'it's the choosing that's important, isn't it?'

This week [or at least, today] I am a happy blogger, basking in the memory of my hot tub holiday this past weekend. Anglesey, a wooden lodge with private jetty and hot tub and some of my favourite people. I'm pretty sure it doesn't get much better than that. We had the nicest of times: walks on the beach and butterfly houses and the zoo and steam trains and films and lazy mornings and drinking gin in the hot tub and sardines and lots of giggling.

And lots of reading.

I finished The Subtle Knife, which well, the thing about Pullman is he is obviously a 'very good writer' - I know this because somehow I had forgotten all about the high levels of hurty in the His Dark Materials trilogy  and was totally focussed how beautiful they are, I was excited to reread because THESE BOOKS ARE SO BEAUTIFUL and then was stabbed in the chest all over again by the hurty. And now? How do I feel now, after finishing book 2? I feel like I love those books so much because they're so beautiful and I am scared to reread The Amber Spyglass because the other two have reminded me that that one hurts the most.

Then, I read The Giver by Lois Lowry.

I'd heard of this but never read it and was nudged in its direction by Jen. I loved it; I literally could not put it down, to the extent that I was making breakfast for the boys on Sunday morning and was reading whilst cooking sausages and frying eggs, with a tear in my eye. I loves me a good dystopia, that's no secret and this, whilst being a YA novel and whilst trying to trick you in the beginning into think it's a utopia, is what I would call a good dystopia.

Jonas lives in a perfect world where everything is tightly controlled, tightly monitored, carefully watched and on the surface, faultless. In Jonas's world there is no war or fear or pain but on the flipside there is no love, no joy. There is only Sameness. In Jonas's world there are no choices; your spouse, your children, your place in the community, all of it is chosen for you and you never even think to question the lot that you are given; why would you, when your life is perfect and you have all you could ever want or need? However, when Jonas turns twelve, everything changes. Jonas meets The Giver and is forced to question everything and everybody he thought he knew and so, along with Jonas we find ourselves asking whether in order to get rid of the suffering in the world do you also have to lose all that makes life livable, all that is good? If the only way to stop evil is to also stop love, is there any point; is it worth it? What is our purpose, what is choice; what would our life be like without purpose and without choice; can you have the good if you don't have the bad and is that bad so bad that it makes the good a worthwhile sacrifice; can you miss what you never knew; are there any benefits to Sameness?

The obvious comparisons to draw here given what I've read of late are to The Hunger Games - young adults, dystopian future, etc. Those books aren't the same as this one, but in the way that The Hunger Games are not the best written books ever but grab your interest and hold it, so does The Giver. It makes you think and I like that in a book. I like to be forced to think, to question, to look at what I have and to appreicate it that little bit more and to a degree this book does all of thise things.
There are disturbing and complex themes in this book that Lowry does not shy away from. I applaud her for that - this book is going to hit its target audience smack bang in the chest, it's going to make them feel, it's going to make them hurt, it's going to make them think and whilst it's no Handmaid's, no 1984, it can hardly be expected to be and for what it is, it's good.  The concept is clever and well executed, the characters well rounded and each with their own clear voice and above all it really highlights the whole issue surrounding banned books; it's kind of ironic really that a book that at it's very core is about the importance of choice should be a book that found itself on the banned books list, thus taking away the choice to read it.  This is not a happy-ever-after walk in the park feel good novel, it's not, but I'm really glad I read it.

in which i am preparing for Christmas

It's very autunm-y in my neck of the woods at the moment, which is awesome because of all the seasons I think I love autumn the best. It's all pretty colours and woolly jumpers and spiced coffee and mulled cider and being a little cold but still being able to be outdoors and I lovelovelove it. I wish, actually that I didn't have to work because I pretty much just want to be outside with my camera taking lots of photographs of the pretty trees and stuffs.  Perhaps I'll do that on Sunday; it's Ian's birthday on Monday so this weekend we're celebrating that - we're having a small gathering at the house on Saturday night, which will be lovely, and then a couple of people are sleeping over so maybe on Sunday we can all wrap our hangovers up in gloves and warm coats and go for a walk in the woods. Yes. This is now my plan. Hurrah. [I bet this doesn't happen. I bet nobody wants to wrap their hangover in anything other than a blanket and we shall remain indoors.]

