physics students and 24 years-old.

Kafka

Since my last post, I've read an issue of Vanity Fair and cackled over the witty dissection of Larry King Live during June, with all the celebrity deaths; an issue of OK Magazine and an issue of Eclectic Reading.

I've finished off Kafka's diaries. It was much easier to read than I thought, although I admit that he was suffering and depressed throughout. I suppose that he suffered from severe untreated depression, to say nothing of the tuberculosis that killed him so young.

So in my nigh table are the complete works of Tocqueville and Sainte-Beuve, and my spouse Tony bought me Jose Saramago's latest.

Kafka, the end of the Goncourt

I read the novels of Kafka I hadn't read already, Le Chateau and L'Amerique. They are about the horror of the modern state. I also read his stories, including Metamorphose. I found that my usual criteria of only completed works in the form the author wanted couldn't apply here -- most of the works were published posthumously. The journals await me, but first I have also concluded in a rush the more cheerful if cheesier Goncourt diaries. At the close, I am amazed at the sharpest of the comments about people Edmond is supposed to like. I am a little embarrassed at my enjoyment of it all.

I also read Lecturing, by Sally Brown and Phil Race. I am now over 250 pages into the Robinson biography of Charles Chaplin.

Mags and Catty Goncourt Diaries

Since my last post I've read an issue of each of The Economist, The New Scientist, The New Yorker, the Utne Reader, OK Magazine, and two issues of Eclectic Reading.

I have otherwise been reading the Goncourt diaries of the Parisian literary scene of the late 19th century. It's been a ripping good read -- various elderly women are 'mummified', the endless inane conversations at glitterati dinners, Gustave Flaubert's taste for stories of bad bodily odors, complete with fainting doctors and the color and viscosity of effluents. I'm laughing out loud at the description of eye liner on men and wrinkled breasts on women, and catty remarks about writers more successful than the author. Unbelievable, reminiscent of Saint-Simon's portraits, and Proust's gossipy novels, but much much more acerbic. I must be in a rotten mood, I'm loving it all.

Tacitus

I read the complete works of Tacitus since my last post. I find him quite the liveliest ancient writer I've read so far. I also read two issues of Eclectic Reading, and an issue of The New Scientist.

Machiavelli, Spinoza, Saint-Exupery

Since my last post, I've read the complete works of Machiavelli, Spinoza and Saint-Exupery. And I've reached this conclusion -- that I've read a good deal, because I had already read two out of three of Machiavelli, leaving only Titus Livius, and three out of four of Saint-Exupery, leaving Vol de nuit. Spinoza I didn't enjoy -- he is the head of the rationalists, and I find that doesn't suit the theology he produces. But his life story is very inspiring.

I also read a stack of mags: an issue each of The New Scientist, The Economist, The Globe, and three issues of Eclectic Reading.

This is the diet of a voracious reader on vacation.

Lifetime Reading Plan

I read this plan on the web, and I found that I had read almost all of what was on the list. There were only a few items left for me to read, and those are the dribs and drabs I've read since my last post. There are all quite good or interesting in some ways -- Bartleby the Scrivener, by Herman Melville; Hemingway's short stories, which I actually liked better than the novels; Hume's essay on Human Understanding; Emerson's essays, on topics such as history; Herodotus' Histories, which I read quite quickly; and Nathaniel Hawthorne's Tales, some of which touched on the Quakers, but which is primarily important as being an early American writer. I don't expect my pace to pick up, as I'm still on vacation....

Vacation Reading

Since my last post, I've read an issue of The New Yorker, an issue of The New Scientist, an issue of The Economist, and three issues of Eclectic Reading. Since I'm nominally on vacation, I've read only for pleasure some historical biographies, one of Philip II and one of Alexander I which turned out to contain a conspiracy theory -- he's actually lived out his life as an ascetic beyond the Urals, instead of dying in his bed before the assembled court...I laughed out loud.

Theatre, Courier

Since my last post, I've read an issue of Eclectic Reading.

I also read pro baby the most helpful book on the theatre so far, Cameron's Acting Skills for Life. It covered the basics of acting, like voice and use of the body, and psychology, etc. I also confess to abandoning Arden Fingerhut's Theatre, since it covered material I had read previously. Then it was on to the political pamphlets of J.P. Courier. I read a history of Dramaturgy, by Luckhurst. I'm glad to have exposed myself to what are by all accounts the masterpieces of political writing in pamphlet form, but I confess to having found J'Accuse much more effective.

Mags, Theatre

Since my last post, I've read an issue of The Economist, an issue of Hello!Canada, an issue of Eclectic Reading, and an issue of OK Magazine. I've also watched a lot of movies, almost all of which were outstanding or unusual in some way: Vatel, Amazing Grace, There Will Be Blood, Requiem for a Dream, Leolo, The Reader, Million Dollar Baby, The Baroness and the Pig, and The Passion of the Christ.

I also read a number of books on the theatre: Anatoly Efros' Profession: Director, Wills' Directing in the Theatre, Berger's Playwright Versus Director and The Theatre Team, Taylor's Directing Plays, Delgado's In Contact with the Gods, Braun's Theatre Directing, Unwin's So You Want to be a Theatre Director?, Maccoy's extraordinary Essentials of Stage Management, Migliarisi's Directing and Authorship in Western Drama, Gloman's Scenic Design and Lighting Techniques, and Luckhurst's Dramaturgy. I have learned a great deal on the technical side, to be sure, and I now have the answer to many of my questions. I found some of the books irritating because they just reported conversations verbatim at festivals and such.

