And then there are biographies. There are so many fascinating biographies about people from all different generations and countries and reasons to read them. A good writer will tell all, the bad-or controversial- along with the good and let us judge which is which. The writer will let the story unfold with a flowing movement revealing the life, holding our attention. Not easy to do but necessary.
The person need not have been famous to be interesting. I write in past tense because I prefer reading about people who have already passed away. Their lives are over. There is no need to protect or hide anything. The flaws and failures make the final successes even more worthy. No embarrassment is considered. And it is the misadventures that create the fascination.
After all, a person who experienced no challenges, who glides through life with no losses, no pain and no scars is a very boring person indeed.
Saturday, October 09, 2010
Wednesday, October 06, 2010
More About Books
Also I love history. Not the dry, flaky history that used to be taught in high school although I loved history even then. But the history with real people showing particular strengths and weaknesses that I can identify with. Events that happened always had reasons. Like the mystery stories, who, what, where, when and why. Again I don’t need the play by play details of a battle fought and the individual result, i.e. bodies whacked to pieces, eyeballs hanging out, etc. Ugh.
But the inner workings of events, how they came about, the personalities of the key figures and their relationship to each other. Everyone has a story and the players in history had theirs. They are the ones who created the chronicle of their day. History wasn’t necessarily made by physical events but by individuals and their reactions to moments that happened to them. A slight? An embarrassment? An insult? A misunderstanding?
The personal is what brings history to life. The surface must be scratched to find the untold tales. After all it’s what our whole foundation is built on. Because it is a foundation we can learn from the mistakes of earlier leaders, rulers, and the average person who cared.
But the inner workings of events, how they came about, the personalities of the key figures and their relationship to each other. Everyone has a story and the players in history had theirs. They are the ones who created the chronicle of their day. History wasn’t necessarily made by physical events but by individuals and their reactions to moments that happened to them. A slight? An embarrassment? An insult? A misunderstanding?
The personal is what brings history to life. The surface must be scratched to find the untold tales. After all it’s what our whole foundation is built on. Because it is a foundation we can learn from the mistakes of earlier leaders, rulers, and the average person who cared.
Tuesday, October 05, 2010
A Good Book
I love a mystery. A puzzle. A whodunit. Something that I can work along the lines with the author, trying to figure out who, what, where and most important, why. Challenge. But I want believable characters with common sense in settings I can visualize as everyday even if the story is set in Victorian times. Wealthy or not doesn’t make a difference. Gory details of a demented mind are not necessary to tell me when a body is dead. The author can state the weapon of choice but I don’t need a picture drawn for me. I can do that in my own imagination.
If I see the plot line and know the perpetrator of dark deeds early on, the joy is slain. No sense in finishing the story…unless it is a red herring with an unexpected twist. Ahh. The plot thickens.
Further, we are so fortunate to have more women writing novels of all genres today. This happening has all but eliminated the ‘dumb female’ character in stories. I used to choke on that depiction of a woman character, one who was running a household or holding down an intelligent job being portrayed as stupid. Ugh.
Of course even really good interesting mysteries aren’t always remembered. The authors are, particularly when they write many books and I can look for them by the author's name. The pleasure is simply in reading them. But the novels of the originator of the mystery novels Wilkie Collins and present-day novelist Sharyn McCrumb’s stories I remember. And also, of course, Agatha Christie’s.
If I see the plot line and know the perpetrator of dark deeds early on, the joy is slain. No sense in finishing the story…unless it is a red herring with an unexpected twist. Ahh. The plot thickens.
Further, we are so fortunate to have more women writing novels of all genres today. This happening has all but eliminated the ‘dumb female’ character in stories. I used to choke on that depiction of a woman character, one who was running a household or holding down an intelligent job being portrayed as stupid. Ugh.
Of course even really good interesting mysteries aren’t always remembered. The authors are, particularly when they write many books and I can look for them by the author's name. The pleasure is simply in reading them. But the novels of the originator of the mystery novels Wilkie Collins and present-day novelist Sharyn McCrumb’s stories I remember. And also, of course, Agatha Christie’s.
Monday, October 04, 2010
Sunday Deer
Sunday night after an early dinner, I decided to go for a walk to replace the morning walk I missed and to change my schedule a bit. It’s my habit, to look deep into the forest as I go along the paved road. It’s always so peaceful, full of something I’m not aware of. My thoughts tend to deepen as I get lost in the moment.
Suddenly a flash of movement lurched through the wood at a high rate of speed. Startled, I jumped. But it was just a doe racing between the trees. Like me, she was alone. Nothing was chasing it. I imagine it was out for a bit of exercise after dinner as I was. It’s delightful and somehow reassuring to see a connection between us.
Suddenly a flash of movement lurched through the wood at a high rate of speed. Startled, I jumped. But it was just a doe racing between the trees. Like me, she was alone. Nothing was chasing it. I imagine it was out for a bit of exercise after dinner as I was. It’s delightful and somehow reassuring to see a connection between us.
Friday, October 01, 2010
Puccini for Deer
Favorite Puccini Arias by Marton, Scotto and Te Kanawa was soaring from my sound system this morning at 10 a.m. as I sat at my kitchen table for a coffee break from cleaning the house. The windows were wide open for this fresh, crisp air to flow in. I glanced up to see a doe with her three fawn, heads bent, nibbling the sodden grass. My breath stopped at such beauty, such a sign of peace and gracefulness. One head down, one head up, one looking around, the other in between. Then Te Kanawa peeled out those glorious high notes of O Mio Babbino Caro. All four heads jolted up, eyes looked straight at me, ears twitched straining to hear this heart rending sound.
Mesmerized. The deer stood like statues, listening. They seemed to be as moved by the music as I am. When the aria ended the doe turned and leapt like a ballet dancer from the yard. Her fawn following her lead in dutiful obedience like the echoes of the music itself.
Mesmerized. The deer stood like statues, listening. They seemed to be as moved by the music as I am. When the aria ended the doe turned and leapt like a ballet dancer from the yard. Her fawn following her lead in dutiful obedience like the echoes of the music itself.
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