In other news it will soon be Christmas. Hush now, don't get all agitated, it will. And people [for 'people' read 'me'] need to get prepared because I like to enjy December and the festivities and the excitement and not get all stressed about what presents need sorting etc.This year it's a little trickier - obviously with Ian setting up his own business money is a little tight and so I am aiming to make as many presents as I can. I am officially getting my craft on. That means, if you read this and are lucky [unlucky?] enough to be on my Christmas present list there is a very good chance that your gift could be made by my own fair hands. Wow.

In that same vein, I've become a little addicted to Pinterest of late. That website is such a time suck, seriously and I have pinboards for food and clothes and weddings [I'm not even getting married any time soon, go figure] and pretty stuff and booky stuff and of course, crafts. I just keep pinning; I can't help it. I was home alone last night - the boy took advantage of Orange Wednesday to go and see Taken2 [colour me jealous] and so I had a shower and put on my big fleecy poncho, which is amazing comfy by the way, and settled down with a bar of chocolate and my iPad. 'Ill just spend 5 minutes of Pinterest' I thought and then suddenly it was an hour later and whoops. I have loads of ideas though, it's such a good resource and I can't wait to get started. SO MANY IDEAS AND PROBABLY NOT ENOUGH TIME. This may become a semi-crafty blog for a while, so be warned!! 

This afternoon I'm off to see my Mum. It's my Grandpa's birthday today [love you G'Pa] so I want to make sure she's ok, and I have my sewing kit in the car because you know, getting my craft on, so I shall drink tea and sew with my Mum and oh my goodness I am unregonisable to my own self right now, and then I'm seeing Helen and there will be culinary delights and films and gossip. That will be a nice time.

I leave you with this autumny photograph of love. Happy Friday.


In which I am a slacker

It's just been brought to my attention that I haven't blogged since August!

Whoops. 

I think perhaps this makes me the worst blogger in all the land. 

The reason is probably because I've not read as much this year as I usually do. I'm not sure why that is, exactly, when settling down with a book remains my favourite way to pass the time. I'm way behind on my Goodreads 2012 goal too, which is annoying the hell out of me so I really need to do something about that [and by something I mean read more, Josephine, read more not adjust said goal in order to achieve it you big ol' cheat]  I could easily blame work, and the fact that I haven't been sleeping well and am always tired and seem incapable of reading more than a couple of pages without falling asleep but God, what a pity party that would be so I shan't. Instead I shall just say 'whoops' and make a deal with myself to do better. 

Luckily, even though I haven't been reading as much, for the most part, what I have read has been enjoyable. I'm part way through Anna Karenina at the moment, although that's currently on hiatus because whilst I love it, it's also long and as Jen said: you probably shouldn't read Tolstoy when you're sick; you should probably re-read The Subtle Knife and so I am. I loves me some heartbreak. Ha. 

Most notably of late, I've read and enjoyed  Marina Lewycka's We Are All Made Of Glue which has been on my to-read shelf for forever and a day and which I really wish I'd read before now, because I loved it. It's one of those rare books that had me laughing out loud, and feeling a little sad and then laughing a little more and left me wanting to hunt out Lewycka's back catalogue because it was just that good and The Paris Wife by Paula McLain which is awesome and set it in Paris in the 20's and follows the story of Ernest Hemingway's first wife. I loved loved loved it and follwing on from that I downloaded about 11 Hemingway novels onto my Kindle and re-read The Great Gatsby because I think I'd have liked to have been alive in the 20's and The Paris Wife was so good that I didn't want to leave which says a lot I think, both about my book buying problem and also how much I enjoyed reading about 1920's Paris.
So yes, a couple of recommendations there for you, should you want them - along with I Capture The Castle by Dodie Smith [she of 101 Dalmations fame] another book I've wanted to read for years and didn't. You should all read that too, if you haven't. You mostly have because most people aren't as lax as me but just in case, I'm throwing it out there...

In other news I saw Perks on Wednesday, which I shall come back and review next week, Starbucks have brought the Pumpkin Spice Latte to the UK and Strictly starts proper tonight, life, on the whole is good and because it's Friday and because I haven't for a while I'll leave you with a promise to do better and a Friday photo.

I saw the JCS arena tour last weekend, and it was fantabulous so here, have a picture of Jesus and Judas* because Ben Forster is pretty and Tim Minchin is awesome and everyone needs a bit of pretty and awesome on a Friday.




*the actors portraying and not actually Jesus or Judas because it's 2012AD and there is no way they'd still look this good.


In which Jen is a little bit more awesome...

Today I am flitting between putting flyers together for National Allotment Week [which is next week if you're the green-fingered type] and day-dreaming about holidays. I blame Helen for the latter; she is nothing if not a distraction. Not that I mind being distracted - there is such a thing as the National Vegeatable Society, did you know that? That is the kind of information that I need distracting from, and what better way than to think about holidays.