Goncourt, Lecturing, Theatre

Since my last post, I've read an issue of Eclectic Reading, an issue of The New Yorker and an issue of The New Scientist.

I've read some Goncourt: La Faustin, and the most extraordinary La maison d'un artiste, a two-volume description of objets d'art and books, room by room, in the Goncourt house. It was totally unexpected, and unusual to read such a book. Then I read several books on education, an excellent one called The Lecturer's Toolkit, by Phil Race, probably the second most useful book on teaching I've read, after Reflective Teacher about twelve years ago. Then there was The Art of Lecturing, from a much decorated young prof of electrical engineering at University of Toronto. I read it quite carefully, and I realized more clearly than ever that conformity is rewarded in academic life -- this professor clearly does extremely well exactly what is expected of him, and honors are heaped on him as a result. Well, it certainly explains my situation... I also read Stephen Brookfield's Power of Critical Theory, which was well-done but not what I was looking for at this point in my career development.

Then it was on to stacks of reading about theatre. I read two books containing essays about important directors: Bradby's Directors' Theatre, and Mitter's Fifty Theatre Directors. There were also several essays on directing, like DeKoven's Changing Direction and Bogart's Director Prepares. The latter book contained possibly the first treatment of an essential truth I've ever read, about human nature needing to fight, to combat, to be challenged, and, in this case, how to harness that in the process of theatre. There were books on the practicalities of theatre companies, like Wallis' In Good Company. There were books on the technical aspects, which were a revelation: White's Technical Theatre, Bond's Stage Management. There were books on teaching theatre or acting: Izzo's Acting Interactive Theatre, McCullough's Theatre Praxis. And there were books about playwrights and how to act them, like McTeague's.

Goncourts, Books About Theatre and Teaching

Since my last post, I read an issue of Eclectic Reading. I also read the Goncourt novel, La fille Elisa. It is a realistic prison novel, and I thought it had a much lighter touch, for all its didacticism, than Emile Zola. I liked it. It was short. I also read Cherie, which I thought was far more gossipy than that greatest of French gossips, Proust. I also read two texts on Japanese art, which consisted mainly of descriptions of woodcuttings, without illustration -- Hokousaii and Outamaro. I had trouble with the odd transliteration of the Japanese.

I also read tons of books about the theatre. Teach Yourself Amateur Theatre by Nicholas Gibbs, Elder's Will It Make A Theatre?; Salzer's Skeptical Scenographer; Holdar's study of Bergman, called Scenography in Action; Antony Sher's Primo Time, his diary during a production of a play about Primo Levi; De la Cruz's Directing for Theatre; McCabe's Mis-Directing a Play; Knopf's Director as Collaborator; Stagecrafter's Handbook; the government of Quebec's Production scenique;, and Coulisses de theatre. I was more interested in Gorilla Theatre, which is about a theatre company that played the classics out of doors where people happened to congregate, by Sanderson, and Katie Mitchell's Director's Craft.

I also read Bligh's What's the Use of Lectures, Boyne's Listening and Notetaking Skills; and Cannon's Lecturing.

Ramuz, Merimee

Since my last post, I've read an issue of OK Magazine and an issue of Eclectic Reading. I've also ploughed through about 25 of Ramuz's novels, all the ones that were published, trying to figure out why this author was picture on Switzerland's currency, the 200 franc note. Well, I finally got it, Derborence, a novel with a wonderful, evocative sense of space, about a rockfall in the Alps. Wonderful. The rest are ordinary and didn't hold my attention. It was a slog, all these quiet bourgeois people. Then I read all of Merimee's novels and short stories, and while these were less boring than Ramuz, nothing stands out that much.

Morand, Riviere

Since my last post, I read Sur le devoir de l'imprevoyance, by Isabelle Riviere. Here are my comments, in French: "J’abonde dans son sens et j’ai lu ses réflexions avec beaucoup d’intérêt, en particulier les deuxièmes et troisièmes parties. J’ai une seule réticence, sur un seul point de la première partie, et c’est sur la question de tout donner pour faire plus amplement confiance à Dieu. Je suis d’accord qu’il nous faut nous abandonner à la Providence en général, mais je ne suis pas sûre que le devoir de pourvoir à nos propres besoins, sans plus, et de prévoir un peu l’avenir – la retraite, les coûts de santé qui peuvent s’imposer, etc. Évidemment, il est a peu près impossible de ne pas s’attacher à l’argent. Je l’ai bien vu pour moi-même avec la crise économique, et mes REER qui ont fondus; et puis, je l’admets, lorsque je fais mon rapport d’impôt. Je me suis demandée si cela était matériellement possible pour autres que les religieux…et quand j’étais religieuse, je savais fort bien que je n’avais pas à craindre pour l’avenir….

I also read several books by Paul Morand: Rien que la terre, L'Europe Russe, Londres, and 1900, all non-fiction. This reminded me of how much reading was entertainment in the days before television or even widespread radio. I also read Dernier Jour de l'Inquisition, an excellent short story about a monk undergoing the Inquisition, and waiting in jail, followed by the novella Parfaite de Saligny, a conventional love story.

I also read Zweig's early novel, Beware of Pity. This is about the trouble an Austro-Hungarian officer gets into by pitying a rich but handicapped young woman, with white lies and then snowballing. I thought it was excellent also.

