12/2/20 A Nobel Prize in literature sounded impressive, so I thought I should give Faithful and Virtuous Night by poet Louise Gluck a try. Poetry hasn’t resonated with either of my groups, so we have read very little of it together. I like her work. It is approachable, moving poetry, not the abstract obtuse language which we are so often presented with.
The poems, filled with lovely images, tell a story which I can mostly understand the first time. On the second reading, metaphors emerge; I see connections among the poems. And on the third reading? This is why I don’t read poetry. I know there is much more to find in this slim volume, but there is a stack of books on the table and a long list on the computer.
Some lines I especially liked, which are appropriate for the winter:
The street was white, the various trees were white— Changes of the surface, but is that not really All we ever see?
12/5/20 On a totally different level, Please Stop Touching Me and other haikus by cats by Jamie Coleman is a hilarious little respite for anyone in need of a laugh. Drole comments written by the cats as haikus, plus accompanying photos, make this a winner for all ages. It has a bit of boy humor which also makes it the perfect gift for a cat loving grandson who can occasionally be persuaded to write or read a haiku.
“Please Stop Touching Me” Every time you do I have to lick everywhere It’s so exhausting
12/9/20 After the November election, we invited some neighbors to the open garage with heaters for a celebratory glass of bubbly, and naturally, the conversation turned to politics. They had all read Michael Cohen’s Disloyal which someone owned and offered to lend.
The book is overly dramatic and somewhat trite, but then writing is not what Cohen was known for. He was Trump’s hit man, a position he loved, until suddenly he was on the receiving end of what he had been dishing out. The storyline tells of his seduction, how he loved the power, loved being told he was part of the “in” group, loved knowing what was really going on. And pretty soon this started to feel familiar. He was telling us, the readers, the true story, what really went on, making us feel that because we were reading his book, we were part of the “in” group. Hmm… Cohen knows his business very well. But although I started to feel conned, I read about two thirds until all the mea culpas and dirt finally got to me and I fast skimmed to the end.
12/14/20 Much more relaxing was The Thursday Murder Club by Richard Osman. I’m not sure why murder mysteries are relaxing or why some of them are termed cozy, but this qualifies on both counts. Located in a retirement village with four lively oldsters as sleuths, this sounded perfect for an old lady who reads. Our four detectives met every Thursday in the activity room to solve cold cases, but now, suddenly there is a real live murder on the doorstep.
Sometimes, if a book builds a lot of tension, I like to skip to the end to see what happens. I think that I can enjoy the characters and writing more if I’m not galloping along to see what happens. In this book, like other well plotted ones, it wasn’t easy to spot the answer and I had to wait until the end like everyone else.
12/15/20 A poem that is worthy of being reread at least once a year, every year, “Twas the Night Before Christmas” evokes the feeling of the season for me. Legend has it that Clement Clarke Moore wrote it on Christmas Eve, 1822, during a sleigh ride home after buying a turkey for his family. The inspiration for his St Nicholas was his chubby, bewhiskered driver. Alas, like so many legends these days, it is being disputed as current scholarship suspects the poem was really written by Henry Livingston, Jr. It was first published in 1823 in an upstate New York newspaper.
I love this charming nostalgic poem with its famous first lines:
Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse…
And its wonderful ending:
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle, And away they all flew, like the down of a thistle. But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight- Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night.
You have sold me on the cat haiku book for my son in law who has been adopted by a stray cat.
And your comment in the Cohen book “suddenly he was on the receiving end of what he had been dishing out” is a wish for our departing President.
You delightful blogs remind me that there are “too many books and too little time”. Which is a nice problem!