BOOKS: "In the great green room, there was a telephone and a red balloon... but no ashtray"

I don't know if you're familiar with the kids' book Goodnight Moon by Margaret Wise Brown. It's more than twenty-five years old and something of a classic. We have a copy, and while I wouldn't say it does the job of lulling young Master Sam off to Sleepyland, he seems to like it. In fact, he's chewing on it right now.

As kids' books go, it's pretty much the height of innocuousness. So no one was more surprised than I to learn of the recent controversy surrounding its re-release.

Publisher HarperCollins has just re-issued the newest edition of the book with a digitally altered photograph of the book's illustrator, Clement Hurd... to remove the cigarette from his mouth.

I don't know which is funnier, the ensuing media kerfuffle lamenting the overly PC age in which we live (and if you want to check out the extent of it, just go to Google and search the keywords "goodnight moon cigarette smoking smoke clement hurd"), or this revised version of the story:

In the great green room there was . . .

A cordless telephone

And a red balloon, non-helium and securely tethered out of toddler reach

And a picture of the cow jumping over the moon, with a warning label never to try this with cattle or indeed any animals without parental supervision

And there were three little bears, roaming freely in their native habitat, secure in their endangered-species status

And two little neutered kittens

And a pair of mittens, purchased from a Cambodian collective

And a little toyhouse with all potential choking hazards fastened in place by six-inch bolts

And a young and humanely captured mouse...

That's all I could cut and paste without feeling guilty. You'll have to read the rest here.

BOOKS: The Last Word on Pratchett

Heh. Did that title get your attention? If so, you may be one of the rabid Pratchett fans that Alex L. warned me about when I asked her (gosh, I think Alex is a she*... I didn't think to ask) permission to reprint an email she (Alex, I'm going to keep referring to you as "she" until you correct me, okay?) sent me in response to my recent post about trying to find a groove with Pratchett.

My name's Alex and I have the dubious distinction of having read all of the Pratchett books, which means this is the opinion set of a total stranger (really all of them, even Once More* *With Footnotes).

I have to say that I think you might be missing the best parts, just based on what you've picked up; Small Gods is great, but Monstrous Regiment not so much. If you're more into getting where all the fanatic, cultish followers came from, your best bet is pick up books from before Interesting Times in print order. After that, he had a brief phase with longer, more "serious" SF type stuff, and now he's into a set of things that are hugely dependent on people already kind of getting what he's writing and being committed to the characters and understanding the universe setup. There's also a lot more unveiled straight-up political commentary, which sometimes comes at the cost of better character or plot development.

Most people who I've met who're just starting with the Disc seem to prefer Guards, Guards or Men at Arms as a beginner, with Feet of Clay as a followup; if you're more into wizards and slapstick, Interesting Times and the original six books are probably the most accessible. They set up a lot of Discworld in-jokes, too.

Also, The Unadulterated Cat is pretty much the funniest book on anything to do with cats that I've ever read, and The Bromeliad, which is composed of Truckers, Diggers and Wings, is entirely appropriate and even kind of awesome when you're 10-12. Just a header.

Thanks for putting up with the ramblings of a total stranger. I just really love a lot of Pratchett's older stuff, and the new stuff is... not in the same vein. Thought I'd mention.

"Thanks for putting up with the ramblings of a total stranger." Heh. I could say the same thing to all of you guys. So... thanks for putting up with the ramblings of a total stranger.

And a HUGE thank you to you, Alex, for taking the time to write such a thoughtful, detailed note. If I were still all pregnant and hormonal, I'd probably be all misty-eyed right now.

So there you go. One woman's (or man's) opinion. All you hardcore Pratchett fans probably have your own thoughts -- dissenting or otherwise -- about Alex's critique, and I'd love to hear them. But for the novices among you who, like me, really want to give Pratchett a fair shake but are overwhelmed by his prolificity (prolificness? prolificosity?), I think Alex has given us a solid start.

Edited later to add: And if you want more info to work with after you've gotten off to a good start a la Alex, check out Essy's "cut out and keep guide to every book in the main Discworld series, in order, with which of the character arcs it belongs to, what it was like stylistically, whether [she] enjoyed it or not and whether it's a good intro to the series." (You'll have to scroll down a wee bit, but it's worth it.)

Edited yet again to add a link to this Discworld Reading Order Guide (in handy chart form). It may contradict everything Alex and Essy have told us, but as Nick (who posted it) says, "It looks nice anyway."


*Probably because I have a good female friend named Alex, who rocks, by the way. But if you're still reading, Alex L., I think you rock, too, even if you're a guy.

BOOKS: Moby Dick and Other Books I Will Never Read

Blah blah blah I've read this book blah blah and that book blah blah blah that book was okay blah that one sucked blah blah.

Here at 50 Books HQ, I'm always going on about books I've read and books I'd like to read. How about books I will probably never -- for various poorly formed reasons -- ever read?

You know what I'm talking about. Not the plethora of mediocre books that are published every year and rapidly scuttle along the literary food chain to the remainder bin. I'm talking about the Important Books you always believed that, as a book lover, you'd get around to, but somehow the fire has died. And you're one hundred percent cool with that.

