America by (The Daily Show with) Jon Stewart

America by (The Daily Show with) Jon Stewart

Very smart and funny book.

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Since last post

which was in NOVEMBER... sigh...

I've finished The Hundred Days, Blue at the Mizzen, and 21 by Patrick O'Brian. (21 I finished the typed part; I couldn't make out much of the hand-written part, but it might have been because I was too emotional about it all ending!)

I've also read:

Life of the Beloved by Henri Nouwen
Animal, Vegetable, Miracle by Barbara Kingsolver
Making & Using Dried Foods by Phyllis Hobson
Dried Flowers by Martha E. Kraska
Roots, Shoots, Buckets, and Boots by Sharon Lovejoy
The Vegetable Gardener's Bible by Edward C. Smith
Raw Family Signature Dishes by Victoria Boutenko
Fresh by Sergei and Valya Boutenko
The Raw Gourmet by Nomi Shannon

That, I think, covers 2009. Starting in January:

Gyn/ Ecology by Mary Daly
Sweetness and Power by Sidney W. Mintz
Raw Family by Victoria Boutenko
McGee & Stuckey's Bountiful Container by Rose Marie Nichols McGee & Maggie Stuckey

and, currently, Amerika by Franz Kafka.

I so love Kafka. He writes such beautiful and honest nightmares.

:)

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So in 2009

I read: 

1. Eragon by Christopher Paolini
2. Cloud's Rider by C.J. Cherryh
3. A Short, Sharp Shock by Kim Stanley Robinson
4. Fair Game by Valerie Plame Wilson
5. Courage For The Earth edited by Peter Matthiessen
6. The Spell of the Sensuous by David Abram
7. Literature and the Gods by Roberto Calasso
8. The OuT-of-Synch Child by Carol Stock Kranowitz
9. The Morgaine Saga by C.J. Cherryh
10. mulya Pinkerton's Badly Written Stories and Awful Poetry by Gail Cali
11. The Paranoid's Pocket Guide to Mental Disorders You Can Just Feel Coming On  by Dennis Diclaudio
12. Early Spring by Amy Seidl
13. Conspirator by C.J. Cherryh
14. Downbelow Station by C.J. Cherryh
15. Merchanter's Luck by C.J. Cherryh
16. Forty Thousand in Gehenna by C.J. Cherryh
17. The Reverse of the Medal by Patrick O'Brian
18. Exile's Gate by C.J. Cherryh
19. The Letter of Marque by Patrick O'Brian
20. The Thirteen Gun Salute by Patrick O'Brian
21. The Nutmeg of Consolation by Patrick O'Brian
22. The Truelove by Patrick O'Brian
23. The Wine-Dark Sea by Patrick O'Brian
24. The Commodore by Patrick O'Brian
25. The Yellow Admiral by Patrick O'Brian
26. Talk to the Hand by Lynne Truss
27. The Hundred Days by Patrick O'Brian
28. Blue at the Mizzen by Patrick O'Brian
29. 21 by Patrick O'Brian
30. Life of the Beloved by Henri Nouwen
31. Animal, Vegetable, Miracle by Barbara Kingsolver
32. Making & Using Dried Foods by Phyllis Hobson
33. Dried Flowers by Martha E. Kraska
34. Roots, Shoots, Buckets, and Boots by Sharon Lovejoy
35. The Vegetable Gardener's Bible by Edward C. Smith
36. Raw Family Signature Dishes by Victoria Boutenko
37. Fresh by Sergei and Valya Boutenko
38. The Raw Gourmet by Nomi Shannon

Talk to the Hand, by Lynne Truss (3.5)

Talk to the Hand: The Utter Bloody Rudeness of the World Today, or Six Good Reasons to Stay Home and Bolt the Door


I have to say, I did like the book, and I knew what it would be like going into it, which basically is like a long newspaper column or magazine article with (albeit British) humor somewhat on the lines of Erma Bombeck or Dave Barry. A very very quick read- enjoyable with some pretty good points and quite a few things to think about.

