His name is St. John Rivers.  Every. Darn. Time.

I admit, after having read this book four or five times, this shouldn’t surprise me.  The book is in stages.  The childhood stage.  The long and dreary Lowood School years.  Thornfield, Thornfield, wonderful Thornfield, and then…. St. John Rivers.  Sigh.

I understand that he’s a very important foil for Rochester.  He is everything good, and straight, and narrow, but also everything cold, hard and passionateless.  Actually, worse, he has passion, but denies it thoroughly.  St. John Rivers is exactly as unappealing as Charlotte Brontë ever could have wanted, and that’s a fact.  What’s also a fact is that it makes for slow reading.  Trudging, more like.

Don’t get me wrong, this is my favorite book in the history of books (or at least in the history of books I’ve read, which is a decent number for my four-and-score years) but St. John Rivers is a drag.  He just is.  He’s more cringe-worthy than Mr. Collins of Pride and Prejudice, because at least Eliza isn’t listening carefully to every word Mr. Collins says.

I suppose I could always skip over St. John… but I never do.  I just don’t roll that way.  And if I did I might miss his sisters who I do adore.  I honestly want to pluck him from the book sometimes, though.  He’s just so unenjoyable to read.  Though I suppose if he were gone, there’d be no one to save Jane from starving to death, would there?  And we can’t have that, so St. John will have to stay, no matter how much I whine and resist him.  Poor Rosamond Oliver.  He really must have been pretty for her to fall for him like that.

~Lisa, who has six more books to finish (this one included) before hitting her goal of 52 books in 52 weeks.  It may just happen this year!

I recently walked into Anthropologie last week and instead of falling in love with a sweater or a dress – my eyes caught on the ornaments of a nearby coffee table: books. These weren’t just any type of books – they were hardcover, cloth-bound, reprinted Penguin Classics adorned with elegant designs stretching from top -to-bottom.

The set of hardcovers include Great Expectations, Wuthering Heights, Pride and Prejudice, Jane Eyre, Sense and Sensibility, The Picture of Dorian Gray and Cranford.

For every lit lover -  these books would be the perfect addition to your bookshelf and collection of literary classics.  Also, THE CUT featured a post regarding these books – and mentioned that they are also available at amazon.com! Perfect timing for the holidays . . . just an idea . . . hint.hint.hint.

You know when you’re a LIT Lover when you go into Anthropologie and want nothing but . . . books.

-jo

I really don’t know what to make about the news of another Jane Eyre adaptation in the works.

Full story here: http://www.empireonline.com/news/story.asp?NID=26336. But I’m kind of in agreement with some of the comments made by others, that this book has been adapted for the big screen many times, that by now (if you’re an Eyre fan) it’s getting annoying. Of course the movie studios have to make Jane pretty and Rochester hot.

Orphans, at least in the world of fiction, get a reasonably good press. Everyone from Jane Eyre to Anne of Green Gables to Batman to Harry Potter overcomes this advantage, often facing much hindering by grotesque relatives, to eventually triumph and prosper.

The obvious reason for this, at least from an authorial perspective, is that the lack of parents allows for more interesting and different lives, as well as introducing sympathy for the orphaned protagonist.

Despite this I think single parent families are underused in fiction (I blame Dan Quayle for that). Here are some of my favourites:-

• Atticus Finch – widowed, raised two children. Great stuff.
• Dionsyus. His father killed his mother by turning into a bolt of lightning. No wonder he took to drink.
• Dr Beverly Crusher off of the Star Trek. Gave birth to one of the most annoying characters ever: Wesley Crusher.

Who is your favourite?

Hallelujah! Wenn schon kein Heathcliff, dann wenigstens (oder vielleicht sogar noch besser) ein Rochester! Unser aller Lieblings-Fassbender wird vermutlich in einer neuen Kinoversion von Jane Eyre neben Mia Wasikowska in der Hauptrolle glänzen. Letztgenannte ist demnächst in der Titelrolle in Tim Burtons Alice in Wonderland zu sehen. Regie bei Jane Eyre wird Cary Fukunaga führen.