For Rusty, it's James Joyce's Ulysses. He got a copy back when we were English students, even though it wasn't required reading, and it's been hanging around his neck ever since. He packed it across the country when we moved from Ontario to BC. He even schlepped this huge book all over Thailand and Cambodia in his backpack, thinking that hours of lying in beachside hammocks would finally give him the necessary time to savour and digest Joyce's prose.

I recently asked him what he ended up doing with all those hours.

"Break hammocks," he replied.

(True fact: Rusty wore out three hammocks at one guest house. When he finally packed up to come home, the owner hugged him and said it was like watching a piece of the furniture get up and leave. He still considers this one of the most touching things anyone has ever said to him.)

Rusty finally said goodbye to Ulysses -- with fond memories and no regrets -- during the Great Book Purge of '05. I got rid of some albatrosses of my own. And good riddance, I say. Here are a few.

The Last Temptation of Christ by Niko Kazantakis
I think I only got this book because it came out at a time when, for me, bugging Christians seemed like a fun, anti-establishment activity. I like a revisionist retelling as much as anybody (I've eaten up Not Wanted on the Voyage, Wide Sargasso Sea, and most of Gregory Maguire's novels with a postmodern spoon), but I just never got fired up enough to read it. You might say I wasn't tempted. Ha! Ergh.

The Satanic Verses by Salman Rushdie
Same deal here. And then I heard it wasn't even that great, at least not compared to Rushdie's other work. I feel kind of guilty for not caring enough about a book that caused its author to go into hiding for years... but obviously not guilty enough.

Moby Dick by Herman Melville
I used to have this super-impressive old hardcover edition of Moby Dick, and I think I started to fear and resent it. It sat there on my shelf, unread and judging me in leather-clad stentorian tones. Well, you know what, Mr. Melville? I've already read The Old Man and the Sea, and I think I've had my fill of "the fish was HOW big?" stories.* At least Hemingway had the decency to make his short.

Tess of the D'Urbervilles (or anything else by Thomas Hardy, for that matter)
Dude, I've already ploughed through the unexpurgated edition of Clarissa. And I've read The Mill on the Floss. How many spirited-young-woman-of-virtue-violated-and-wronged classic novels am I expected to read in one lifetime? And why do I suspect that the popularity of same in the canon is someone's attempt to send me a message?

David Copperfield, Bleak House, Oliver Twist, The Old Curiosity Shop, etc., etc.
I've read my share of Dickens: Hard Times, A Tale of Two Cities, The Pickwick Papers, and of course A Christmas Carol. And that feels like enough to me. Any more and I'd have to bust out my fake Cockney accent, and nobody wants that.

Dune by Frank Herbert
A few years ago, Rusty insisted that I at least attempt to read Dune. I tried, but there's just some bad writing in there. It's the tragedy of most science fiction: fabulous plots, terrible prose. I know there are some folks out there, and I salute you, who can overlook the latter in appreciation of the former. I am not one of them.

Gone with the Wind by Margaret Mitchell
Look, I've seen the movie and have no idea why it was such a smash, so I'm really puzzled by the success of the book. (Depending on whom you ask, it's the second-biggest fiction bestseller of all time... yes, even beating out all the Harry Potter books.) I know you're never supposed to judge a book based on the film, but in this case I'm going to go with my gut.

The Bible
You laugh, but in my younger days -- like, when I was around ten -- I had a plan to read the Bible in, I believe, under a year. A certain number of chapters per day, books per month, etcetera. It all fell apart when I got to Exodus. I may not have wandered forty years in the desert, but it sure felt like it. All those "begats" and lists upon lists of rules. ("Thou shalt not wear linen with wool"?) They beat me. Since then, I've read some of the books -- Psalms, Matthew, Mark, Luke, John, parts of Corinthians 1 and 2, and of course Job and Revelation -- but randomly. Reading the Bible cover to cover? It ain't gonna happen. I don't care how hip they make Jesus.


*Yes, I know that whales are not fish.

ETC: Holiday Shopping for Book Nerds

Unless they have an online wishlist, book lovers are pains in the ass to shop for. As one of those pains in the ass myself, I didn't realize it until one year, when I was complaining that I hardly ever get books as gifts and somebody finally clued me in that:

1. everyone always assumes that book nerds are picky as all hell (guilty as charged), and
2. no one knows what you've already read (fair enough; I barely know what I've already read).

So what do you do if you're tasked with buying holiday gifts for a book nut who has inconsiderately not bothered to register their preferences online?

Clearly, actual books are out. But there's a whole world wide web filled with weird and/or cool book-related gifts out there that will wow the socks off (or charm the pants off, according to your preference) your intended recipient. And fortunately for you, I've corraled them all here under one figurative roof for your perusal.

Everyone loves a book safe, maybe because it makes us feel all dangerous and subversive and totally prepared, should the need arise, to hide the microfilm. Rusty, for some reason, has two book safes. Perhaps he's a double agent. You can always buy one from the huge selection available here. Or if you're the crafty sort -- or you just don't want to leave a paper trail -- here's how to make one.

