hux

Having been inspired to read Post Office by the thread on this very site (someone accused it of being 'of it's time' which instantly made it sound appealing to me) and loving it, I decided to read some Bukowski and chose Ham on Rye. I'd never actually read the guy before but he's fast becoming a favourite. I adore, the brevity, the simplicity, the honesty of his prose. It took almost no time to read this book, I just skipped through it like the pages were being blown by fan, and embraced the narrative and the grumpy yet vulnerable masculinity whole-heartedly. I haven't been this inspired by a writer for a long time. I shall seek out more of his work (probably Factotum) and bathe in his politically incorrect filth like a happy aroused pig. I read so much by-the-numbers literature these days and while a lot of it still very impressive and enjoyable, it does also suffer from being trapped by the rules of literature set down in the 19th century. People seem determined to never let that century lose its grip on the medium. Bukowski, meanwhile, felt like reading a book by someone I know, living a life I understand, today. To a 19th century writer (as well as their 20th century mimics) the sunset is a romantic veil of copper steeped in profundity; to Bukowski, it's a reminder that he has to get up for work in the morning.

Just read it. Enjoyed it for the most part though (like so many books) it probably didnt need to be anywhere as long as it was. I did find myself (about two thirds the way through) wishing she would hurry up and get to the point. I've always been critical of Atwood's robotic women who never think anything real or interesting, only ever expressing themselevs in clean, crisp, mature thoughts that seem a little bland to me. This wasn't as bad as her other work (though to be fair those books were about voicelss women so a lack of personality made a certain amount of sense) but Iris was still a little too stoney and blank to feel real (her age did help a little in this regard). Ironically, it was Laura who felt like a real person despite her distance from the main story. I didnt see the twist coming (if you can even call it a twist) and it did pack a punch. The book within a book within a book was jarring at first but once i knew what was happening, I was fine with it. The only downside being that once you know what's really going on, re-reading the book becomes a necessity if you want to better see how those relationships developed and were mirrored (I'm not a fan of having to re-read books to better understand the context; you should make the context clear to begin with -- this isn't an episode of Murder She Wrote for goodness sake.) And I could have lived without the newspaper notices. But yeah, I liked it.

The issue isn't if Serena has a right to behave badly or inappropriately. Of course she does. This issue is, are we allowed to make fun of her without being labelled racists, sexists, (and now apparently) parentists? I suspect various cartoonists are already backing away. Oh, and the coach was totally cheating (Guardian). Though apparently he was coaching a woman in the crowd or something.

My statement that he was mocked mercilessly and made globally famous because of his tantrums? Nope. I don't think he does disagree with that statement. Also, the article you linked to includes the words 'but opinion is divided.' I only point this out because you clearly missed it.

When McEnroe had his tantrums people took this piss out of him, mocked him mercilessly (to the extent that his tantrums made him famous globally far more than his tennis ever did). When Serena had hers... we're suddenly seeing articles about sexism, racism, the outrageous hate of cartoons, the innate bigotry of Australia. We're even being told that 'McEnroe never had to put up with this kind of thing.' Sigh.

He's fast becoming one of my favourite writers. In a era of the tedious, the politically correct, the same monotonous voice expressing the same tepid opinions about the world, he's frankly a God.

Underwater Love - Smoke City

Saturday Night - Whigfield

Partners in Crime - Turtle Power

Nena - 99 Red Balloons

Eagle-Eye Cherry - Save Tonight

^I could be wrong but I'm pretty sure Bowie had at least two hits (possibly even three).

Carl Douglas - Kung Fu Fighting

I thought the book was perfectly readable but that's the least I expect from a woman who has a degree in English from Cambridge. But beyond that, it all felt a little too convenient and unrealistic. As someone who grew up on council estates in the West Riding, the world she's describing looked nothing like the world I knew. Which brings me to my own personal irritation regarding the book. It seemed clear to me that the writer knew nothing of working class northern life at all and wrote about an almost mythical land that didn't really exist except in the mind of an educated southern middle class girl. What bothered me about this was the fact that had she written about being a small black boy growing up in Detroit, I suspect the people praising her novel would have had a lot of negative things to say about that. But writing about working class white people apparently means you can happily know nothing of the subject matter and no-one will give a crap. I found a lot of the writing overly flowery and would-be-poetic especially given that we're supposed to believe this is coming from the perspective of a small boy -- though it's later revealed he's 15 which took me by surprise. Why the f*** does he keep calling his father 'daddy'? I know the flash forwards suggests an older Daniel narrating about his younger life but that just makes constant references to daddy even more bizarre. And the fact that Daniel grows up to be a generic homosexual felt utterly pointless and purely done to keep the Guardian reviewers happy. As for her use of words like wandt etc to express the Yorkshire dialect, this made no sense to me either. The 'd' isn't pronounced so what's it doing there? It should be pronounced 'want (wasn't), dint (doesn't), wunt (wouldn't) etc etc so again, I'm not sure why the author is being praised for that. Overall, the book was reasonably enjoyable though ultimately uneven and forgettable. I fear the Booker prize nomination may have done her no favours though.

Ulaanbaatar - because it's the best named city ever and when am I ever gonna get to go to Mongolia?