If you're reading this post as your own kind of distraction, then I high five you; us procrastinators should stick together. I offer you the highest of fives, and suggest you head away from my blog and over here: http://jen-campbell.blogspot.co.uk where the lovely and supremely talented Jen is giving a way a copy of her poetry collection 'The Hungry Ghost Festival.'

I have a copy of this [naturally] and can safely say that you will love it. It's very lovable. You may remember my post earlier in the year about poetry, namely Siken's 'Crush' where I mentioned how often I thought poetry was pretty. Jen's collection is a fine example of that. It's a very pretty, very thought provoking and at times very moving collection of work and I am so so proud to be able to call this talented girl my friend. I urge you all to go get to know her now if for no other reason than when she is super duper famous, you'll be able to say you were reading her way back then. Go, enter her giveaway and if you don't win then buy a copy - there is a PayPal link on her page - I promise you, you won't regret it.

That is all, short but sweet, but hey, allotment week waits for no bookworm, not even this one.

The Land Of Stories

Do you ever wonder what you could have achieved by age 22 if you hadn't spent so much time dinking cider and black and vodka, or dancing all night and sleeping all day, or lying awake putting the world to rights with your best friend with Frasier on in the background, or waitressing for a living and going out with just a £5 and a smile, or learning to headstand in your boyfriends front room when you should have been doing homework? No, me either. Or at least, I try not to because sometimes, regrets, I have them. I mean, my life is good and I have memories that will last a lifetime and I'm pretty proud of who I am and what I've achieved but sometimes just sometimes something happens that makes you think wow, I really did not make the most of myself.

This is one of those times.


Christopher Colfer, how are you real?!

Seriously, this kid: He was so severely bullied at school that he was homeschooled for two years and now? Just look at him. He's a superstar on Glee; he's had his first book published [and that is why we are here right now, to talk about that book]; he's written and starred in a film due for release later this year; he's won a Golden Globe and been nominated for 2 Emmy awards, as well as being named GQ's man of the year and one of Time Magazines most influential people, and he's just turned 22. I don't know whether to hate him or love him. Right now loving him is winning out.

So, the book.

I didn't buy 'The Land Of Stories' because it was written by a guy off Glee. I am not that girl. I won't deny that I am a fan of Chris Colfer: I make no secret of the fact that him and Darren Criss are pretty much the only reasons I even watch that show, but I didn't buy this book just because Colfer wrote it.

And I'm being serious right now, I didn't.

I bought it because Amazon told me that I should - it does that sometimes, Amazon [sorry Jen!] emails me and says 'hey Jo, we know you've no money and a full bookshelf but look at this' and I'd been drawn in by the pretty cover before I even noticed that it was written by Chris Colfer [ooh, Land of Stories? What's that? That's a gorgeous cover. Chris Colfer? Chris Colfer?!] and I downloaded it to my Kindle because I liked the concept: the book is about two children who fall down the proverbial rabbit hole via a charmed book of stories and end up in a land full of their favourite storybook characters, it pays homage to all of those stories children have been in love with for generations.

I wondered what it'd be like actually: just because Chris Colfer can sing and dance and act and is growing into a fairly attractive young man (see above if you're still seeing him as Kurt Hummel, because the boy grew up people.) doesn't necessarily mean he can write and what if he only got a book deal because he is America's darling? Call me cynical, but these things happen.

Here's the thing: this kid can write.

"Happily ever after’ is something that you make. It’s not given to you."
-Chris Colfer

TLOS is one of those books you wish was around when you were 8 or 9; one of those books that you'd lose a weekend reading and would wish all your friends liked reading as much as you did so they could read it too, one of those books that you dove into and got lost in and wanted to live in forever. Hell, I kind of want to live in it myself and I'm about 20years older than it's target audience.

This book awakens in me some of the same feelings I have when reading Harry Potter, as in when I'm reading Potter there's always a part of me that wishes I'd been younger when those books were first released because I'd love to have experienced them through the eyes of a child, and that's how I feel about this.
I know I would have fangirled so hard over this book when I was 8, so hard because Colfer has pitched it just right: it's smart and funny and magical and the two characters are just awesome and so relatable too, if you're 8 [and pretty adorable if you're not] and some of the phrasing is gorgeous and the world he has created is the kind of world any 8 or 9 year old would want to be a part of.