Now, a gift basket specially designed for book lovers is a nice idea. You could always use a service that designs and send them for you. Their "Pamper a Friend" basket includes your choice of novels, magazines, bath and spa goodies, gourmet treats, champagne (optional), bathrobe, slippers or luxurious throw. Or the "Shakespeare Can Be Fun" basket, which includes one or more Shakespearean plays that "the whole family can enjoy" (ha! Not mine!) bundled with paper masks, crowns and more. Or you could pillage their website's inventory and come up with your own combos. Maybe a copy of Jules Verne's Around the World in Eighty Days paired with a ride in a hot air balloon? No, seriously, a hot air balloon ride! How cool is that? Think big! It's the holidays, you cheap bastard.

If you have a book-loving kid on your gift list, how about getting them one of these super-slick under-the-blankets reading lights (and maybe pair it with a good kids' book), and confirm your status as coolest aunt or uncle EVER?

Okay, seriously, these Penguin Classics mugs are so awesome, I can't believe someone didn't come up with them earlier. No matter. They made up for lost time by also coming out with these deckchairs.

Did you know the Library of Congress has a gift shop? That's so cool! (Shut up. It's cool if you're me.) You can go to their online store to order The New York Public Library Home Library System. "For the general book lover or for someone whose ardor for the printed word has led to stacks of yet-to-be-read volumes on floors and other surfaces, here's a great, enjoyable way to keep track of them all."

For the slightly less anal retentive, how about custom bookplates, already engraved with the recipient's name? If your budget's a bit smaller, you can give regular bookplates and let the recipient write their own damn name. Or if your budget's really tiny, get some adhesive printer paper and make your own!

Everyone knows that all the cool kids keep track of their reading habits through self-indulgent, navel-gazing blogs, but your mom and dad and Uncle Bob don't know it. For them, there's the Bookography Journal. Awww... paper journals. Kind of takes you back, doesn't it?

I've always liked the idea of nice bookends... but I'd need about fifty of them to do the job. Still, for smaller or special collections, here are these deluxe sets from the Library of Congress and the New York Public Library.

Now, I know I said that buying books is probably out. But what if the book in question is so special, so totally unique, that there's no way they already have it? Such as -- ta-DA! -- a personalized romance novel. Just provide the recipient's particulars and they can star in their own bodice ripper. Bonus points if you personalize this for a guy.

If heaving bosoms aren't your bag, you can search here for a signed copy of a favourite book. I didn't recognize many of the authors in the directory, but I did spot books by Ian McEwan, Margaret Atwood, Maya Angelou, Alexander McCall Smith, and Nigella Lawson.

If you want to go the more international artsy-craftsy route, these handmade Indian book ornaments -- traditionally used as decorations for the Diwali festival -- are actually quite pretty, and since they're sold through The Literacy Site, some of the proceeds go towards a good cause. There are six books in the set, and the pages are blank, so you can either write your own stories or messages in them, or let the recipient do the writing.

I've only read about the game of Authors in Little Women, but apparently you can still buy it, which is kind of cute, if somewhat twee. ("Twee" is a line upon which we book nerds seem to be destined to teeter.) Maybe a good copy of Little Women and this card game would make a nice gift for someone?

Speaking of twee, those Magnetic Poetry Kit people have a special edition just for book lovers. Do those hardworking people ever sleep? According to one product reviewer, "The Book Lover kit breathed some new life into the phrases from the Original Magnetic Poetry kit on my fridge." Another wrote, "Some good words, but... some variant conjugations would've been nice." Oooookaaaaaay.

Call me a goof, but I kind of dig this corny vintage "Prose before hos" tee. Good news: it comes in men and women's sizes. ("One size fits all" is one of the biggest lies in retail.)

Nothing says "I give up, World!" like one of these super-deluxe read-in-bed pillows, unless it's one of those pillows paired with a matching LEG WEDGE. (What I love about this site is that they try to deny the truth by calling it a work-in-bed pillow. Ha! Nice try. Still... I want one so bad it hurts. I always knew I'd turn into my grandma eventually, but who knew it would happen so early?)

And on that note, this pretty much wraps things up. ("Wraps"... geddit? Ha.)

One thing, though. This? Don't get this for anybody. Also this. Yikes.

Or you can just eschew the whole book theme entirely and get your loved one a couple of these. I know I want one.

WEB: Son of Retro Spam

Further to my previous post, a little tip from me to you:

Beware of email that says, "One of our Customer Service employees has already tryed to telephonically reach you."

ETC: Is a Thousand Bucks Too Much to Pay for a Stroller?

So as not to test your good nature with my potentially infinite ability to write about babies and all things domestic, from time to time I get a few things off my chest over at the Bored Housewives Network, where the fine ladies there do not mind my callow ranting... yet.

My latest missive:

Baby gear I would like to buy despite the fact that it is overpriced, impractical and unnecessary.

If you care about such things.

Around these parts, I'm putting the finishing touches on a mondo all-things-bookish post, which may interest those of you who are already heading into a holiday-shopping tailspin. It'll be going up tomorrow, so come on back.

WEB: Retro Spam

Thank god this important email found its way to someone with my keen business acumen:

Good day,

How are you & your family?

I want to use this opportunity to introduce my self to you.

I am Lorens Kwame, the son of Mr RICHARD ANDERSON (formal Director of Gold and Diamond Resources & Cocoa) who was killed by rebels in my country during the war. Before his death, he deposited a trunk box contain 2.8 Millions Dollars in one of the Security company here & declared it as a family treasure and African Art for security reason.