Morand, Zweig, Goncourt

Since my last post, I've read two issues of Eclectic Reading and an issue of The New Yorker.

I've also Zweig's Twenty-Four Hours in the Life of a Woman, which was excellent, volume 2 of the Goncourt journals (20 volume edition). Finally, I've read La route des Indes, by Paul Morand, which was an excellent piece of travel-writing.

Mostly Morand, Alford, Bartlett, Kleist

Since my last post, I read an issue of The New Scientist, one of Eclectic Reading, and started an issue of The Economist.

I was anticipating reading How to Live by Henry Alford, a book recounting the wisdom of the elderly. Turns out to be fewer interviews than I thought, and more personal reminiscence and experience, and the book is very lightweight considering the topic. I read another book by Bartlett called They Dared to Live, a book from the thirties containing some short pieces on inspirational lives -- I knew about most of them, including Einstein, and Shaftesbury, but not all. Finally, I read Kleist's short story Michael Kohlhaas, the last of the Kleist writings. Then I read wall-to-wall Paul Morand.

I read a collection of short stories called Le Prisonnier de Cintra, and in it was a perfectly charming one about a cat called Un chat nomme Gaston. I also read some travel writing: Le voyage, Bucarest, with some great tidbits about Romania,and Les bains de mer, which confirmed my impression that here is a writer who is socially an aristocrat.

There was an essay which doesn't fit anywhere, called De la vitesse.

I also read biographies and reminisences on the eponymous Giraudoux, Fouquet, Maupassant and more about Marcel Proust,in a couple of essays and correspondence entitled Le visiteur du soir.

Zweig, Merimee, Goncourt

Since my last post, I've read one issue of OK Magazine.

I've read the journals of Stefan Zweig, short stories by Prosper Merimee, Manette Salomon, a novel by the Goncourts, Renee Mauperin, another novel, and the first volume of the Goncourt diaries. Look out, there are 19 more volumes of those. Merimee had some interesting short stories, but they were not all good. The novels by the Goncourt were forgettable, I hate to say. I imagine the journals will get better as time goes on, but I already find them critical enough of some figures of the Parisian literati of the 1850s...As for Merime, I'm hoping his novels are better. I've ordered his novels from interlibrary loan.

Zweig, Downey, Brookfield, Collins et al.

Since my last post, I've read two issues of The Economist, two issues of Eclectic Reading, the latest encyclical Caritas in Veritate, which contained some explosive statements about unions that no one has picked up on as yet, and an issue of The New Scientist.

And, of course, I've been reading Zweig,The Tide of Fortune; Conflicts; biographies of Romain Rolland and Emile Verhaeven; Jeremiah (a play)which sold 20 000 copies(!); Les heures etoiles de l'humanite; Passion and Pain, more short stories; The world of Yesterday, his memoirs; in the collection Romans, theatre, et nouvelles, Clarissa and a play based on Kleist's Penthesilea; the essay Mysteres de la creation artistique; and his book on Brazil. I have his journals and perhaps one or two books left to read, and I am therefore almost at the close of his works, and I have concluded, shockingly enough, that he was a lightweight. The stuff is not profound, and he managed not to be a profound man, it would appear.

I also read a book by Stephen Brookfield, Discussion as a Way of Teaching. There was much here that is helpful, and of course his previous book on reflective teaching changed my professional life; a biography of Frances Perkins, Roosevelt's Secretary of Labor, which was also superficial, by Kirstin Downey; and a fascinating book on the Portfolios of the Poor, by Collins and Murdoch, about how very poor people in developing countries manage their finances. There is a lot of very smart thinking going on in these ultimate underdogs.

Zweig

Well, didn't I get 34 books on interlibrary loan yesterday, so I've being mowing down the quick easy reads as fast as I can, by fear of being overwhelmed.

I read a number of short stories: Laponella, Le bouquiniste Mendel, The Runaway, Virata, The Governess, The Buried Candelabra, Buchmendel, Moonbeam Alley, Rachel Arraigns God, Impromptu Study of a Handicraft, Amok, La femme et le paysage, The Star Above the Forest, The invisible Collection,Twilight, Fantastic Night, The Fowler Snared, The Chess Story, and Letter From an Unknown Woman. Twilight is eerie, it is the story of woman who carefully plans her own suicide, written by a man who also planned his own, and carried it out.

I also read Amerigo, Paul Verlaine, Marcelline Desbordes-Valmore, biographies; and the essay Right to Heresy, about Calvin and one of his opponents.I had never hear of Desbordes-Valmore, so I was happy to find out about her. I knew only some of Verlaine's life, and was also happy to read his Art poetique.

Zweig, Zweig and more Zweig

Since my last post i have read a number of books by Zweig. There were two novels, Confusion and the Post Office Girl. I liked Confusion, it's a little known academic noel, but the other was heavy handed. I then read Zweig's biography of Balzac, which I liked but didn't find particularly informative as I had read another before. Then I read a slew of essays on Casanova, Tolstoy, Dickens, Holderlin, Nietzsche, Kleist, Balzac, Montaigne, Dostoevsky, and Stendhal. There were all interesting and structured in the same way: a physical description taking up a whole chapter, 2 or 3 chapters of biography with a psychological slant, and then 2-3 chapters discussing their work and their work methods.