It's not perfect: there are parts that could maybe do with being tightened up a touch and parts that dragged a little and some of the language is a little basic and there's a lot of 'he said, she said' but hello,  how sophisticated does it need to be: this is a kids book and I'm 29 not 9, and I think the same thing when I re-read Enid Blyton or other childhood favourites. From a pure storytelling point of view it works.  It's a smart and intelligent book, with clever interpretations on the background traditional stories - the Charming Dynasty idea is awesome, as is the Queen Red-Riding Hood/fugitive Goldilocks feud and the Evil Queen's backstory is well worth reading for. It carries a message without being patronising and it has the amusing little bits in there that are obviously aimed at the parent reading aloud [or the 29 year old with no book-buying self-control.] and I didn't guess the ending. All in all, I think Colfer can count this as another success; I can certainly think of a handful of children I'd like to read this book.

Seriously, Chris Colfer is so much more than Kurt Hummel, and Glee and I would not be surprised to see him take over the world. You read it here first.*


*unless you didn't, obviously.

The books of 2012...so far

I'm a little late really, considering we're well past the 'halfway through 2012' mark but as the saying goes, better late then never. That's not always strictly true, actually, because sometimes, if you can't be arsed to be on time then it's maybe better you don't bother but this is just a blog and the only person my tardiness will be bothering is me, mainly because nobody was expecting this post but me. I digress.

It always interests me, making a note of my top 5 books of the year in June, and then again at the end of December and seeing if they remain the same, and that's the point of this post: making a note of my 5 favourites of the year so far so I can make the comparison later. So here you have it and, drum roll please, the bestest books I have read so far in 2012 are.....:

1: Without a doubt the best book I've read this year is Richard Siken's Crush which I talk about here and which I love beyond words, almost. It totally got under my skin, and I've flicked back through it several times since I read it in May.

2. The Borrower By Rebecca Makkai which I don't think I ever blogged about because I've been lax this year, but which, if you're at a loss for something to read, is definitely worth picking up.

3. Annabel Pitcher's My Sister Lives On The Mantelpiece - you can read my thoughts on it here but I am warning you, it will hit you right in the feels.

4. The Siege by Helen Dunmore, which I won't talk about too much as I do plan to blog about it properly at some point, but which is incredibly incredibly moving and heartbreaking and inspiring. And which you should read. It will make you cry though, so don't say I didn't warn you.

5. The Stranger Next Door, by the wonderful Amelie Nothomb. I adored this. I love Amelie Nothomb anyway, I think she's incredible but this was far and away my favourite of hers. Amazing.

Apart from Crush which is absolutely at the top of this list, the others go in no particular order, because they were all super and I'm shit at making decisions. It's a character flaw, sorry.

Today is somebody's birthday.



Let me tell you a little about this somebody.

She's hilariously funny. She's smart and she's witty and so so perceptive. She calls me out when I'm being a dick, and she holds me when I cry and she holds me when I laugh and she rolls her eyes when I spam her inbox with You Yube videos of a certain attractive singing celebrity. She went all the way to Africa and took a photo of herself stood Under Milk Wood because I love Dylan Thomas. She makes the tallest cakes and the flattest scones and she always makes my ribena in the right sized glass. She knows me better than anybody else in the world and she gets me like nobody else does.

We share jokes and secrets and memories almost to the point of being an accidental clique of two: people tell us all the time how hard it is to be around us because we speak our own language, of half sentences and nonsensical chatter.

She likes giraffes and manatees and champagne cocktails and bacon fries even though she's a vegetarian and Wuthering Heights and Joey Lawrence and Harry Potter and she has more dvds than you can even imagine and she understands all about Billy from Ally McBeal and how nothing will ever be that sad. She dances with me to The Arctic Monkeys at weddings and she makes me write in paragraphs and she makes me stickers when I have to go to the dentist.

She isn't perfect though: she hates ginger and peanut butter and meat and sometimes she laughs at me til she cant breathe and she wants to re-read Breaking Dawn and she thinks Remus really truly loved Tonks and she once tried to drop a pen lid in my mouth when I was asleep and her feet are unreasonably small.

She's Helen and she is the Meryl Streep to my Julie Walters (and yes, that's a mamma Mia reference) and I am grateful for her every single day.

Happy birthday to you, Helen. You will always be my stupid person.

Cat Antics

JasperCat: *walks past*
Me [from sofa]: *makes cat summoning noise*
Jasper: *stops, pricks up ears, looks around*
Jasper: what?
Jasper: what was that?
Jasper: who said that??? was it you, rug?
Me: *repeats cat summoning noise*
Jasper: *spins around* did you say something, tail?
Jasper: THIS HOUSE IS HAUNTED!! *jumps on sofa and snuggles me for safety*
Me: mission accomplished!