Due to the political crisis here now I want you to assist me to claim this fund as the next of kin & also to invest this fund in your country on a profitable area to avoid loosing the fund to the rebels here because of the instability in this country. I need your assistance because I can't handle the money properly myself due to my age & I need someone who has experience in business so that the money will be invest on profitable investment. I want you to show your interest immediately you received this message by contacting me for this legal transaction. After the successful transfer of this fund to your country, you will take 25% of the total amount of the money for your assistance & expenses during the transfer of this fund while the remaining 75% will be for the investment & will be manage by you on my behalf in your country, then I can process my travelling documents to meet you in your country. This transaction is 100% risk free.

So contact me immediately through this email address or the telephone number below and also forward me your full name, address and your telephone as well as your international passport photocopy or your Identity Card which I will submit to the security company for the release of the consignment. Due to my age, that is why I need your assistance . As soon as the consignment release from the security company, the fund will be transferred to your country through banking system so therefore do not hesitate to provide an account for the transfer.

I need your urgent response towards this matter. My phone number is 00225 0792 0504 while I am waiting for your call.

Ah, there's no school like the old school. Or is there? Spam kicks it nu $kool over at defective yeti.

WEB: 50 Books Meets 50 Cent

Sure, I'm white. And female. And more rural than urban. And well over the age of 22. But maybe I can still get a book deal with these guys.

Just one question before I sign: Does "blackening" hurt?

ETC: Born Freeeeeee...

...free as the wiiiind bloooooooows.

With all this talk about books and babies, I don't think I've even once told you about my dog, Dobbs (or as we like to call him since young Master Sam came along, Ol' Whatshisname). This is a travesty that must be amended immediately.

That's him up there. A bit of a free spirit, as you can tell. His full name is Fred C. Dobbs, after Humphrey Bogart's character in The Treasure of the Sierra Madre ("Nobody messes with Fred C. Dobbs, see!"), and if you haven't seen this movie yet, you should, because it's great. Ever wonder where the lines "Say buddy, can you stake a fellow American to a meal?" and "Badges? We don't need no stinkin' badges!" came from? Look no further.

But I digress. How unlike me.

Dobbs is of a breed known in its country of origin's native tongue as "Cao de Agua," which we believe is Portuguese for "curly-haired, spazzy, high-strung-but-charming pain in the neck who likes to eat cat poop and sleep in the middle of the bed." I know, that seems like too many words, but you know how economical foreign languages are.

Apparently, he's a distant cousin to the poodle, but he denies this vehemently.Because of his distinctive appearance (large-ish, stocky, curly-haired, with a majestic plume of a tail), he frequently hears the question, "What kind of dog is THAT?" Sometimes we tell the truth, but we've also been known to claim he is a Goof Poodle, a Curly-Coated Stinkhound, and a Rotti-Poo (a Rottweiler-poodle cross that was bred as an attack dog for people with allergies).

Despite the fact that his people were bred for working in the water, Dobbs does not swim. Oh, he knows how, and he loves the water. He just chooses not to. Even when bribed with raw weiners.

If he were to swim, his powerful tail would act as a rudder. Instead, he chooses to use this power to sweep the surfaces of low tables and stools. This is a shortlist of items his tail has knocked off/over: water bottles, full cans of beer, hardcover books, remote controls, sandwiches, and small children.

Dobbs has been perfectly housebroken since he was three months old... except for one notable incident: Unbeknowst to us, he ate an entire serving bowl full of Halloween chocolate. When it didn't agree with him, he thought that eating some other dog's poo would settle his stomach. It didn't. When we returned after being out for a couple of hours, we found the entire living room, front hall, and stairway strafed in a redolent mixture of cheap-chocolate-scented diarrhea and poo-scented vomit. Well, not the entire area. Just the carpeted and upholstered parts.

Dobbs's pet peeve is people who don't know the correct placement of the possessive apostrophe on names that end in the letter S.

He prances when he's in the right mood. Absolute strangers will point this out. "He's prancing," they'll marvel as he sashays past them. Because he's a dog and not a person, he thinks this is a compliment.

If you make your hand into a gun, point it at him, and yell, "BANG! BANG!" Dobbs will drop and roll over, but you'd better make sure you have a treat in that other hand. He won't attack you or anything as déclassé as that, but you will find yourself on the receiving end of one of the longest, most accusatory stares you've ever experienced.


Dobbs would probably get away with sneakily eating the cats' food more often if he didn't always leave his toy as evidence right next to the food dish.


He once ate a friend's plane ticket. That was awkward.

If you came to our house, this is how Dobbs would greet you: run to the door ahead of us, jump up on you repeatedly while we futilely say, "Dobbs, down!" over and over, run into the living room to let anyone there know you are here, try to take advantage of the mayhem to wolf down any snacks that might be on the coffee table, race back to the front hall, jump on you again, race into the kitchen and let anyone there know you're here, excitedly nibble a cat's ear in passing, fetch a toy and race back to the front hall again to show it to you. (Note that he is NOT trying to give you the toy. Any attempt on your part to agreeably take it will be countered with Dobbs walking backward down the hallway with unnerving speed.) You will finally get to take off your coat. We will all go to the living room to sit down and commence the visit proper, whereby Dobbs will do one final meet-and-greet victory lap of the room, then throw himself down with a loud "Humph!" on his bed and wait for us to amuse him.

