I'm In No Mood For Love - Rachel Gibson (Avon Books, 2006)
Calling Romeo - Alexandra Potter (Downtown Press, 2002)
I needed a romantic reading fix, so took a trip to the library and ended up with these two, figuring I was safe with both authors. And now I don't have that much to say, except that here they are. Gibson ran more or less according to romance genre conventions, but I found both characters appealing. Potter offered a really interesting look at how a love story almost falls apart, and what's required to make a relationship work. Fairly or not, I found one character loads more sympathetic than the others, but a happy ending for one requires a happy ending for most, so....
And now the pink books go back to the library, and something else will take their place.
Shakespeare's Game - William Gibson (Atheneum, 1978)
I'd like to have someone to blame for this. Somewhere along the line, I came under the impression that cyberpunk doyen William Gibson started his publishing career with an early novel that somehow brought in Shakespeare and would be tame enough for someone like me to actually dip my toe in the genre. This is totally wrong (unless Neuromancer is somehow about the Bard). The Gibson above is an older Gibson, a playwright, who offered a structural and textual analysis of Shakespeare's plays based on years of teaching graduate students. So I guess I need to talk about him and that book, although I maintain that "Shakespeare's Game" would be a fantastic title for some sort of science fiction-esque work (or it sounds just like Da Vinci Code... one of those).
Anyway, this work. Look, 200 pages of analysis is not going to be exciting, no matter how much Shakespearean iambic pentameter you include.Well, not exciting to me at any rate. And so I may not have been the close reader that this book deserved. Even so, I found things to learn, having not studied Shakespeare since high school. I think - think - Gibson argued that the climax of the plays tends to occur at the end of Act III (of V); everything else from this point is essentially pre-ordained, and thus tidying up to get to the inevitable conclusion. He also talked quite a bit about how deftly Shakespeare presents false antagonists, who stand in or draw attention from the real conflict. (On this note, I wish he had spent some time with Julius Caesar.) And how sloppy and nonsensical Shakespeare can be in service of other goals (chiefly entertainment); for the life of me I couldn't tell whether Gibson considered this a failing or not.
Lots of Hamlet (which will forever be the Reduced Shakespeare version to me... below) and King Lear. And then Merchant of Venice and Othello. What I realized: I don't know Shakespeare as well as I'd like. Goal: watch more. :)
Amazons: An Intimate Memoir by the First Woman Ever to Play in the National Hockey League - Cleo Birdwell (better known as Don DeLillo) (Holt, Rinehart & Winston, 1980)
Apparently DeLillo has pretty much disowned this book, omitting it from official bibliographies and blocking its republication. (As a result, this book was tough to track down in a library.) I'm not entirely sure why. I mean, it's not great literature, but it brings in much of the absurdity that I found in White Noise (and one of the same characters, for that matter).
But I didn't read it because of DeLillo. In fact, if I remember correctly, I heard about the book well before I found out Birdwell was a pseudonym. You know me, I'm a sucker for hockey books. And for complaining about how unrealistic they are. And this one offers ample opportunity.
Cleo is a rookie for the Rangers. And the first woman to play in the NHL. So she gets a lot of attention, naturally. But apparently she is like Taylor Hall or something, the rate at which she seems to score. And speaking of scoring, there is plenty of that off the ice. It seems like everyone circling the team eventually succumbs to the belief that sex with her will ... I don't know, do something. And despite assertions that make her seem sorta meh about most, if not all these men, she is usually a willing participant. In some of the weirdest sex scenes I've read in a while.
And then there is the former player who shares her apartment, a man suffering from some bizarre affliction and whose search (aided by Cleo) ends with him spending months asleep in a machine. The way in which this whole scenario is normalized is what I remember best about DeLillo from past forays into his work. And it hints at something deeper than "Cleo plays hockey and has lots of sex." But I just couldn't get my finger on it.
