Book reading synchronicity
I think this might be my first reference to other social media.
In a Marieke Hardy twitter interview I read today, she described how she's been reading Helen Garner's essays to try and develop (improve) her writing style. I like both Helen and Marieke as cultural writers, they weave observation and social commentary as well as humour into their writing. Both would be on my dinner party list-in fact, I decided just last night that I would like to have an all female fantasy dinner party list (which would probably neatly sidestep the fighting over who scored the hot guy at the dinner party*) that was made up of Marieke Hardy, Helen Garner, Noni Hazelhurst, Sally Seltmann, Leigh Sales and Margaret Whitlam (I'd have Hazel Hawke if she didn't have dementia). (One of my cousins has socialised with Margaret and would share naughty gossip about how wonderful but overbearing she is; if I could pick an era of hers, I'd like to invite her when she was a Cabramatta housewife/social worker OR a private schoolgirl/swimmer/budding intellect).
I like Noni Hazelhurst for not being skinny for how well she characterises her roles-middle aged woman who feel and are sexy but have to face rueful evidence in the mirror. She was great in Monkey Grip, playing the fictionalised version of Helen Garner, and is fabulous in everything in general. Leigh Sales I also like too, especially for her analysis of Sydney society and how it was so different (different good or bad?) to other cities; the effort to find your peeps. But I am sure her Well Red-Head columns and hosting work have helped reinvigorate intellectual culture in Sydney.
So there is that-Marieke Hardy was "liking" writers I like; then on Facebook 2 of my friends were admiring photographs of awesome book collections. Don't know if they were from bookporn, but it led me to post my own album of a few photographs I'd been collection: Mozza's library, Duckworth's "life work" (which is how he described his now-IKEA-shelved book collection after shifting house, causing Production Pete to be concerned that purchasing IKEA was Duckworth's pinnacle of achievement, rather than the books), my favourite bookshelf with it's shifting collection of books. Sadly, I have given away more books than I've kept; I too could have a spare bedroom devoted to an alphabetical collection of topnote literature HAD I NOT KEPT SHIFTING HOUSE! Books are heavy. Difficult to move.
Oh, and read a film review that referenced a contemporary film that lifts it's plot from Far from the Madding Crowd. It might be just enough to make me read it (my new year's resolution is to make an effort to read more classic literature and less crap).
On a contemporary front, I am reading You Don't Love Me Yet by Jonathan Lethem (who I note, shares my birthday AND chinese horoscope year, wow!). It is hipster fiction, like Gary Benchley Rock Star, a tribute to the east coast/west coast hipster scene of tattoeed baristas, adults forming guy/girl bands, gallery owners and discovering an oasis of natural/retro beauty amongst the hyped up hip/modern world (like Garden State's scene when they visit the ark; which I have perhaps nostalgified by only ever watching this movie once). So far it is okay, but I've already skipped ahead and read the end, a normal occupational hazard when the book is so so, and I'm uncommitted to reading all of it.
Books I haven't read the end of lately: Freedom by Jonathan Franzen; and other books that were probably perfectly good but I've already forgotten the names (though my library has elecronified the whole reservation/loan receipts business, so thankfully I can look up my readings now).
*Lusting after male dinner party guests: once upon a time, long long time ago, I went to a very midnight dinner party that was unexpectedly planned, there were about 10 courses (because we each brought a course), it was very enjoyable, we all drank a lot, music was vaguely playing in the background and I had the novel-to-me revelation that it was a lot more fun than going to the pub or a raucous party. And then I realised that the most charismatic guest at the dinner party was my friend's neighbour Tom, who we all, as a "gang" were on friendly terms with but didn't normally socialise with. Part of his charm was that he was one of only 2 heterosexual guys there, but he was also witty, funny, charming and unexpectedly intelligent (I also had the novel-to-me revelation that not all people in the trance scene are dimwitted dopefiends). Just as I decided that Tom was my romantic hero and that I adored him in a noble semi-platonic way, I had to bend down to pick up some dropped cutlery and realised that there was some very very heavy footsie action taking place between him and the host's ex teenage girlfriend (for some reason my female friends and I were very judgemental that our 20 year old male friend had a 17 year old girlfriend, which is absurd considering how much more mature and streetwise she was compared to our sheltered private school selves).
I can still remember how stunned I was to realise that I had not picked up on their sexual heat AT ALL. Naive then, naive still probably, I can be so self absorbed with my own observations and insights I just miss all the signals. Naturally those 2 left together and ever since then it has always been thus** that a single male at a dinner party can be relied upon to pick up
**I think this is the catchphrase of Bob Ellis that Marieke Hardy likes. I like his film Nostradamus Kid; he's a good writer, and an hilarious hater. Inconsisent and willing to sabotage himself, confident he will triumph again.