Dobbs is a lover of mankind, a respecter of cats, and a friend to dogs. Unless said dogs do not recognize his alpha-ness. Then he will kick their ass. It's nothing personal, but if we don't maintain these class systems, what do we have? Anarchy. And the only anarchy Dobbs likes is that of his own devise.

Despite the fact that his breed is noted for its incredibly loud, piercing bark, Dobbs politely refrains from barking, something we've always appreciated. Especially that time someone broke into our house while we were sleeping and stole our laptop.

If Dobbs were on Jeopardy, these would be his dream categories:

Poops I Have Eaten
Why Any Attention Is Good Attention
Smelly Things I Have Rolled In
Strangers' Bums I Have Sniffed
Bad Haircuts I Have Endured
Me Me Me Me and Also Me

Every time we're watching TV and we see a dog living outside in a doghouse, either Rusty or I will suggest to Dobbs that he might really enjoy the independence of having his own place. He stares back at us with a deadpan expression from his cushy sheepskin bed, and we all laugh and laugh.

Speaking of TV, Dobbs has made two appearances on the tube, the most notable one as guest host of an episode of this show. During taping, he got a chance to work briefly with Canada Now anchor Ian Hanomansing and thought he seemed like a pretty nice guy. Dobbs laments the fact that there are so few roles for black dogs on television.

Dobbs really likes children. Mostly because they smell like cookies.

If you're an attractive female, watch out. Unless you like the sensation of a dog's nose wedged firmly and confidently in your crotch.

Speaking of crotches, if you are male, expect Dobbs to land at least one good blow with his paw to your manly parts. By now, this move is so patented that we've given it a name: The Crotch-Hammer. As in, "Oh god, I'm so sorry! You just got Crotch-Hammered. Would you like to lie down?"

Dobbs is very, very, very smart, but he would prefer that this secret not get out. It's his way of dodging high expectations. And he knows how to spell "B-O-N-E" and "W-A-L-K" so don't think you're pulling the wool over his eyes.

He's sweet and goofy and affectionate and demanding and high-energy and sometimes an all-around royal pain in the butt, but he makes us laugh every day and he's been remarkably patient about the fact that he's been somewhat usurped by a small, hairless interloper.

Most of all, he's what you call a plain old good dog. That's Dobbs.

BOOKS: In Defence of Chick Lit (Sort Of)

Number of books read to date: 46 (v.g.), Number of comfort re-reads: 14 (n.g.), Number of posts not even remotely about books but written in shameless ploy to distract site visitors from slow progress: Too many to count (bad)

You got me. I re-read Bridget Jones's Diary. I have my reasons. But given the fact that this novel won rave reviews from both Nick Hornby and Salman Rushdie, I don't think I need to be too ashamed. Do I?

Bridget Jones's Diary by Helen Fielding (#46)
I haven't read this book since it came out in 1999, but you know what? It's got legs. In fact, not only is it holding its own against the clock, I think I enjoyed it a lot more this time around, without all the annoyingly distracting kerfuffle that seems required by law to surround each literary Next Big Thing.

Why did so many people dislike this book? Sure, it's considered by many to be godmother to the popularly hated genre known as chick lit, though I think this is arguable since Judith Krantz was plundering this terrain in the 1970s and 80s with single-career-gals-looking-for-love novels such as Scruples, Princess Daisy, and my personal guilty pleasure favourite, I'll Take Manhattan. So at best I think we can just give Fielding props/blame for reviving the genre. But to her credit, she also imbues it with a lot more cleverness than Krantz-era chick lit. (Though I'm not going to confess how far I got through Bridget the first time before I made the Pride and Prejudice connection. What? I don't have to tell you people EVERYTHING.)

Now that I think about it, though, if Fielding is responsible for the chick lit revival that brought us the irredeemably execrable The Nanny Diaries, perhaps she should be held accountable for her actions. (It bears mentioning that Bridget Jones's Diary, its fairly enjoyable sequel, and The Nanny Diaries are the only examples of contemporary chick lit I've read.)

I think Fielding also gets linked, in some people's thinking anyway, with Candace Bushnell, writer of Sex and the City, the book that launched the series. I've never actually read any of Bushnell's books (though I've watched every season of SatC on DVD), but from what little I know of her work, it strikes me as unfair to compare the two. Bushnell's stock in trade seems to be brittle, neurotic uber-urbanites who seem to be genuinely looking for love, in addition to shoes that cost more than any given outfit in my wardrobe (and that's including jackets). Fielding, on the other hand, gives us Bushnell's antipode: goofy, hapless, relatably cellulite-ridden Bridget.

(Why is it that some people have such a virulent reaction to Sex and the City, anyway? Rusty has an aneurism every time he sees even a few minutes of the show. He says he hates that the women are so shallow and greedy and manipulative. I point out that so are the Ferengi, but that doesn't stop him from watching Star Trek. He counters with the fact that the Ferengi are aliens. I reply, but so are these women! This argument usually goes nowhere.)