Whether it's merely a question of advancing years bringing greater intolerance I don't think that I shall bother to establish. I will just say that, for my own part, I need hardly defend myself against any knee-jerk "grumpy old woman" accusations, being self-evidently so young and fresh and liberal and everything. It does, however, have to be admitted that the outrage reflex ("Oh, that's so RUDE!") presents itself in most people at just about the same time as their elbow skin starts to give out. Check your own elbow skin. If it snaps back into position after bending, you probably should not be reading this book. If, on the other hand, it just sits there in a puckered fashion, a bit rough and belligerent, then you can probably also name about twenty things, right now, off the top of your head, that drive you nuts: people who chat in the cinema; young people sauntering four-abreast on the pavement; waiters who say, "There you go" as they place your bowl of soup on the table; people not even attempting to lower their voices when they use the Eff word. People with young, flexible elbow skin spend less time defining themselves by things they don't like. Warn a young person that "Each man becomes the thing he hates", and he is likely to reply, quite cheerfully, that that's OK, then, since the only thing he really hates is broccoli.
p. 4-5

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The Yellow Admiral, by Patrick O'Brain

The Yellow Admiral (Vol. Book 18) (Aubrey/Maturin Series)

Faith and Begorra- A new entry!

Mostly of quotes.

"The heart has its reasons that the... that the..."

"Kidneys?" suggested Stephen.

"That the kidneys know not." Jack frowned. "No. Hell and death, that's not it. But anyhow the heart has its reasons, you understand."

"It is a singularly complex organ, I am told."
p.58

"I do not have to tell you, Stephen, how wholly I long to receive the order requesting and requiring me, as rear-admiral of the blue, to proceed to the smallest of commands, to His Majesty's sloop of war Mosquito, say, with two four-pounders and a swivel, and to hoist my flag at her mizzen-mast. I should do anything for it. Anything."

"Does Simmon's Lea come within the limits of anything?"

"No, of course not, Stephen; how can you be so strange?"

"It is an elastic term, you know."
p. 106

"It had always astonished me that a woman with as much sense as Sophie- and she is no fool, you know- can be so influenced by her mother, who is a fool, a downright great God-damned fool, even where money is concerned, which is saying a great deal."
p. 185

"This liquid is technically known as soup," Jack went on, having taken off the cover. "May I ladle you out a measure?"

"It is pleasant enough to see the remnants of peas so aged and worn that even the weevils scorned them and died at their side, so that now we have both predator and prey to nourish us."
p. 214

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The Commodore, by Patrick O'Brian: 5 stars

"So she is the Bellona, the chief argosy of your command! Huzzay, huzza! I congratulate you, Jack. Why, I declare, she has a poop, which adds much to her dignity."

"And not only dignity but safety too. When you are on a quarterdeck in a hot action with a really malignant enemy firing great guns and small arms, it is a wonderful comfort to have a solid poop behind you." p. 70

Now, in the warm night, there was no one to be comforted, kept in countenance, no one who could scorn him for virtuosity, and he could let himself go entirely; and as the grave and subtle music wound on and on, Stephen once more contemplated on the apparent contradiction between the big, cheerful, florid sea-officer whom most people liked on sight but who would never have been described as subtle or capable of subtlety by any one of them (except perhaps his surviving opponents in battle) and the intricate, reflective music he was now creating. So utterly unlike his limited vocabulary in words, at time verging upon the inarticulate. p. 73

"I wish I could carve like that," said Jack, watching Stephen's knife slice the long thin strips. "My birds generally take to the air again, spreading fat in the most disastrous fashion over the table and laps of my guests."

"The only vessel I ever sailed turned ignominiously upside down," said Stephen. "Each man to his own trade, said Plato: that's justice." p. 161

"I have always prided myself on a perfect freedom from jealousy," said Jack.

"For a great while I prided myself on my transcendent beauty, on much the same grounds, or even better," said Stephen. p. 164

Plus we get to learn how the term "come to loggerheads" came about.

Hope you like the new look. :)

Please tell me if it blinds you.

The Wine-Dark Sea, by Patrick O'Brian: 5 stars

"Will I confess a grave sin?" he asked.

"Do, by all means," said Jack, looking at him kindly. "But if you managed to commit a grave sin between the gunroom and here you have a wonderful capacity for evil." p. 90

[T]hough which came first, the deed or the doer, the goose or the egg, I am not learned enough to tell."

"Would it not be the owl, at all?"