In a Marieke Hardy twitter interview I read today, she described how she's been reading Helen Garner's essays to try and develop (improve) her writing style. I like both Helen and Marieke as cultural writers, they weave observation and social commentary as well as humour into their writing. Both would be on my dinner party list-in fact, I decided just last night that I would like to have an all female fantasy dinner party list (which would probably neatly sidestep the fighting over who scored the hot guy at the dinner party*) that was made up of Marieke Hardy, Helen Garner, Noni Hazelhurst, Sally Seltmann, Leigh Sales and Margaret Whitlam (I'd have Hazel Hawke if she didn't have dementia). (One of my cousins has socialised with Margaret and would share naughty gossip about how wonderful but overbearing she is; if I could pick an era of hers, I'd like to invite her when she was a Cabramatta housewife/social worker OR a private schoolgirl/swimmer/budding intellect).
I like Noni Hazelhurst for not being skinny for how well she characterises her roles-middle aged woman who feel and are sexy but have to face rueful evidence in the mirror. She was great in Monkey Grip, playing the fictionalised version of Helen Garner, and is fabulous in everything in general. Leigh Sales I also like too, especially for her analysis of Sydney society and how it was so different (different good or bad?) to other cities; the effort to find your peeps. But I am sure her Well Red-Head columns and hosting work have helped reinvigorate intellectual culture in Sydney.
So there is that-Marieke Hardy was "liking" writers I like; then on Facebook 2 of my friends were admiring photographs of awesome book collections. Don't know if they were from bookporn, but it led me to post my own album of a few photographs I'd been collection: Mozza's library, Duckworth's "life work" (which is how he described his now-IKEA-shelved book collection after shifting house, causing Production Pete to be concerned that purchasing IKEA was Duckworth's pinnacle of achievement, rather than the books), my favourite bookshelf with it's shifting collection of books. Sadly, I have given away more books than I've kept; I too could have a spare bedroom devoted to an alphabetical collection of topnote literature HAD I NOT KEPT SHIFTING HOUSE! Books are heavy. Difficult to move.
Oh, and read a film review that referenced a contemporary film that lifts it's plot from Far from the Madding Crowd. It might be just enough to make me read it (my new year's resolution is to make an effort to read more classic literature and less crap).
On a contemporary front, I am reading You Don't Love Me Yet by Jonathan Lethem (who I note, shares my birthday AND chinese horoscope year, wow!). It is hipster fiction, like Gary Benchley Rock Star, a tribute to the east coast/west coast hipster scene of tattoeed baristas, adults forming guy/girl bands, gallery owners and discovering an oasis of natural/retro beauty amongst the hyped up hip/modern world (like Garden State's scene when they visit the ark; which I have perhaps nostalgified by only ever watching this movie once). So far it is okay, but I've already skipped ahead and read the end, a normal occupational hazard when the book is so so, and I'm uncommitted to reading all of it.
Books I haven't read the end of lately: Freedom by Jonathan Franzen; and other books that were probably perfectly good but I've already forgotten the names (though my library has elecronified the whole reservation/loan receipts business, so thankfully I can look up my readings now).
*Lusting after male dinner party guests: once upon a time, long long time ago, I went to a very midnight dinner party that was unexpectedly planned, there were about 10 courses (because we each brought a course), it was very enjoyable, we all drank a lot, music was vaguely playing in the background and I had the novel-to-me revelation that it was a lot more fun than going to the pub or a raucous party. And then I realised that the most charismatic guest at the dinner party was my friend's neighbour Tom, who we all, as a "gang" were on friendly terms with but didn't normally socialise with. Part of his charm was that he was one of only 2 heterosexual guys there, but he was also witty, funny, charming and unexpectedly intelligent (I also had the novel-to-me revelation that not all people in the trance scene are dimwitted dopefiends). Just as I decided that Tom was my romantic hero and that I adored him in a noble semi-platonic way, I had to bend down to pick up some dropped cutlery and realised that there was some very very heavy footsie action taking place between him and the host's ex teenage girlfriend (for some reason my female friends and I were very judgemental that our 20 year old male friend had a 17 year old girlfriend, which is absurd considering how much more mature and streetwise she was compared to our sheltered private school selves).
I can still remember how stunned I was to realise that I had not picked up on their sexual heat AT ALL. Naive then, naive still probably, I can be so self absorbed with my own observations and insights I just miss all the signals. Naturally those 2 left together and ever since then it has always been thus** that a single male at a dinner party can be relied upon to pick up
**I think this is the catchphrase of Bob Ellis that Marieke Hardy likes. I like his film Nostradamus Kid; he's a good writer, and an hilarious hater. Inconsisent and willing to sabotage himself, confident he will triumph again.
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