Goncourts, Merimee, Soyinka

Since my last post, I've read the last of the Morand novels. His range impresses me, but I think I'd like to read his book-length essays. I also read Octave Mirbeau's Journal d'une femme de chambre, which was incredibly daring for its day. It recounts the sex life (without explicit details of any kind, it all happens off-stage) of a chamber maid pursued by men of her own and other classes. Then I read two biographies of the Goncourt brothers, one by Billy in French and one in English by Robert Baldick. Both were so enthralling I ran off and got all their novels and five of the twenty volumes of their journals. I must say, however, that I couldn't tell it was the same people the two authors were talking about. I also read a four volume biography of Prosper Merimee, in preparation for reading his novels and short stories, by Trahard. Four volumes -- that's a lot. I read Soeur Philomene by the Goncourts. Finally, I read Death and the King's Horseman by Wole Soyinka

Kleist, Soyinka, Novalis, Zweig

Since my last post, I've read an issue of The Globe and an issue of The New Scientist.

I read Soyinka's childhood memoir, Ake/The Years o Childhood. I liked it, but I am starting to see a pattern in the memoirs of early life by writers from developing countries -- the sincere joys and simple pleasures, etc. Ake avoids all the cliches, but there is something of a trope here.

I read Kleist's short stories Betrothal on Santo Domingo, Michael Kohlhaas, Beggarwoman of Locarno, Saint Cecilia and The Duel, as well as his three essays on speaking, reflection and puppet theatre. Then I read Novalis' notes on Fichte and various philosophical topics. I found this very hard to read, as it is not systematic. I don't usually read any unpublished material, as I want to capture an author's finished thoughts, so this was hard, although easier than, say, course notes from Heidegger. Finally I read essays on Casanova, Tolstoy, Stendhal, Mary Baker Eddy, Messmer and Freud by Stefan Zweig. I enjoyed the essays on the writers the most, since he was looking at how they made poetry out of their lives.

McCourt, Updike, Theroux

I read Theroux's Mosquito Coast, which I liked in general, but whose ending was gruesome -- made me wonder what he had against fathers. Updike's satirical Witches of Eastwick worn thin awfully quickly. McCourt's novel Time Remaining had some stream-of-consciousness stuff which also wore thin. I also started the complete novels of the Vichy supporter Paul Morand. I liked it in general, although I agree with the critics that there are points where descriptions are overdone.

Solinka, Petrarch, Montale

I read several poems of Montale, published in English under the title Bones of Cuttlefish ("Ossi de Seppia"). I liked it in an aesthetic, non-rational way, that is to say, I read it trying to not engage my brain. I also read two plays by Wole Soyinka, neither of which I like that much: The Lion and the Jewel, and A Dance in the Forest. Finally, I read two books on Petrarch, a biography and the account of an exhibition commemorating the 700th anniversary of his birth. I believe I had forgotten to mention I had read the Canzoniere in Italian while sitting in a beauty parlor...never waste a minute I guess....

Kleist, Gadda

So I read Ordeal by Fire, an ordinary witch hunt type of play, as well as the unfunny Broken Pitcher, by Kleist. I am now wondering what is left for me to read by Kleist, in English.

I also finished That Awful Mess on the Via Merulana, which I didn't particularly like, but also Gadda's various war journals, which I did. I don't usually like to read journals, but this was really interesting.

Marquez, Kleist, Zweig, Puig

Since my last post, I read a couple of stragglers, i.e. books written by authors whom I thought I had completed. One was Buenos Aires Affair, by Puig, an excellent satirical novel and my favorite of his works; another was Marquez's non-fiction Story of a Shipwrecked Sailor, also quite good. Read the introduction, if you want to laugh out loud. Apparently Marquez didn't see the point of publishing this, except that he was now fashionable and didn't want to go back on his word.

After that I read two Stefan Zweig's Mary Queen of Scotland and the Isles, and Conquest of the Seas, the story of Magellan. My favorite biography of Mary is by Antonio Fraser, and she refers in her introduction to Zweig's 'psychological interpretation', but I didn't find it as gripping as I had hoped. With his biography of Magellan, except for a few terrible stories like the one of the deaths at the Island of Cebu, it wasn't particularly interesting.

After that I read works by Carlos Gaddo, an Italian radio personality and writer, and Kleist, a writer in the German canon about whom I had heard absolutely nothing. Gaddo wrote L'art d'ecrire pour la radio, with an introduction ten times longer than the text he wrote himself! I'm also reading his masterpiece, That Awful Mess on the Via Merulana. I also read a play of his, Conversation a trois voix, which I liked.

After that I read three of Kleist's novelle, The Marquise of O, Earthquake in Chile, and Foundling, all of which I liked for their lack of preciousness, or artifice. They should not be read for people looking for an optimistic view of human nature. I also read some plays. I had read Prince of Homburg. Now it was Penthesilea, and Amphitryon, which I liked. I have yet to read Broken Pitcher and Ordeal by Fire.

Not bad for someone who was worried about reading enough yesterday. All these works were pretty short and pretty easy to read.

Diderot, Zweig

Since my last post, I've finished reading the complete works of Diderot, ending with a work on how to play the harpsichord late last night. Yes, I was having trouble sleeping. I also read Stefan Zweig's essay on Erasmus. It was supposed to be a biography, but it was not - not enough material in the time he had, I guess.