"Never in life, my poor Stephen. Who ever heard of a golden owl?" p. 106

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The Truelove, by Patrick O'Brian: 5 stars

I read the Nutmeg, the Truelove, and the Wine-Dark Sea all in an ecstatic rush, not stopping to post anything in my journal. Then came days of sick children who let no one in the house sleep. I thought this sleepless phase would pass sooner, but since it hasn't, I'm trying to add these in now, and sorry but my brain just isn't in it for clever literary review. Let's just say, these books are quite good and quote:

...and after a while he said, "He longed for a daughter, I know, and it is very well that he should have one; but I wish she may not prove a platypus to him." p. 9

"Navigators are notoriously short-lived, and for them middle-age comes sooner than for quiet abstemious country gentlemen. Jack, you have led an unhealthy a life as can well be imagined, perpetually exposed to the falling damps, often wet to the skin, called up at all hours of the night by that infernal bell. You have been wounded the Dear knows how many times, and you have been cruelly overworked. No wonder your hair is grey."

"My hair is not grey. It is a very becoming buttercup yellow." p. 17

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The Nutmeg of Consolation by Patrick O'Brian: 5 stars

quotes:

"A Barmecide feast, sir, I am afraid," said Jack.

"Not at all, sir," said Martin. "There is nothing I prefer to..." He hesitated, trying to find a name for salt beef, eighteen months in the cask, partly desalted, cut up very small and fried with crushed ship's biscuits and a great deal of pepper. "... to a fricasse." p. 223

"Sir," said Stephen, "I read novels with the utmost pertinacity. I look upon them- I look upon good novels- as a very valuable part of literature, conveying more exact and finely-distinguished knowledge of the human heart and mind than almost any other, with greater breadth and depth and fewer constraints. Had I not read Madame de La Fayette, the Abbe Prevost, and the man who wrote Clarissa, that extraordinary feast, I should be very much poorer than I am; and a moment's reflection would add many more." p. 253

"Obstruction at every infernal step," said Jack. "How I hate an official." But his face cleared when Stephen told him of the little girls' escape and asked whether he disliked having them aboard.

"Never in life," he said. "I quite like to see them skipping about. They are far better than wombats. Last time we touched here, you bought a wombat, you remember, and it ate my hat." p. 275

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TheThirteen Gun Salute, by Patrick O'Brian. 5 stars.

I told myself not to go through these (Aubrey-Maturin) books like so much candy. Make them last! Read one, then read a totally unrelated book; you know, to cleanse the palate. One can only read a series for the first time, um, once. Take your time and savor them.

Yet I have reached a point where I simply cannot restrain myself, and now I am reading them one after the other with no control whatsoever. XD I have decided that if I can find the audiobook versions at the library that I will listen to the series the next time through, which will be a new experience in a way, and that makes me feel a little better.

Quotes for everyone:

Jack Aubrey had little notion of his friend's mathematical or astronomical abilities and none whatsoever of his seamanship, while his performance at billiards, tennis or fives, let alone cricket, would have been contemptible if they had not excited such a degree of hopeless compassion; but where physic, a foreign language and political intelligence were concerned, Maturin might have been all the Sibyls rolled into one, together with the Witch of Edmonton, Old Moore, Mother Shipton and even the holy Nautical Almanack... (14)

Once again his mind turned to the question of integrity, a virtue that he prized very highly in others, although there were times when he had painful doubts about his own; but on this occasion he was thinking about it less as a virtue than as a state, the condition of being whole; and it seemed to him that Jack was a fair example. He was as devoid of self-consciousness as a man could well be; and in all the years Stephen had known him, he had never seen him act a part. (164)

Fox did not seek popularity, though he could be good company when he chose and he liked being liked; what he desired was superiority and the respect due to superiority, and for a man of his intelligence he did set about it with a surprising lack of skill. (164)

"I expressed myself badly. What I meant was that if he could induce others to believe what he said, then for him the statement acquired some degree of truth, a reflection of their belief that it was true; and this reflected truth might grow stronger with time and repetition until it became conviction, indistinguishable from ordinary factual truth, or very nearly so." (165)

[A] pale cobalt dome of sky, darkening imperceptibly as it came down to the sharp horizon and the true azure of the great disk of ocean- two pure ideal forms, and the ship between them, minute, real, and incongruous. (276)

Such descriptions! And, indeed, one found one could substitute "Foot" for "Fox" a fair amount of the time, and the description still apply perfectly.