Michael Fassbenders Karriere startet spät aber scheint jetzt definitiv in Richtung A-List zu marschieren. Kommt wohl drauf an, wie sich sein Centurion an der Kinokasse machen wird.

Sorry not to have been around, but life and work are getting in the way of blogging, as ever. I was interested to hear today that things seem to be developing a bit with the projected feature film of Jane Eyre . Originally, Juno star Ellen Page was supposed to be playing the title role, but she dropped out a while ago and now it is said that the heroine will be played by Mia Wasikowska, who is also playing Alice in the new Tim Burton version of Alice in Wonderland, with Michael Fassbender as Mr Rochester.  Here’s a link to the full information at Variety.  

According to ComingSoon.net:

Mia Wasikowska (Alice in Wonderland) and Michael Fassbender (Inglorious Basterds) are in talks to star in helmer Cary Fukunaga’s feature adaptation of Charlotte Bronte’s classic novel, Jane Eyre.

Variety says the project is a period piece but will play up the gothic elements of the story about Jane (Wasikowska), a demure governess who discovers her surly employer Rochester (Fassbender) is harboring a dark secret.

British company Ruby Films’ Alison Owen and Paul Trijbits are producing with BBC Films and Focus Features from a script by Moira Buffini.

While I am very excited by this news, umm, good luck making this pretty lady “plain.”

Mia Wasikowska and Michael Fassbender are currently in negotiations to star in “Sin nombre” Cary Fukunaga’s (Sin nombre) adaptation of Charlotte Bronte’s classic novel, Jane Eyre.

The film is to be a period piece but will play up the gothic elements of the story about Jane (Wasikowska), a demure governess who discovers her surly employer Rochester (Fassbender) is harboring a dark secret.

Wasikowska will next be seen as Alice alongside Johnny Depp in Tim Burton’s Alice in Wonderland, which Disney is releasing next year. The actress is also going to be in Gus Van Sant’s untitled project for producers Bryce Dallas Howard and Imagine’s Ron Howard and Brian Grazer.

I don’t think I have actually seen her in anything yet so not sure how good an actress she is. Ellen Page (Juno, Inception) was originally down to play Jane, but has since left the project.

Fassbender previously appeared in Steve McQueen’s Hunger, Quentin Tarantino’s Inglourious Basterds and Andrea Arnold’s Fish Tank.

He will next be seen in Neil Marshall’s Roman action film Centurion and Warner Bros. comic book western Jonah Hex opposite Josh Brolin and Megan Fox.

Fassbender is a totally solid actor. He was spot on as Basterd and just seems to be going from strength to strength which each new film. I have no doubt he will make a splendid Rochester.

I am just really curious to see what Fukunaga will do with this classic tale. Shooting is due to start next year.

by Charlotte Bronte

This was an okay book, but definately nowhere near as good as Emma. I enjoyed it, but it wasn’t a page turner in the slightest, although the last volume did pick up a little bit. I really didn’t understand Jane’s character at all during her time with Rochester. I failed to see any redeeming qualities regarding him. If you compare him with Mr. Darcy of Pride & Prejudice fame, the dullness is even more obvious. You can completely understand why Elizabeth hates Darcy, as much as you can completely understand how and why she eventually falls in love with him. He ends up being a thoroughly charming man. Mr. Rochester, on the other hand, seems dull in comparison, and I rarely believed that Jane loved him. Her thoughts and actions really didn’t prove her amorous feelings for her master. I can put it down to the social climate of the time, but I haven’t had this doubt over a character from a classic before. Albeit, I’ve not read that many classics yet, so we’ll see how I take with the next heroin I read.

Tomorrow I have to talk about my “favourite” book, and I am still mulling over what to say!  What an impossibility was my first reaction; after all I have been reading for rather a lot of years – well actually since I was about four or five, I think!  So what do I say?   I could have said “no” I can’t, but didn’t want to disappoint the person making the request.   So I guess I have to spend much of the time given to me explaining just why I can’t choose just ONE!