Diderot was impressive for a number of reasons. First and foremost, his range is amazing: he wrote a plan for a university for Catherine the Great, a book of mathematics, a book on playing the harpsichord, several books of criticism, several plays, an enormously anti-clerical novel called La religieuse, and some political essays, so say nothing of his Encyclopedie. His books of criticism were hard to read as they attacked other works line by line, but their tone reminded me of my intellectual mentor of some years back.

SO next, I'm going to read more Zweig, and some odds and ends from other lists that I have to pick up from the library.

I have now read 115 complete works, and my new goal is to reach 125 complete works by the end of the summer. I have Zweig on order, and there is Sainte-Beuve in the library, and Benjamin Constant, but I don't know who else? Maurois? Gide? That's still only 5, I need 5 more...I should target single book wonders!!!!!!!!!!!

Delton, Micklewait, Puig, Mags

Since my last post I've read an issue of The New Yorker, The Economist, The New Scientist, and OK Magazine. I also read Delton's 29 Mistakes Writers Shouldn't Make, which was actually very good, Micklewait's God Is Back, an exploration of the role of religion in public life. I especially liked the analysis of American-style religion. I also read Kiss of the Spider Woman, by Manuel Puig, which was interesting, although I am tiring of his habit of mixing fantasy and real life. However, as a standing on its head of Scheherazade, I thought it was very good. I've got the last volume of Alice Munro stories to get through, and then it's on to the complete works of Denis Diderot.

Petrach, Chenier, Puig

SO I read Puig's Mystery of the Rose Bouquet, Chenier's poetry and prose, Petrarch's Africa and a biography of Donald Barthelme. Well, I was bored by all of it. I was curious about Petrarch's poetry, as I was about Chenier's life. Barthelme seems to me to be a minor figure. And Puig, well, I thought his play ordinary.

Running out of reading, Puig

I did indeed run out of reading, and had to resort to trying to find something int he house I hadn't read -- slim pickings! I read 637 Best Things Anyone Ever Said, which turned out to be about half Woody Allen witticisms, instead of Tacitus and Plato. All is well, I ordered more books, and I got the first five of 20 volumes of the complete works of Diderot from the library. All is well.

I am at present reading the complete works of Andre Chenier, a French poet who died during the Terror. I also read a stack of Manuel Puig's novels. I find him most of all formulaic, with the blend of fantasy and reality. He is certain daring in terms of structure and I will say this for him: his experiments in structure serve him, unlike so many others. I suppose he will be at his best for Kiss of the Spider Woman. I have read Heartbreak Tango, Eternal Curse on the Reader of These Pages, Under a Mantle of Stars, Tropical Night Falling, Mystery of the Rose Bouquet, Blood of Requited Love. They are all short and fantastical.

Munro, Ficowski, Puig, Chekhov

Since my last post I've read an issue of OK Magazine, an issue of The New Yorker, and issue of the Utne Reader and an issue of The Economist.

I've also read all the stories of Alice Munro published in collections, Pubis Angelical by Manuel Puig, a biography of Bruno Schulz, Regions of the Great Heresy by Ficowski, and the plays of Anton Chekhov. The Puig novel was interesting from a structural point of view, with the intertwined stories of two imaginary women with a real, Latin American one. The stories of Alice Munro were keenly observed and psychologically true, as well as understated. I don't think, however, that they will be read much in fifty years. The collections I read were Runaway, Who do you think you are?, Away from her, Hateship, Courtship, Friendship, Loveship, Marriage, Friend of my youth, and The love of a good woman. I read Chekhov because I wanted to add him to my list of great dramatists.

I'm now about to run out of reading, as I've only got about 500 pages to go in an anthology about film.

Schulz, Giraudoux

Since my last post, I've read an issue of OK Magazine.

I also read the complete novels of Jean Giraudoux. He was interesting because his writing covered a wide range of types of novels. Certainly he displays ample mastery of the various genres, but what that meant in practice is that I only liked a couple of his novels.

I also read the complete fiction of Bruno Schulz, the Polish writer who was murdered in a ghetto during World War II. I found that, after reading peans to him, that the translation must have not rendered the virtuosity of his Polish. I suppose this is to be expected, only Tolstoy was fortunate enough to have a Constance Garnett. But I found him capable of the telling detail, and heavily autobiographical, and easy to read.

Giraudoux, Vargas Llosa

Since my last post, I read an issue of Cook's Illustrated, an issue of an astouding teen magazine called Pop Star, and an issue of Le nouvel observateur. I read three plays by Vargas Llosa, and I thought the last of them, La Chunga, was the most interesting. It is like Rashomon in structure, i.e. it shows several different possible occurrences for the ending of a story. The play is about which of these actually occurred. It is not about truth, however, it is about what goes on in people's heads. The fact that it considers what happened between a madam everyone assumes is a lesbian and a beautiful young woman must have made it controversial at the time, in Latin America.

I've also begun the complete works of Giraudoux, the French interwar novelist. I actually like it, I've already read three of them. Thank goodness for that! I've been slogging through stuff quite a bit.

Fenelon, Garcia Marquez, Vargas Llosa

Since my last post, I read an issue of Eclectic Reading and an issue of The Economist.

I have also completed reading the works of Fenelon. I confess to being disappointed, since his book length essays were almost all devoted to disputing Jansenism.

I also read Gabriel Garcia Marquez's memoirs of his youth To Live to Tell the Tale, which doesn't talk about his writing much, and Vargas Llosa's memoir, which also talks about politics and not writing. I am now reading the last of my Llosa novels, the one about Gauguin, Fish in Water.