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The Letter of Marque, by Patrick O'Brien. 5 stars.

"Star light, star bright, starboard is to the right."

Oh, it came in the mail! EARLIER than Amazon predicted, saints preserve us. Would you like some quotes?

"Hold hard, Stephen," he cried, catching Stephen as he fell again, this time from a standing position. "Where are your sea-legs?"

"It is not a question of sea-legs at all," said Stephen. "The ship is moving about in a very wild, unbridled manner. A crocodile would fall, in such circumstances, without it had wings." (73)

[Babbington] "What did [the Doctor, Stephen] do to you, sir?"

[Mr. X ;)] "Well, I am ashamed to say he took a pistol-ball out of the small of my back. It must have been when I turned to hail for more hands- thank God I did not. At the time I thought it was one of those vile [horses] that were capering about abaft the wheel."

"Oh, sir, surely a horse would never have fired off a pistol?"

"Yet fired it was: and the Doctor said it was lodged hard up against the sciatic nerve."

"What is the sciatic nerve?"

"I have no idea. But once it had recovered from being as I take it stunned, and once I had given the ball an unhandy twist, sending it closer still, the whole thing- I shall not attempt to describe how disagreeable it was, until the Doctor took it out." (231)

And a bit of a longer excerpt, in celebration?

[Stephen] walked up the slope to the rocky edge, and there spread before him and on either hand was the immeasurably vast calm sea. He was not very high above it, but high enough fro the busy puffins, hurrying out to sea or back with their catch, to seem quite small below him as he sat there among the sea-pink with his legs dangling over the void. For some time he contemplated the birds: a few razorbills and guillemots as well as the puffins- remarkably few gulls of any kind- the oyster-catchers' parents (he was confident of the chicks' well-being, having seen the neat shells from which they had hatched) - some rock-doves, and a small band of choughs. Then his eye wandered out over the sea and the lanes that showed upon its prodigious surface, apparently following no pattern and leading nowhere, and he felt rising in his heart that happiness he had quite often known as a boy, and even now at long intervals, particularly at dawn: the nacreous blue of the sea was not the source (though he rejoiced in it) nor the thousand other circumstances he could name, but something wholly gratuitous. A corner of his mind urged him to enquire into the nature of this feeling, but he was most unwilling to do so, partly from a dread of blasphemy (the words "state of grace" were worse than grotesque, applied to a man of his condition), but even more from a wish to do nothing to disturb it.

This importunity had hardly arisen before it was gone. A rock-dove, gliding placidly along before him, abruptly swerved, flying very fast northwards; a peregrine, stooping from high above with the sound of a rocket, struck a cloud of feathers from the dove and bore it off to the mainland cliff, beyond the Surprise. As he watched the falcon's heavier but still rapid flight he heard eight bells strike aboard, followed by the remote pipe of all hands to breakfast and the much more emphatic roar of the hungry seamen: a moment later he saw Jack Aubrey, mother-naked, plunge from the taffrail and swim out towards Old Scratch, his long yellow hair streaming behind him. When he was half way across two seals joined him, those intensely curious animals, sometimes diving and coming up ahead to gaze into his face almost within hand's reach.

"I give you joy of your seals, brother," said Stephen, as Jack waded ashore on the little golden strand, where the skiff now lay high, dry, and immovable. "It is the universal opinion of the good and the wise that there is nothing more fortunate than the company of seals."

"I have always liked them," said Jack, sitting on the gunwale and dripping all over. "If they could speak, I am sure they would say something amiable, but Stephen, have you forgot breakfast?"

"I have not. My mind has been toying with thoughts of coffee, stirabout, white pudding, bacon, toast, marmalade and more coffee, for some considerable time."

"Yet you would never have had it until well after dinner, you know, because your boat is stranded and I doubt you could swim so far."

"The sea has receded!" cried Stephen. "I am amazed."

"They tell me it does so twice a day in these parts," said Jack. "It is technically known as the tide."

