It was the best of times...

Golden Days - Carolyn See (University of California Press, 1996, c1987)


The 80s were different. In a bunch of ways. Feminism and New Age mysticism and not-helicopter-parenting were all less under attack than they are now. On the other hand, the threat of nuclear annihilation was a real thing. And so, this twice-divorced mother seeking financial security - oh, and happiness! - recounts the days and years leading up to the other Big One that loomed over California during that wild and decadent decade.

The last pages, about what happens after the bomb falls.... they take up a lot of mental space, blocking my view back of the first 150 pages of this slim novel. And those pages are a wonder in themselves, of the remarkable and unremarkable, and of the meaning of women's friendships, and the omnipresence of men as a force to be defined in relation (often in opposition) to, and of moments that seemed so terribly dated ("That was what it was like back then?") and ones that seemed so current that I couldn't believe the book was 25 years old.

I don't know that I would recommend this book per se. I feel like it spoke to its time more effectively than it speaks to us. And I'm not sure of its potential audience today. But that doesn't mean it deserves anything less than my respect. And a significant measure of awe.

Salman Rushdie writes better than I do (duh)

After I read Midnight's Children, I went around thinking in the cadences and magic of Rushdie's prose for weeks. I don't know if the same will happen after The Enchantress of Florence - it's magical foreignness may be too far afield to take my own style captive again.

But I digress. Since I'd much rather read Rushdie than myself, I figure I would share some of my favorite passages from Enchantress, which is pretty and lush and bizarre and just absolutely all over the place, which is what I love most about Rushdie. He is large. He contains multitudes.

Perhaps Rushdie's overarching theme, here stated by the Florentine who is an enchanter in his own right: "This may be the curse of the human race. Not that we are so different from one another, but that we are so alike."

" 'For a woman to please a man,' the emperor said, 'it is necessary that' " and the list goes on and on. The Florentine "Mughal of Love" replies that well-bred women of Italy are not at all like this. " 'But the courtesan, she fulfills all your ideals, except, possibly, for the business about the stained glass.' 'Never make love to a woman who is bad with stained glass,' the emperor said solemnly, giving no indication of humorous intent. 'Such a woman is an ignorant shrew.' "

"Women have always moaned about men [...] but it turns out that their deepest complaints are reserved for one another, because while they expect men to be fickle, treacherous, and weak, they judge their own sex by higher standards, they expect more from their own sex - loyalty, understanding, trustworthiness, love - and apparently they have all collectively decided those expectations were misplaced." [In this instance, the spate of jealous animosity was cured by having all the women go naked for a day, so they could see each other for all their faults.]

And in the New World, "the ordinary laws of space and time did not apply," moving forward, backward, and at different speeds. A statement that could be applied to Rushdie's created world, where historical figures and magic and intrigue and the past and less-past all come weaving into and around one another.

CHOCOLATE (and magic)

I read Chocolat sometime during the spring of my sophomore or junior year in college. I am unclear on how I had time to read a pretty little tale on domestic witchcraft and the joys of food and love and identity and acceptance and friendship, etc. while I was taking classes. But I have very clear memories about where I sat in our backyard and everything. The movie was not as good, despite my love for Juliette Binoche. In part I blame an intransigent movie-mate, and in part I blame the subterranean theater, and the NYC subway trains that shook the whole place every 5 minutes or so.

All of which leads me to Joanne Harris' sequel, The Girl with No Shadow (or The Lollipop Shoes in the UK) which I read in a great big rush at the beginning of the week. [We emphatically do not like the LAPL's new loan period. It is hard to begin a 440 page book on Sunday and turn it in on Tuesday.] But this was a good book to read all at once. It's immersive and fast and mysterious and (literally) magical. We meet Vianne and her daughter four years after the events in Chocolat. They have new names, and there is a new daughter, and a new witch on the horizon. Plus Vianne has abandoned magic in an attempt to create a normal and safe life for her family. And obviously this is not going to work. No surprise.

I was often swept away by the book in that lovely way that books can sweep you away. Where the magic of storytelling just makes you feel safe and free and alive with possibility. But I was also very deeply troubled. The dark aspects of the book were very dark, and the villain's cynicism seductive. The result for me was a kind of dissatisfied turmoil, not a black mark against the novel, but all the same enough to knock me off-kilter.

Dance Dance Dance

I never really bought into the metaphor that creates the title of this Murakami (Haruki, not Takashi) novel, but other than that, I found this book utterly enchanting.

I'm a big fan of Murakami's brand of fatalistic magical realism. And I'm particularly fascinated by his male characters. They are insightful and sensitive, and yet aloof and difficult. And they tend to like women who are like wounded birds. Women love them, and yet leave them more often that not, for whatever (sometimes metaphysical) reasons.

Anyway, am saving up some of my DDD thoughts for my book club (like trying to puzzle out the commentary on late capitalism), but I still want to share a passage, as the protagonist contemplates the teen who has become essentially his charge:

Humans achieve their peak in different ways. But whoever you are, once you're over the summit, it's downhill all the way. Nothing anyone can do about it. And the worst of it is, you never know where that peak is. You think you're still going strong, when suddenly you've crossed the great divide. [and it goes on, but I don't want to type the whole book. It's pages 209-10 of the Vintage trade paperback edition, if you want to find it]

Dancing? or floating along? How do we choose which will comprise our lives? Or do we struggle to find another action altogether?