Garcia Marquez, Sales, Stern

Since my last post, I've read an issue of The New Yorker, an issue of OK Magazine, an issue of Hello!Canada, and two issues of eclectic reading.

I finished the Garcia Marquez on Bolivar, which was excellent. I also finished reading the complete works of Saint Francois de Sales. These three books of spirituality and/or theology were excellent. Although 500 years old, I found them to be relevant. It was an easy read, in part because the editors had modernized the spelling of some of the more difficult words. I also read Remy Stern's But Wait..There's More, a book about the infomercial industry, including a long profile of Ron Popeil. It was actually fascinating -- I was shocked at how successful these businesses are. A spanking, fascinating good read.

Vargas Llosa

Yesterday, I read three books by Vargas Llosa, only one of which I liked. The first was Captain Pantoja, a very skillful satirical novel; the second was the famous Conversation in the Cathedral, which started out with a bang but didn't sustain my interest; and the third was The True Life of Alexander Mayta, which I did like, about a communist revolutionary. This last book was also very skillful, told by a journalist writing Mayta's life, complete with the nuns turned Communists, the general suggesting the book shouldn't be written, and finally Mayta himself, who is now only interested in going to work in the well-paid oil platforms of the neighboring country. Excellent.

Vargas Llosa wrote an unusually wide range of novels, but quite a few political novels, I'm now discovering.

I have three books on the go: one on film theory, one by Francois de Sales on spirituality; and an excellent on about Simon Bolivares by Garcia Marquez. This last book is in the great tradition of The Death of Hadrian by Marguerite Yourcenar and all those novels about Alexander the Great, imagining what the great general was like in his last years.

Showalter, Stiles, Vargas Llosa, Marrus, Del Ponte, Dunlosky, Nelson, Hacker, Perfect, Shaughnessy

I've read an issue of Eclectic Reading since my last post.

I read quite a few non-fiction books today. I finished the biography of Commodore Vanderbilt, The First Tycoon. It was an excellent biography, it's just I belatedly discovered I wasn't interested. I also read Showalter's Jury of her Peers, which I was more interested in as the writers under discussion got more recent. I read Marrus' Vichy France and the Jews, where I was surprised to learn that the antisemitic laws were not enacted under German pressure. I then devoured Carla Del Ponte's memoirs, Madame Prosecutor. I got a huge kick out of such a strong woman being on a mission of justice, although I'm not sure I'd want her as an employee! I also read Vargas Llosa's book on Les miserables by Victor Hugo, but I didn't like it nearly as much as the book on Madame Bovary. The hate him/love him pattern continues.

Then I read a number of books on metacognition: the eponymous Metacognition by Dunlosky and Metcalfe, probably the best overview of any I've read; a reader, Metacognition, edited by Nelson; Metacognition in Educational Theory and Practice, by Hacker et al, which didn't contain much about higher education unfortunately, but confirmed some of my classroom practices; ditto Perfect et al's Applied Metacognition, ditto; and Shaughnessy et al's Meta-cognition, ditto.

Timpson, Vargas Llosa, Paxton, Garcia Marquez, Allara, Yserbyt, Morton, Sulivan

I have read an issue of The New Yorker and an issue of The Economist since my last post.

I also read a truckload of books. I'm right in the middle of Garcia Marquez's News of a Kidnapping, the story of a woman journalist abducted and held for sixteen months. It's riveting. I also read Vargas Llosa's Death in the Andes, which I didn't like, and The Bad Girl, which I loved. He is the first writer for which I've ever felt such a dichotomy. I read two books about Alice Neel, one, Black and White, a catalogue of an exhibition of her drawings; and Pictures of People by Pamela Allara, a biography and discussion of her work. I also read a collection of essays misnamed Metacognition, by Yzerbyt et al, which was mostly about neural processes in learning. I also read an Adam Morton essay on metacognition and strategic thinking, also misnamed. I read an excellent history of Vichy France by Robert Paxton. I also read several books by Jean Sulivan, Consolation de la nuit, and Les mots a la gorge. The most important book in all of this, from my point of view, was Timpson's Metateaching and the Instructional Map, which was primarily about the instructional map, but contained some student evaluation questions which are much more appropriate to my way of teaching. I record them here for future reference. All of them are to be graded from 1 (low) to 5 (high):

teacher knowledge
teacher enthusiasm/energy
teacher preparation/organization
teacher clarity
student engagement
content/activity meaningfulness
positive learning climate
feedback to students

to which I would add

applicability of learning to other situations
learning compared to other courses

Sganow, Herman

Since my last post, I read an issue of The New Scientist, a biography of Victor Fleming, the director of such films as Gone with the Wind, and Mistress of the Vatican by Eleanor Herman.

I devoured the Herman in about three hours. I had never heard of the powerful sister-in-law of a pope, Olimpia Maidalchini. The book was a quick, easy read. I was a big disappointed in the Fleming biography by Sganow, it became too much like a list of movies made and what the author thought of them. I was shocked to learn that many early classics are now lost.

I plan to read more to day than I did yesterday.

Marquez, Altshuler, Gulland

Since my last post, I read an issue of OK magazine.