Ultimately, I think that Bridget Jones was a victim of the media's tendency to seize upon and outrageously conflate social trends identified in novels (i.e. Fielding's Singletons and Smug Marrieds). The next thing you know, the Lifestyles section of every major Saturday paper is flogging the theme (along with fashion tips on how to dress for your role) until anyone with any self-respect is hard-pressed not to get all reactionary. It's simple human nature.

(This is the same tendency that earned Douglas Coupland a lot of undeserved wrath after Generation X. Poor Doug. Your book didn't bug the living shit out of me, but your press coverage sure as shootin' did.)

So... where am I going with this? I guess I just want to say that, yeah, I re-read Bridget Jones's Diary. And I feel pretty good about it. Though this is probably not the route I should be taking if I want to increase my LQ score.

BOOKS: Test Your LQ*

Finally! The Governor General's and National Book Award winners have been announced, just in time for the proud sponsors of 50 Books (aka me) to bring you this skill-testing quiz!

Question: How many winners of major awards for fiction have you read over the past ten years? (Bonus scoring guide at the end!)

Note: Two half-read books do not equal a whole. Also, repeat winners, such as Richard B. Wright's Clara Callan, only count as one book.

Booker
The Sea by John Banville (2005)
The Line of Beauty by Alan Hollinghurst (2004)
Vernon God Little by DBC Pierre (2003)
Life of Pi by Yann Martel (2002)
True History of the Kelly Gang by Peter Carey (2001)
The Blind Assassin by Margaret Atwood (2000)
Disgrace by J.M. Coetzee (1999)
Amsterdam by Ian McEwan (1998)
The God of Small Things by Arundhati Roy (1997)
Last Orders by Graham Swift (1996)

Pulitzer
Gilead by Marilynne Robinson (2005)
The Known World by Edward P. Jones (2004)
Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides (2003)
Empire Falls by Richard Russo (2002)
The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay by Michael Chabon (2001)
Interpreter of Maladies by Jhumpa Lahiri (2000)
The Hours by Michael Cunningham (1999)
American Pastoral by Philip Roth (1998)
Martin Dressler: The Tale of an American Dreamer by Steven Millhauser (1997)
Independence Day by Richard Ford (1996)

Giller
The Time in Between by David Bergen (2005)
Runaway by Alice Munro (2004)
The In-Between World of Vikram Lall by M. G. Vassanji (2003)
The Polished Hoe by Austin Clarke (2002)
Clara Callan by Richard B. Wright (2001)
Anil's Ghost by Michael Ondaatje and Mercy Among the Children by David Adams Richards (2000)
A Good House by Bonnie Burnard (1999)
The Love of a Good Woman by Alice Munro (1998)
Barney's Version by Mordecai Richler (1997)
Alias Grace by Margaret Atwood (1996)

Governor General's
A Perfect Night to Go to China by David Gilmour (2005)
A Complicated Kindness by Miriam Toews (2004)
Elle by Douglas Glover (2003)
A Song for Nettie Johnson by Gloria Sawai (2002)
Clara Callan by Richard B. Wright (2001)
Anil's Ghost by Michael Ondaatje (2000)
Elizabeth and After by Matt Cohen (1999)
Forms of Devotion by Diane Schoemperlen (1998)
The Underpainter by Jane Urquhart (1997)
The Englishman's Boy by Guy Vanderhaeghe (1996)

National Book Award
Europe Central by William T. Vollmann (2005)
The News from Paraguay by Lily Tuck (2004)
The Great Fire by Shirley Hazzard (2003)
Three Junes by Julia Glass (2002)
The Corrections by Jonathan Franzen (2001)
In America by Susan Sontag (2000)
Waiting by Ha Jin (1999)
Charming Billy by Alice McDermott (1998)
Cold Mountain by Charles Frazier (1997)
Ship Fever and Other Stories by Andrea Barrett (1996)

Your score:

49 -- Perfect score! Congratulations. You are either a prolific reader with impeccable taste or a virgin.
40-48 -- So close! And yet... who cares?
30-39 -- Middle of the pack. Good ol' forgettable, not-that-great-but-not-too-crappy middle of the pack.
20-29 -- You tried. Unfortunately, for you trying doesn't get you very far.
10-19 -- Yeah, yeah, yeah. Stop making excuses. And it's too late to say that literary prizes are stupid. You already took the test.
1-9 -- Too bad Classic Comix weren't on the list. Better luck next decade.
0 -- I'm sure your mom thinks you're smart.


*LQ = literary quotient (er, in case that needed explaining)

ETC: The Lost Continence

If there's one humbling thing that the wretched cough that accompanies this interminable, abysmal cold has taught me, it's that I should not have been so quick to congratulate myself on the speedy post-partum recovery of my bladder control.

On the plus side, if there can be said to be one, the small creature who both gave me this cold and, somewhat indirectly, did this terrible, terrible thing to my bladder, seems to have rounded a bend, personality-wise.

That's right. My boy -- he of the at-best-deadpan expression, the mercurial temperament, the tendency to blame others for life's ills -- has become a card. A joker. A comedian. A charmer. In other words, a fun baby.

