Historical (in)accuracy

I blame my parents. Sure, lots of other women love the costume drama. But I seem to have a special affinity for movies and books that involve hoop skirts and bodices and ridiculously uncomfortable-seeming clothing.

This is why I avoided Philippa Gregory's The Other Boleyn Girl like the plague. Bodices, yes; bodice-rippers, no thank you. And besides, I grew up around Elizabethan history snobs and had become one myself. But then the ads for the movie started. And this reminded me that last year I had decided I was being too stuck-up about the book, and bought myself a cheap copy. So last week, I read the book.

In the end, I think my mom, who watched last year's Elizabeth: The Golden Age on Sunday, and I could have had a "taking historical liberties" competition. (I really enjoyed my time with Wikipedia, which had to my mind a fairly balanced portrayal of the various suppositions by historians about the lives of Queen Elizabeth's mother and aunt.) Gregory was probably never out and out misrepresenting what evidence suggests; but she definitely felt free to choose what made the most exciting narrative.

Which is fine. I was entertained the entire time. But the writing style was a bit simplistic, and many of the characters too caricatured. And this is especially frustrating when Gregory is making the point that courtiers did have real lives and emotions and were forced to constantly play parts. Most frustrating was Mary Boleyn's anachronistic proto-feminism and desire to be a small woman farmer. I was skeptical of that the whole time.

But again, whatever. I was entertained. And sometimes, that's enough.

Suburban Sex Ed: The Abstinence Teacher

I LOVED The Abstinence Teacher, by Tom Perrotta. I first heard about it sometime in October, after finally seeing Little Children sometime in the summer.

There were so many times this book made me laugh aloud at the sheer ridiculous of the human situation, and just as many times I cringed in sympathetic embarrassment. And there are passages I marked down, but they all seem awfully risque for this blog. So you will just have to trust me, and hopefully go read it yourself.

I haven't read many reviews of this book besides Kellogg's, which I cited above and had forgotten by the time I started reading. But somehow I just decided everyone would like this book and was a big chagrined when I updated my books on Facebook and discovered that lots of other people were underwhelmed.

Anyway, I haven't said too much about the book yet. It's a culture clash b/t an emerging megachurch and the New England social liberalism embodied by sex ed teacher Ruth Ramsey. And while Ruth works to be a warrior and yet not entirely alienate her tween daughters, the clash is best exemplified by her foil Tim, the ex-addict rocker who found salvation in Jesus and in coaching her daughter's soccer team.

You really root for Ruth and Tim. At least I did. And while I, the former sex ed counselor, found myself quite clearly on one side of the issues, I still felt that Perrotta was both sympathetic and skewering on all sides. For a satirist, he's so nice. (Maybe a little like Jane Austen?) Anyway, I've gushed verbally and in e-mails to so many people in the past week that now I find myself all gushed out. Sigh. So read it for yourself, and decide for yourself. Making your own decisions, after all, might be the moral of The Abstinence Teacher.

Re-discoveries, mad romantic

The English Patient has pulled off the accomplishment of being among my all-time favorites in both novel and movie form. (The film's soundtrack, for one, is stunning.) Michael Ondaatje is amazing - when I read the novel at age 17, I had never come across anything quite like it.

While the film has two main narratives (present and past), each goes in roughly chronological order. The novel goes into the past of more characters, and completely mixes up the chronology in favor of an unveiling, piece by piece, of the characters and their tales. And the descriptions - they are lyrical and haunting. Ondaatje has also published collections of poetry, and it shows in his prose.

God, I love this book. It's been so long since I've read it, I can't give specific details. But reading it is like stepping into a whole other world, and putting yourself into Ondaatje's very sure hands.

A little bit of whimsy

I finished Literacy and Longing in L.A. this afternoon. I stick with my previous statement that it was a bit of a letdown. But still sweet. Dora may be shallow, but she is also giving. And the ending, while unsatisfyingly written, is at least satisfying in terms of plot.

One thing I loved was the occasional reference to landmarks that are part of my LA as well. Like Dutton's. Although it's called McKenzie's, the central bookstore is unmistakable. It was nice to see such a haven for books get a starring role in a novel.

On a different note, I saw The Science of Sleep tonight. Michel Gondry, who wrote and directed, is an odd one. His protagonist, Stephane, can barely tell the difference between sleep and wakefulness, and therefore often neither can we. But the love story between him and his neighbor, Stephanie, is both quirky and heartwarming. It's only in his dreams that Stephanie reassures him that they are on the right track. When awake, things never seem to go quite as well. And yet you believe it is the sleeping Stephane and Stephanie that represent the true nature of their relationship.

The Watermelon King

My "books to read" list - at least the one I currently use - dates back to Christmas 2002, when Michael purchased me an adorable book-tracking book. It has served me quite happily. So no entry on the list is even four years old. Yet I cannot for the life of me remember the circumstances that led me to put Daniel Wallace's The Watermelon King on the list. But list it I did, and this past weekend, I actually got around to reading it.

It came as a bit of a surprise. In addition to a quirky title, it had a quirky design. (You can see the cover here.) And this is when I discovered that it was by the author of Big Fish, the 2003 film directed by Tim Burton and starring Ewan McGregor. I watched this movie with my parents (it is right up their alley); while I found it sweet, I couldn't imagine seeking out works by the author. And yet apparently I had. Anyway, on with the book...

The Watermelon King is set in the same fictional town as Big Fish - Ashland, Alabama. And in both stories, a young man is in search of a parent's past; in both, the father figure has created a world of fabulous tales that cannot be believed. But perhaps they should be.

Wallace's characters are mostly caricature, and yet roughly plausible, even when the events befalling them are not. In TWK, our hero Thomas Rider spends the first half of the novel allowing them to speak for themselves, and make their case about their role in his mother's life and death. And once he takes over the narrative, events again converge in a way that sweeps everyone in the town along with it. The journey's end is mostly predictable; the past that leads you there is not quite.

I enjoyed reading TWK. It passes quickly and has a strong forward momentum. I started it while lying on the beach, which may be why I would label it "beach reading." More accurately, it's for a wicker chair on a veranda (a porch will do) on a sticky afternoon, with a pitcher of lemonade by your side.