I also read a wonderful book about landmark art exhibitions, From Salon to Biennale. It contains reproductions of works of art, parts of the catalogue and some contemporary reactions, like the art teacher who wrote to the mother of the only woman Impressionist telling her her daughter aught to burn her paintings. I also read Country for Children by Marquez, a wonderful book of photographs about Columbia. I also read two of four historical novels by Sandra Gulland, one about, of course, Louise de la Valliere, and the first of a trilogy about Josephine de Beauharnais. I suppose I'm the worst sort of reader for historical novels, I've read the source material and I'm correcting the French and Italian mistakes.

Cheever, Belchers

I read an issue of The New Scientist since my last post.

I just finished reading the Cheever biography -- a tragedy amidst literary success, of an alcoholic who couldn't accept his own homosexuality. A lot of people got hurt in the process, it made a good, easy read a depressing one. I also read the Belchers' Collecting Souls, Gathering Dust, about two women artists, one conventional and unsuccessful and one unconventional and successful. There is no doubt in my mind that the yoke of convention broke the back of many a woman looking for fulfillment and self-expression. However, this case study fails to prove it, however well-researched and well-written.

Sulivan, Johnson, Vargas Llosa, Boyd, Burrin, Lehrer

I read an issue of The Globe since my last post.

I also read some excellent books. The first is the first volume of the eponymous Nabokov by Brian Boyd, which I devoured in a few hours. I also read La France a l'heure allemande, by Philippe Burrin, about Vichy France -- an excellent and fascinating piece of work. I read Sulivan's Joie errante, about which I can't quite whether it's a novel or a memoir. I read Johnson's Invention of Air, about an early scientific controversy, an easy read, in parallel to the controversy in the US about creationism. I read Jonathan Lehrer's Metamind, which was not as close to the topic I was interested in, metacognition, as I had hoped. It was analytical philosophy. and I am now reading Vargas Llosa's Wellsprings. I can't tell yet if I'm going to love it or hate it.

Retz, Quirk

I just finished reading the memoirs of Cardinal de Retz, a French clergyman and politician of the XVIIth century. I didn't quite know what to make of him. His memoirs are excellent, rising to the level of the Duc de Saint-Simon for portraiture, but for the rest, it was less interesting. I think it's because I had trouble following his impressions of the Fronde, as I don't know enough about the Fronde itself.

I wanted to take some notes about Intuition and Metacognition in Medical Education, because I think this is relevant to a broader application, including my own teaching. The teaching strategies recommended are fostering reflective writing and reading; using a facilitative teaching style that includes reflective questioning; provide feedback on thinking, perspective taking and reflection; and finally model reflection, self-assessment, and self-evaluation. (Pp. 93-4)

On teaching styles and types of behavior

Assertive	Suggestive	Collaborative	Facilitative
Gives directions	Suggests alternatives/choices	Elicits/accepts learner’s ideas	Elicits/accepts learner’s feelings
Asks focused questions	Asks leading questions	Uses open/ exploratory questions	Uses open/ reflective questions
Gives information	Gives opinions	Relates personal experiences	Offers feelings of encouragement

Each teaching style is appropriate for achieving a specific level of objectives.

Assertive and suggestive teaching styles are appropriate for helping the learner develop a cognitive base i.e. gain knowledge and understanding. Facilitative and collaborative teaching styles encourage development of meta-cognitive capabilities, including reflection, self-questioning, perspective taking, and self assessment.

(Pp. 102-3).

Sulivan, Marquez, Metacognition, Volk, Kanipe, Yakobson

I've read an issue of Majesty and an issue of the National Enquirer, as well as an update of the F*** My Life blog, since my last post. The latter blog is one of the few that makes me laugh, although I suspect it is not authentic -- too sharply written too consistently.

I have also read several books by Jean Sulivan: Au dela de la mer, Traversee des illusions; the novel Obsession de Delphes; and Le plus petit abime.

I read several essays, Metapatterns by Tyler Volk, which I found a silly treatment of an interesting premise; Yakobson's Israel and the Family of Nations, which argues for both a state for the Jews and the Law of Return, which turned out to be tautological in argument, however much I agree with either; and Cosmic Connection, by Jeff Kanipe, about how astronomy can affect our lives.

I read several Marquez: Clandestine in Chile, a first person reportage of a Chilean film maker returning illegally to his homeland to make a documentary about the junta; Memories of my Melancholy Whores, about an old man recalling what life is about through the series of prostitutes he patronized -- Marquez is a good writer, but sexist in the extreme; Of Love and Other Demons; and Chronicles of a Death Foretold, also about exactly that, the death of a man who knows he is to be assassinated and doesn't understand his own death.

Finally, there was a pile of metacognition books: Intuition and Metacognition in Medical Education, by Quirk, which showed me what I was doing in class was recommended for other types of classrooms, at least; Papaleontiou-Louca's Metacognition and theory of mind; Ong's Orality and Literacy, which had some interesting things to say about the effect of print on the speed and silence of reading, and how that affects authors; and Comprehension Connections, by Tammy McGregor.

Vargas Llosa, Kassow, Lacey, Mariani

Since my last post I've read an issue of The Economist. I've also read some excellent Vargas Llosa. Aunt Julia and the Scriptwriter is an unbelievably vivid novel, I loved it. His book Perpetual Orgy on Madame Bovary is one of the best books on literature I've ever read -- the chapter on how Flaubert actually wrote was particularly interesting. I read Vargas Llosa's Nobel lecture. I also read Kassow's Who Will Write Our History?, about an archive that survived the Warsaw Ghetto. For all my reading about the Shoah, this book contained more heartrending details, and was also inspiring about what survives and what does not in human history. I also read Introduction to Film by Nick Lacey, which was full of excellent detail about the types of shots and types of cuts which are going to be useful to me. Finally I read a biography of Gerald Manley Hopkins by Paul Mariani, which was either uninformative or the poet's life was very uneventful indeed. One unusual characteristic of the biography was that the author would put in the day of the week and date at the start of various paragraphs. I found it distracting and wondered if the author was being lazy, but for references it would be very useful.