"Why, your soul to the devil, Jack Aubrey," said Stephen, who had been brought up on the shores of the Mediterranean, that unebbing sea. He struck his hand to his forehead and exclaimed, "There must be some imbecility, some weakness here. But perhaps I shall grow used to the tide in time. Tell me, Jack, did you notice that the boat was as who should say marooned, and did you then leap into the sea?"

"I believe it was pretty generally observed aboard. Come, clap on to the gunwale and we will run her down. I can almost smell the coffee from here." (184-186)

Oh, and don't forget- Which it's Lobscouse and Figgy-Dowdy and Strasburg Pie!

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Exile's Gate, by C.J. Cherryh. 3.5 stars.

Morgaine and Vanye are back. You know, I like them, but it is not my favorite series of CJC. Always with the torture and being cold, and nobody talking to each other. The horses are a plus, though, of course.

This was more complicated (if possible) than the first three in the series), with surprising revelations and twists. I enjoyed it quite a bit. Again, though, not my favorite series.

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The Reverse of the Medal, by Patrick O'Brian: 5 happy little stars

How I love O'Brian. I thought I had the next book, The Letter of Marque, queued up and ready to go. Finished the last page of this, sprang forth to the shelf to pull out the other, and, God's my life, it wasn't there!

Now I have to wait until Amazon delivers (I can probably reread Cyteen at least in that time). But, but, Stephen! And Sir Joseph Blaine! And we still have to reach the ship before tide!

Gaaaah.


Well, there is always The Aubreyad to keep me until The Letter comes in- and some other lovely things to get me by enjoy!

And Quotes:

"No, sir," said Jack, "I shall speak to them like a sucking dove."
Pig, Aubrey: sucking pig. Doves don't suck." 25

Mr. Williamson brought back the answer that Captain Aubrey's visit would be convenient, and to this, on his own initiative, he added Captain Goole's best compliments. He would have made them respectful too, if a certain sense of the possible had not restrained him at the last moment; for he loved his Captain. 28

He cackled for a short while at his own wit, and in doing so (the exercise being unusual with him) choked on a crumb. 102

"Why do I feel such an intense pleasure, such an intense satisfaction?" asked Stephen. For some time he searched for a convincing reply, but finding none he observed "The fact is that I do." He sat on as the sun's rays came slowly down through the trees, lower and lower, and when the lowest reached a branch no far above him it caught a dewdrop poised upon a leaf. The drop instantly blazed crimson, and a slight movement of his head made it show all the colours of the spectrum with extraordinary purity, from a red almost too deep to be seen through all the others to the ultimate violet and back again. Some minutes later a cock pheasant's explosive call broke the silence and the spell and he stood up. 178- you simply must read the entire passage, starting on 176 through 179.

"This miserable sophistry, which disregards not only epistemology but also the intuitive perception that informs all daily intercourse, is sometimes merely formular, yet I have known men who have so prostituted their intelligence that they believe it." 226

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Forty Thousand in Gehenna, by CJC. 5 stars.

Ah, no, I don't have that copy or that cover.

But who can resist such obviously overdone scifi art? ;)

My copy is actually a two-in-one called Alliance Space. It contains both Merchanter's Luck and Forty Thousand in Gehenna, both of which I give 5 stars.

Forty Thousand in Gehenna is about a colony founded on a world in disputed territory- one of many such Union colonies on the borders of or somewhat within Alliance Space. Consisting primarily of azi workers, these colonies were headed up by "born-men" who relied on scheduled shipments of reinforcements and supplies every three years. Only, Union never sent out a single resupply ship. The colonies fell apart, forced to rely on the most basic of human technologies and skills as they faced permanent exile on planets hardly explored, much less known. The story covers the Gehenna mission from many different personal perspectives over generations of time. When the descendants of the colonists are rediscovered hundreds of years later, nobody quite knows what to make of them or the intricately symbiotic relationship they've developed with the surprisingly sapient native species, but their evolution makes them more valuable than anyone could have known.

Ah, the azi. Brainwashed happy clone slaves.

Quite an exploration of what it means to be human, or intelligent, in this book- from beginning to end.

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Tell Me About Yourself

Here

Picked this up at the library literally as I was checking out. It is about how to sell yourself through stories, in this case to get a job. I primarily was interested because I wondered if it would help me develop more positive self-talk.