He chuckles helplessly when you kiss his neck. (Actually, the action is less like kissing and more like starting to blow a raspberry then suddenly going "CHOMP-chomp-chomp-chomp-chomp-chomp" on his neck. Cracks him up. Every time.) If you holler "KISS!" when zooming close to his face, he opens his mouth wide and plants a big, smile-y, drool-y one on you. When you pick him up, he grabs you around the neck in a fiercely enthusiastic bear hug (admittedly using the opportunity to also practise his fine motor skills on handfuls of your hair, but hey! Whatever!). For some mysterious reason, if you clap your hands you can get him to go from crying to smiling in under three seconds. I guess he just appreciates the applause. He flirts shamelessly with strangers, particularly our yoga instructor and the ladies at the deli. I can actually put him down in his crib or exersaucer for minutes at a time to go to the bathroom or whatever, and still return to a happy baby, and not one who's screaming and glaring accusingly at me like I just tied a steak around his neck and left him in the dingo cage at the zoo.

My boy. Fun. I'm reeling.

BOOKS: Bring on the Funny Redux

You came. You listened. You did not rip me a new one. For that I thank you. I do not need a new one.

So here's my new tack.

I ditched Lost in a Good Book, per several people's suggestion. I have not given up on Fforde, though. I'm going to put in a library request for The Eyre Affair and make a clean start.

I don't want to abandon Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman so soon, either, so I'm going to check out Pratchett's Monstrous Regiment and Small Gods, as well as Gaiman's Coraline. And thanks to Marissa for the heads up that Pratchett and Gaiman may be teaming up for a Good Omens sequel. Whee!

I'm also going to request a copy of Anthony Bourdain's Kitchen Confidential. I've been meaning to read Bourdain since forever, so this seems a good place and time to start.

I'd completely forgotten that a looooong time ago Cap'n Ganch had strongly urged me to read Jincy Willett's book, Winner of the National Book Award, and I meant to and then totally forgot, so thanks for the reminder, katiedid. It's back on my frontlist. (Hey, Cap'n, I went to the Jones Soda site and voted for your photo. Let me know if you win. I love Mr. Potato-Head!)

On the backlist: travel writer Tim Moore, Saki, The Night Life of the Gods by Thorne Smith, Operating Instructions by Anne Lamott, Diary of a Provincial Lady by E. M. Delafield, and Dave Barry's Big Trouble. How's that for diversity?

For Master Sam: The Giggler Treatment by Roddy Doyle. I've never read it, either, so... ahem... I'll give it a test drive before I pass it along. And thanks to Anna's reminder that these books exist, Master Sam will definitely be getting "his own" copies of The Stinky Cheese Man and Other Fairly Stupid Tales, as well as Jon Scieszka and Lane Smith's other books. I bought these for my niece and nephew ages and ages ago, when they were first published, and I've decided to hog more than my share of the credit for the fact that, because of the incredible awesomeness of my book-giving skills, my niece is now studying English literature in university. And on scholarship, no less.

Right now, I'm reading Connie Willis's To Say Nothing of the Dog. Coincidentally, I'd already gotten it out of the library when I wrote my original post, so I grabbed it with great hope and optimism when several of you recommended it. And so far I'm liking it, slow-ish start and all. Yay!

Thanks for the fantastic -- and plentiful -- suggestions, folks (and I think it goes without saying that I invite you to keep them coming). I may end this year with a bang (and not a whimper) after all.

ETC: I Fought the Law and the Law Won

Random Homeless Guy: Is that the sheriff?
Rusty: Yup.
Random Homeless Guy: How come he's so fucking small?

WEB: Awwwww...

One well-read home has some new pets:

Since then, by similarly traipsing along the edge of her bookshelves or by following a reference to one classic made in the introduction to another, Ms. Gursky has wound her way through The Adventures and Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes and three other books by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Soon to follow was Vineland by Thomas Pynchon ("Boy, that was weird," she said).

BOOKS: War and Remembrance

It's Remembrance Day here in Canuckistan. Now, I never know how much people from other countries know about each other's holidays (for example, I had no idea till recently that the U.S. and Canada* are the only countries that celebrate Halloween; get ON that, people!), so for those of you who don't know, Remembrance Day is when we remember our fallen soldiers from past wars.

There are usually parades in almost every community, leading to the local cenotaph where wreaths are laid, and there's at least one bagpiper doing his or her thing. The phrase "Lest we forget" gets bandied about a fair bit.

As a young Brownie, then later a Girl Guide, I was always involved in these parades, and something I've noticed since then is that the number of former soldiers in attendance is diminishing every year. And those that remain are very old.

Remembrance Day is an interesting holiday, in that it forces one to wonder if it has a shelf life. Canada kicked ass in the First and Second World Wars, but our representation in the global warfare scene slowed down after that. We didn't have official troops in Vietnam. We did have troops in the first Gulf War, though not the second. Which kind of leads me to wonder if the idea of remembering fallen soldiers will someday seem rather antiquated, or merely theoretical, to Canadian kids in the future.

I'm one of those people who comes by most of their learnin' incidentally, through novels, so most of what I know about warfare comes from literature. I have to confess, though, that a lot of the literature of war I find somewhat inaccessible. Much as I love Hemingway, for example, Farewell to Arms is not even front of mind if you were to ask me to list his novels. I've never finished Catch-22, though I've started it a few times. And I've read Pat Barker's Regeneration and its sequel, The Ghost Road, with little impression left by either. This says more about me than it does about these books, I'm sure.