Consider the Hairpin Turn

-You are Jeff, Richard Siken
 I don't read a lot of poetry.  I read some, but not a lot. I should probably read more. The stuff I do read is ususally thrown at me by Jen with a 'JO YOU HAVE TO READ THIS' and I do read it and usually I love it and think 'hmmm, I should read more of this,' but then I don't because I'm never quite sure I understand much about poetry other than that it's pretty. And maybe that's the problem; maybe I need to accept that I can love poetry just because it's pretty and I don't need to try and understand it on a more intellectual level because isn't that the point, really, to draw pleasure from the words you read?????

Anyway.

The point is that most of the poetry I read is recommended to me, but, I've stumbled across a collection all by my own self [proud Mama moment for you there, Campbell. ha.]
It's by Richard Siken, it's called Crush, it won the 2004 Yale Series of Younger Poets competition and I am in serious serious book love, and not just because it's pretty.
It is pretty, so much so that it hurts, just there just right, but it's also just really incredible. I'm not going to try and give some kind of wonderfully eloquent review because like I said, I don't know much about poetry other than I like how it makes me feel. I just, I liked this book and it made me want to write that down, for posterity: in May 2012 Jo liked this book.

The foreword says that this is a book about panic. I'm not going to argue with that, after all, what do I know and to be honest I kind of understand the sentiment but, for me at least, it's more than that; it's a book about love, I think. Deep love, real love, painful love, unrequited love and requited love, love that hurts in the way that love does and it's beautiful and raw and it just gets under your skin and stays there. And it makes you think.It's the kind of book that just gets you, right in the chest, something that has happened to me before with prose but never I don't think, with poetry. The emotion in some of these poems is palpable and I kept going back, reading and re-reading, making notes of parts that I wanted to quote and then I got to the end and realised I might aswell just type out the whole book and so maybe just maybe I am a poetry girl after all.

This book gave me goosebumps, from the opening poem 'Scherazade' 
 ['...how we rolled up the carpet so we could dance, and the days were bright red, and every time we kissed there was another apple to slice into pieces.']
through pieces like 'Saying Your Names' and 'Wishbone' and 'Boot Theory', and the 'Snow and Dirty Rain' and through the whole first stanza of 'A Primer for the Small Weird Loves'
['...you know how to ride a dirt bike, and you know how to do long division, and you know that a boy who likes boys is a dead boy, unless he keeps his mouth shut...']
it gave me goosebumps and it made me think and it made me feel and if you do nothing else this week, this month, this year then read this book, just, find a copy if only so you can read the wonderfully wonderful 'You are Jeff'  [see above] and then tell me it doesn't move you in a way you can't explain.


Do it, because you might never hear me talk about poetry this way again.

And that is all from me, for now. I leave you with this, from 'Wishbone' which is one of my favourites, I think.


You don’t, I say, you don’t owe me squat, let’s just get going, let’s just
               get gone, but he’s relentless,
keeps saying I owe you, says Your shoes are filling with your own
damn blood, you must want something, just tell me, and it’s yours.
               But I can’t look at him, can hardly speak,
I took the bullet for all the wrong reasons, I’d just as soon kill you myself, 
I say.


We'll eat you up - we love you so!



I had no idea.

I was browsing Facebook this afternoon and spotted my pal Jen’s update, ‘but the wild things cried, “Oh please don’t go”’ I recognised it immediately and quickly typed out a reply in the form of the next line of the story, smiled to myself and moved on. Jen text me a few moments later telling me of Sendak’s passing and wow, so sad. 83 is a ripe old age, of course it is, but it’s a pretty ineffective consolation, as I realised when I used it upon myself when my Grandpa died last month.  Sendak, no matter how old he was, will be very sorely missed. The thing we have to remember of course is that he left a legacy that, as long as there are children who love stories and grown-ups who love to read to them, will live on forever.

I don’t know many people who aren’t familiar with Sendak’s most famous work, ‘Where The Wild Things Are,’ and I don’t think I’m speaking out of turn by suggesting it’s a picture book favourite of most people, it is certainly one of mine and Twitter is alight today with people talking about Sendak and about Wild Things; about their memories of it; about their love for it; posting links to articles where Sendak has talked about his work and his inspirations  and you only have to read a few of these to see why he was considered one of the most important children’s writers of the 20th Century.

Where The Wild Things Are will surely be read at bedtimes across the globe tonight, as it should be.

RIP Maurice.