Merchanter's Luck, by CJC. 5 stars.

Now, see, here I really *liked* the characters. I liked Sandor, I liked Allison, and I enjoyed the book in a completely different way than Downbelow Station.

BTW, This is not the cover I have; I have an omnibus edition.

Downbelow Station by C.J.Cherryh: 4.9999 stars

Ok, 5 stars. But darn it, I don't like any of the characters. The Konstantins are the best, oh well I mean besides Satin probably. I know that a lot of people like Signy, and I know she's better than the other Mazianni etc etc, but she's still a pig-headed narcissist with great gaping holes in her morality. It's utterly believable, but, MEH I hate her anyway.

And yet it's so well done that I give it 5 stars. Should have read this one long ago, but was clueless at the time that it sets up the entire Alliance-Union universe.

Conspirator by C.J. Cherryh (Foreigner Series)

Finally got to read Conspirator. I loved it.

Since I have not yet given much commentary on/a synopsis of the previous book (in the series), I will wait on Conspirator as well. Gives me an excuse to reread the series again- it will be two years before the next one is out, but I won't wait that long.

Early Spring by Amy Seidl- two and a half stars.

This is the first book I have ever received through LibraryThing's Early Reviewers program. And, damnably, I did not like the book. I could tell by the end of the first chapter that I would never have bought it for myself, and my feelings are quite strong due to the writing style of the author, the lack of real content, and what seems to be an underlying philosophical difference between the author and myself. I have rewritten this review several times trying to find a reasonable way to explain what I mean.

Early Spring is an introductory gloss on the local manifestations of global warming. Seidl alternates between rather detached scientific explanations and overly sensuous descriptions of her Vermont environs as she points out that global warming is apparent in one's own backyard. She asks, and prompts those who have obviously not been paying much attention until now to ask, what global warming means for traditions, communities, the future. The book never gets much further than this- posing the question- and could stand to be a great deal shorter for all it accomplishes.

I was looking forward to Early Spring, and I have to say I'm disappointed. The subject is important enough but never actually discussed- just set up. Over and over and over again.

Early Spring is done in a literary style- Seidl aims for aesthetic expression as much as the conveying of information. Unfortunately, her inflated style quickly reaches the point of overkill, and she does not manage to add much to the subject of global warming at all. I knew much of the subject matter going in- I do not live in Vermont, but neither do I live in a cave. I kept waiting for her to tie it all together and take it further, and she doesn't. Instead I get to hear about her sensuous rapture at the bounty nature created apparently for no other purpose but her pleasure, and, of course, I get to hear more about her darling children. Such passages went past the point of unnecessary all the way to disturbing at times- I nursed my children to the age of two and a half years each, mind you, and I was still weirded out by the overly familiar manner in which she described breastfeeding her own. And I'm still not sure exactly what that had to do with maple syrup traditions in Vermont, or the sap starting to run earlier with each passing year. Seidl's manner of suddenly switching between professional scientist mode and sensual mother mode made each seem the more exaggerated, and somehow exclusive of the other. This hardly needs to be the case...

Displaying an actual dead bird via overhead projector might have gotten the attention of her students, and it is surely a more engaging portrayal than a stick figure, but noticing the intricacy of the feathers is not the same thing as realizing the inherent value of the bird's life, and how the world is diminished by the loss of the bird. Knowing a bird's species name and habits is no substitute for entering into the actual experience of the bird itself. Handling a lifeless bird nonchalantly is not an expression of fearlessness or fellowship, but of a callous remove and a lack of respect for both the bird and the pathogens that might have killed it.

Seidl writes in one passage about her daughter catching a butterfly by the wings, and the thrill in her eyes as she feels her first sense of control over a wild creature. Seidl does not seem to realize that this self same butterfly could theoretically cause hurricanes simply by flapping those wings. Human control over the natural world is an illusion we have to outgrow if we are to acknowledge that our impact on the world is, far from a lordly management of things, endangering all life on the planet, including our own. Against our expectations. How can a book about global warming miss this point?

After the first third of the book, I wanted to put it down and walk away. Sadly, I wouldn't have missed much if I had. ( )

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