Alice Neel

I read an issue of Eclectic Reading and one of OK Magazine since my last post. I've also just read two books on the artist Alice Neel, one eponymous and one about an exhibition, Interior Exterior. and I am thinking a lot about pure creativity. I did some drawing and painting in the last 24 hours, which I haven't done for several years. If I don't create, I feel a sort of pressure that makes me restless, I suppose. But my creativity is about talking with friends and writing in my diary, not just painting or writing a play.

Metacognition, Sullivan, Vargas Llosa, Mags

I've read an issue of National Examiner, an issue of The New Yorker, and an issue of The New Scientist since my last post. I read two volumes of essays on metacognition, by McKinnon, Waller et al. I will be taking notes from only one essay, but I am increasingly thinking that my work is difficult for people to use because it requires metacognition. I read Vargas Llosa's Green House. Uh-oh, I thought, I've ordered everything he's ever written, and I don't like this first book. And I read Sullivan's Au dela de Dieu. This essay on paradoxes was written philosophically, it seemed to me, even mystically. But I read it because it was recommended to me as fantastic, but I didn't think it was that earth-shaking.

Garcia Lorca, the last of Nabokov, Metacognition

Since my last post, I've read the works of Garcia Lorca, whose revolutionary play Sans titre I thought was really interesting, although more as writing than as theatre. I found his sad story more captivating than much of his writing -- he was shot, along with hundreds of other village inhabitants, during the dark days of the Spanish civil war. Which reminds me, I should read about that. I've also finished the novels of Nabokov. It seems my favorite will be Sebastian Knight, as I was not captivated by Ada, although Look at the Harlequins I thought was rather good. Finally, I started to read the first of about twenty books on metacognition, for professional reasons. I just read, you guessed it, Metacognition, a collection of essays edited by Metcalfe and Shimamura. It didn't contain much that was useful for me in terms of improving my metacognitive strategic exercises, but who knows? The reading may stimulate my thinking, at least.

Strauss, the last of France, Borges

I read the three essays by Leo Strauss published under the title City and Man. I can't say I thought that much of it, it is perfectly fine but doesn't seem to say much that is new. On the other hand these were published lectures rather than a monograph.

I am also midway through my last volume by Anatole France. Some of the novels were obviously serialized, and some of the writing bears the mark of someone who had to earn a living that way. But he is witty -- viz. in La revolte des anges that bourgeois mother who says virginity was fine when girls were married at puberty, but surely no one expects it of a 25-year-old? This was worthy of Oscar Wilde. He is also adept at satirizing society through fantasy, as he does with Ile des pingouins. The biggest surprise was his unabashed Catholicism, not in evidence generally, but showed through in his book on Joan of Arc. Who knew?

I also read a couple of books by Borges as I am reading his complete works. Universal History of Infamy is one strange idea for a book, an unconnected litany of horrible things done across time and space. Possibly the next book, Universal History of Eternity will be a bit more uplifting.

I also read Le Monde Diplomatique's quarterly, Manieres de penser, the CAA quarterly and an issue of Academic Matters.

Anatole France, Boyd on Nabokov, mags

Since my last post I've read an issue of Cook's Illustrated, an issue of Vanity Fair and an issue of OK Magazine. I've also read six volumes of the complete works of Anatole France, of which the two volumes on Joan of Arc interested me the most. I also devoured Brian Boyd's biography of Nabokov, second volume only. I enjoyed all 792 pages thoroughly. I didn't read the south Americans, as advertised previously. A whole afternoon on my sun-drenched deck, a warm day at last! It was really enjoyable.

Colette, mags

Since my last post I read the last of Colette's books, and her plays. I was almost relieved to find something I liked. Julie de Carneilhan is marvelously well-observed, as were her memoirs of occupied Paris, Le fanal bleu. I suppose that must be what made her such a great nature writer as well. I'm onto Luis Borges next, on an extended tour of Latin American literature, with Lorca and possibly Marquez next.

I've also read another issue of The New Yorker and The New Scientist.

Mags, Colette

Since my last post I read an issue of The New Yorker, and stared a new issue of The Economist. I also completed the reading of Andre Malraux. His long meditation on the sacred and the unseen in art certainly was wonderful. I was interested to read that his work had been criticized, too much for its value according to his editors, for getting certain particular facts wrong. I agree, this is a work with a broad sweep, and I don't care if he got one of the dates wrong.

Having at last received the last 11 volumes of the complete works of Colette, I read three more volumes yesterday. These are easy reads, and I was surprised to hear of Colette's affair with her own stepson, Bertrand de Jouvenel, since I had also read de Jouvenel's work as a futurist. Poor him, his work is valuable, but his obituary will read: "Deflowered by his own stepmother, the flamboyant, sexually omniverous writer Colette..." I hope he doesn't have an alert on his name for blogs... I was interested to read her books of non fiction, about her life with women or her learning to be a writer, but I find her work in fiction so far to be bland, in French anodin. There are still quite a few volumes to go, I plan to finish this off on the week-end holiday at the latest.