I tend to do better, for some reason, with stories about innocent bystanders caught up in conflicts they had no part in starting. I loved Captain Corelli's Mandolin, for example, as I've loved all of Louis de Berniere's novels; he captures the absurdity of politics and war with as much dark humour as pathos. Vonnegut's Slaughterhouse-Five is an amazing story I've read countless times. Fugitive Pieces, by Anne Michaels, almost broke my heart, it was that good. And The Diary of Anne Frank should be required reading for everyone. In the world. Period.

I don't know how I feel about war itself. It strikes me that it's impossible to have a blanket position on the matter, no matter what factions on the right and left want us to believe. (My local video store clerk tells me that wars are all government-engineered money-making schemes. He has literature to prove this. It would be easier to entertain his theories if I weren't so distracted by the flecks of froth around his mouth.) Some wars are probably necessary. Others are not. It's probably a sad truth that we're only able to tell the difference after the fact.

On that vague note, I'll leave you with a poem, probably the only poem that's taught to Canadian schoolchildren that we actually end up remembering. It's by a Canadian soldier named John McCrae, who wrote it during the First World War.

In Flanders Fields
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

*ETA: And Ireland! Mea culpa!

BOOKS: I'm Ready for My Close-Up

Sources tell me that the newest adaptation of Pride and Prejudice opens in theatres tomorrow. As P&P is one of my favourite novels, this would be exciting news... except that I'm a parent, which means I HAVE NO LIFE AND WILL NEVER GO OUT, MUCH LESS SEE AN ENTIRE FEATURE-LENGTH FILM, EVER AGAIN.

Ahem. Let me begin again.

Book-to-movie transitions get a tough rap. I know I sure wouldn't want to be the person responsible for taking some book nerd's beloved classic and making it into a film. Can you imagine the geek carnage if Peter Jackson had fucked up The Lord of the Rings? Can you IMAGINE? My own initial expectations (low) of the first LotR movie, and my own reaction (shocked) when it ended up being really, really good (unless you're Glark, in which case we must pity him for he is surely dead inside) are an indicator of one thing: when it comes to movie adaptations, most of us pretty much expect them to suck. For every Lord of the Rings, there are a hundred The Cat in the Hats waiting to make our jaws drop in amazement (not the good kind).

But forget about all that for now. Let's stop and take a moment to celebrate those rare occasions when those greedy Hollywood bastards didn't royally screw up.

Howard's End
This is another of my favourite books, and I am one tough bitch to please when my favourite books are movie-fied. And this tough bitch was pleased. Those Merchant-Ivory dudes know their way around a period movie, but really what makes this movie work is that it feels surprisingly contemporary. I've always thought that Howard's End is a timeless story, and in the wrong hands it could have been misinterpreted and made into a stuffy period piece. (Also, Emma Thompson is my secret celebrity girlfriend. Well, one of them.)

Jaws
Now, I haven't actually read the book, but if I want my man to keep giving me the sugar, I have to include Jaws on this list, since it's one of his favourite movies. So here it is. For the record, it's pretty scary. I think this Spielberg fellow is going to go places.

The Shining
This is one of the horror novels I used to torture myself with when I was a kid. On the up side, it made growing up without a dad a lot more palatable. Who needs one of those croquet-mallet-wielding psychos prowling around the house causing trouble? Not me! Jack Nicholson is so perfectly perfect in this role, the scene in which -- already visibly losing it -- he sits Danny on his lap for some dad-and-son time makes me want to yell at the screen, "Jesus Christ, kid! Get the hell off his lap!" And Shelley Duvall turns in an awesome performance as Nicholson's on-screen wife, who is so subtly annoying you can kind of sympathize with him for going a little bananas.

Willie Wonka & the Chocolate Factory
I'm talking about the first adaptation, starring Gene Wilder, not the new Johnny Depp version (see my comments above re: not having a life and never seeing a new release again). As in The Shining, big performances and big personalities are what make this movie work. Wilder rules every scene as the high-energy yet weirdly menacing Willy Wonka. And while I usually cringe at child actors, even they -- especially the kid who plays Veruca Salt -- turn in some solid work.

Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas
I know a lot of people hate this book, and by extension the movie, but I have to tell you I find both pretty entertaining. Come on. An ether-fuelled romp through '70s-era Vegas? What's not to love? My biggest problem with this book/movie is that I wasn't there. I thought Johnny Depp did a good job as Hunter S. Thompson, and I thought Benicio del Toro did a brilliant job of fleshing out the attorney, a character I found vague and sketchy in the book. As book-to-movie adaptations go, this one is pretty faithful, even down to the fact that the movie gets bogged down at the midway point, just like the book.

Clueless
Hey, I've already admitted to liking Fear and Loathing. I may as well make a clean breast of it. I love this movie. And I'm a huge Jane Austen nut. Amy Heckerling's screenplay is genius. As adaptations of Emma go, this is the best I've seen. (Gwyneth Paltrow's passable -- yet strangely forgettable -- take on the role was just kind of meh.) Alicia Silverstone has a lot of explaining to do for her subsequent career choices, but she can still cruise a few more miles on the cred she earned playing privileged Beverly Hills princess Cher.