Book Addiction: Part II

As Britney Spears's writing committee once said, "Oops, I did it again!"

I went out and bought more books. But it wasn't my fault. They were on sale and I can't resist a sale!

Here's what happened: York University was having this book fair as part of some humungous conference and there were all these publishers there selling books at a reduced price. So I went to all the independent publishers and shmoozed with some of the folks I knew from when I used to do The Show (because now that I have gainful employment, I no longer have time to volunteer for community radio) and one thing led to another and I walked away with three books: "Heartways" (many authors, Arsenal Pulp Press), "Pure Inventions" (James King, Cormorant Press) and "Race Against Time" (Stephen Lewis, Anansi Press).

Now, you may be wondering why I shun the large publishing houses, like Random House and Penguin. The thing is, me and the large publishing houses, we don't get along. When I did The Show, the large pubs would send their new, sexy, hardcover books with their glossy press kits to us whether we wanted them or not. Then their publicists would call us and ask when we would have the authors on. And I swear, 90% of the time, the books blew goats. I mean these books, even if they were by major authors, were unreadable. I don't ever give books away (or even sell them or lend them out), but recently I took a bunch of these hardcover monstrosities and left them in my building's lobby for people to grab. They were that bad.

And, you know, I don't fault the publicists for sending us these books and pestering us to do the interviews because, frankly, it's their job to get exposure for the authors and the books. They're just doing their job. I hate whatever machine keeps these cruddy books with their sub-standard editing and poor-quality writing published. I have two books on my shelves that have glaringly obvious factual errors in them -- factual errors that could have been corrected with one Google search. How can a large publishing house justify that? Forget James Frey and his dumbass fiction-cum-autobiography, it's the small, minor-league editing errors in real non-fiction that shows that a publishing house only cares about the cash.

That is why I don't go near the large publishing houses anymore. Occasionally I'll still buy one of their books if it's by an author I know and respect (and who I often feel happy for because they're finally making some money). But, in general, I'm so disillusioned by the whole thing that I'd rather take my chances with some small press book by a no-name author. Then, at least, I know that my money is going to someone who loves what they do.

No More Freakin' Books, Please

I mentioned Bram Stoker's Dracula to a coworker the other day and today, he showed up at my cube and plopped his copy on my desk. He left before I had a chance to say that he should just take it back because I've got a backlog on my to-read list.

This episode, though, has made me realize that most people read one book at a time and finish each one before starting a new one (unlike me who gets impatient midway through a novel, skips ahead to the last chapter and then loses a bit of interest and moves on to the next victim).

Oh well. I'll give it back tomorrow. For now I'll ponder whether to read ahead to the end of Jonathan Strange and Mr Norell so that I can move on to something else.

Also: I have to stop blogging when I'm tired.

Weird

I used the word "weird" way too often in that last post. I gotta stop writing when I'm tired. I'm usually much more articulate. I hope.

Mid-Read Review: Jonathan Strange and Mr Norell

I am a fickle, fickle girl.

I was fully intending to finish "Lust for Life" (esp after reading Claude Lalumière's comment), but then, something happened.

I was taking a train trip out of town and figured that "Lust of Life" would not be the best book to read on the train. I mean, you're stuck on the train for a few hours with strangers next to you, so you don't want to weird them out too much. (For example, one time I sat next to this woman who was reading a book titled "Ritualistic Candle Burning" and it kinda weirded me out. I can't imagine what erotic literature would do to someone more prudish.) Also, the train doesn't really have the right, shall we say, atmosphere for erotica. So I packed "Time Travel in Einstein's Universe" and "Jonathan Strange and Mr Norell" (JS&MN) instead. (Incidentally, it was Claude Lalumière who recommended the book to me.)

I had started reading JS&MN about a month earlier, but had put it down a quarter of the way through because I found it dull. But I figured that it had the potential to put me to sleep on the train so I brought it along.

On my way out of town, I wasn't in the mood of sleeping and I mostly read a magazine and occasionally read the time travel book. My ride back to town was a completely different story. We were trapped behind a freight train and moving super-slow. My train was delayed by something like two hours (enough for Via Rail to reimburse half the cost of each passenger's ticket) and I was sitting next to a woman who was possibly the most annoying person to ever walk the earth. The whole time she kept grumbling about how slow the train was going and how this would not stand ("This slowness will not stand!"). I desperately, but desperately, wanted to pass out so I wouldn't have to interact with her. So I put my earbuds in and cracked open JS&MN.

To my astonishment, the book was really fascinating and engaging. I couldn't stop reading! I became enveloped more and more into Part I of this novel about a strange, reclusive magician (Mr Norell) who is very greedy about his magical knowledge and prowess. It was well-written, funny and spooky, in all the right proportions (like when the book gets too funny, it turns spooky and when it gets too spooky, it turns funny). I was so enthralled with the book, that when Annoying Lady Next To Me would start crabbing to me, I'd take out my earbud and say, "I don't mind that we're delayed; this book is really good." Man, did that piss her off! (She only had two dinky magazines with her and no portable music device. She was obviously an amateur Via Rail traveller.)

Anyways, I'm halfway through Part II now (it's a three volume novel) and it's getting weirder and weirder and I'm wondering if Jonathan Strange will be able to clean up Mr Norell's messes. It's fantastic and I can see why so many people recommend it.

And I promise -- promise! -- that after this I'll give "Lust for Life" another go.

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