I realise that some of the possible choices were the same as I put on Facebook, and I still stand by them.  To me a favourite is a book I can re-read, and I think it would be fair to say that I have re-read both Jane Austen’s Pride and prejudice and Charlotte Bronte’s Jane Eyre at least five or six times throughout my life – almost once in each decade?   I recently picked up a copy of Pride and prejudice, and enjoyed it just as much as I did the previous times, while appreciating some nuances that I had probably missed earlier.

Others on my possible list would be Lewis Carroll’s Alice in wonderland and Through the looking glass. These I am sure I read or had read to me as a child, but when I came upon them as an adult, it was very different, yet still enjoyable on that totally different level, and I am neither a mathematician nor a chess player, so all those allusions still pass me by.

And lastly – but it isn’t really, really, lastly – I would put the Tintin series.  I first read these graphic novels cum comics in French in Belgium, when I must have been around eight or nine, and that was in the 1950s.   I don’t think I fully understood them, but the pictures were fun and carried the stories.  And I remember having the whole collection – with additions for Christmas presents – at some point in my childhood, and they could be read, and re-read, and re-read, and passed on to others – my sister and brother.

And then rediscovered in all places at the Ashanti Regional Library of the Ghana Library Board in 1980/81 when I first joined them, and was in charge of the children’s library.   I took them home, and everyone loved them, even if they couldn’t understand the stories fully – kids, teens, husband, even husband’s friend! And I myself found myself with new enthusiasm entering the world of Snowy, Captain Haddock and the Thompson/Thomson twins as well as Professor Calculus (though I still prefer his French name, Tournesol).

I saw them somewhere recently in Accra, and it was very, very hard to resist!

Jeg ble invitert til arbeidsmøte i ABM utvikling i dag. Arbeidsmøtet skulle danne grunnlag for en ny strategiplan til litteraturformidling i biblioteker – med et visst øye på neste års nasjonale leseår. Det var hovedsakelig bibliotekfolk tilstede, samt forfatterforeningene, kulturrådet og Fritt Ord. Jeg vet ikke hvor mye jeg kunne bidra med – ikke kan jeg noe om hvordan et bibliotek fungerer (men jeg har opptrådt mye i biblioteker selvfølgelig) og mitt fagfelt er jo en tanke på kant med det skriftlige ordet. Men det var lærerikt og viktig iforhold til å knytte nye kontakter. Dessuten beærende og bli invitert inn sammen med tunge instanser.

Hele møtet fikk meg til å minnes en setning som har brent seg fast i meg for alltid: Dear reader I married him. Setningen befinner seg i Jane Eyre og sees på som en litterær begivenhet. Hovedkarakteren bryter ned den fjerde veggen og henvender seg direkte til leseren. Jeg tenker sånn i ettertid at setningen har vært med på å danne meg som forteller. Det er en direkte kontakt mellom fortelling og den som opplever – man blir direkte involvert i historien. Denne katharsis av en setning setter forhistorie og nåtid sammen og alt er i en dialog.

I am blessed to have four siblings and the oldest one was, and still is when she has time, a voracious reader.  Being several years older than I, she encouraged me as a child to read by signing me up for the Children’s Book of the Month Club and when I outgrew that, she suggested books such as: Little Women, Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights.  I read those and more, and loved them!  I wanted a man to love me like the men in those stories.  So, after becoming a Christian, I prayed for that very thing…a husband who would love me as intensely as the men in those stories.  God hears and answers prayers and I should remember that each time I think of my husband.

Nineteen years ago today I said, “I do” to my Stephen.    Like the men in those stories, he wasn’t perfect, but he has always loved me in the way I prayed for.  Of course I wasn’t perfect either.  Through the last nineteen years, we have grown-up together and in the Lord, and as Stephen shared with me this morning, as we grow closer to Him, we grow closer to each other.  The more honest we are with Him, the more honest we are with each other.  The more we love Him, the more we love each other.

We have had many ups and downs, as anyone has in nineteen years, but through much prayer and by the grace and goodness of God, He has seen us through.  We have learned not to go to bed angry; we have learned to talk it out no matter how scary it may be; we have learned to trust in God no matter what.  We are each others best friend and cheerleader.  I respect him and he cherishes me.  We make each other laugh and hold each other even when the other one doesn’t think they want it.  We have also painted many, many walls; completely stripped bare a pontoon boat to re-carpet it; dug up and planted gardens; owned a business; lost a business; had money and had no money; been strong and been weak.  Yelled and cried and been jealous and hurt and forgiven and loved again.  We have lived life together, passionately, like those stories.

We also have two beautiful girls that we hope we are teaching how a marriage should be.  They have seen us upset and hurt by one another, but they also see us work through it and still be friends besides still being loving.  I have told them that the love stories in those books can become true if you pray for it and look for a man who loves the Lord.  And, I’ve told them he should be their best friend.  They also see me fix the coffee before bed, and him bring it to me in the morning.  It’s 100/100, not 50/50.

I think one of the cool things about where we are now in our marriage is that while in the early years we would go to a “fancy” restaurant for an expensive meal; tonight I plan on cooking some fillets (the special ones from the butcher counter) along with some yummy sides and enjoy them in the comfort of our own home.  Of course, he’ll do dishes.

P.S. Thank you Sis, for suggesting those books to me.

I finished listening to The Thirteenth Tale over the weekend, and I’m looking forward to writing in more detail about it soon, but I’m not quite ready to yet. There are pieces of it I want to reread and mull over before discussing it in greater detail; it’s a book that takes some serious thought and consideration to fully (or as fully as possible) grasp.

But as I’ve been thinking about it, I came to the realization that I’ve never before read a novel that so fully revolves around other books and stories. Not for the sake of its plot; that is entirely Setterfield’s own. But the atmosphere, the characters, the settings — all are shaped by British literature of 18th and 19th centuries. And the reliance on and repeated mentioning of these books make me want to curl up with them myself.

A quick (and not complete, I’m sure) list of the works mentioned:
Jane Eyre
Sense and Sensibility
The Woman in White
The Castle of Otranto
Lady Audley’s Secret
The Spectre Bride
Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde
Villette
Middlemarch
The Case Book of Sherlock Holmes

I’ve read Sense and Sensibility, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, and Wuthering Heights to various degrees of enjoyment, and though I haven’t read The Case Book, I am familiar Sherlock Holmes. I’ve long been meaning to read Middlemarch, and I’m now adding the Woman in White to my list as well.

It is my love of Jane Eyre, however, that truly makes me identify with the characters of this book. Jane Eyre is one of the few books where I can distinctly remember when I read it (at least for the first time).* I received it as a Christmas gift when I was 13, and quickly fell for it. I credit Charlotte Bronte’s masterpiece with opening my eyes to the richness of classic literature; though I’ve still only read a fraction of the amazing works out there, I may not have dared to approach even many of those had it not been for Jane Eyre crossing my path first. It’s a book that I’ve read several times but haven’t revisited in years; after finishing The Thirteenth Tale, I’m thinking I may need to make some time to do exactly that soon.

*Pre-Goodreads, of course; now I document approximately when I read everything through their site.

Un abonat al retelei americane de telefonie mobila AT&T, care a dorit sa ramana anonim, sustine ca a trimis de pe telefonul sau iPhone 662258 de mesaje SMS in decursul a 30 de zile.

Pentru a demonstra cele spuse, abonatul anonim a realizat si un clip pe care l-a pus pe YouTube in care arata factura primita de la AT&T, pe care apare in dreptul rubricii “Mesaj scrise” cifra 662258, dar si cele 12000 de pagini cu factura desfasurata, cu data, ora si destinatarul fiecaruia dintre cele 662258 de SMS-uri trimise.

Factura de 12000 de pagini a fost atat de voluminoasa si grea incat i-a fost trimisa abonatului in trei cutii de carton separate.

Cu cele 662258 de SMS-uri trimise, americanul depaseste dublul cifrei care detine momentan recordul mondial pentru mesaje scrise trimise intr-o singura luna, insa, din cate se pare, el a dorit ca “isprava” sa ii fie remarcata si preluata ca stire de cele mai importante siteuri de IT&C din SUA, mai mult decat de World Guiness Book of Records.

Nu se stie care a fost valoarea facturii primite de american pentru cele peste 662000 de mesaje SMS trimise.

Sursa: Hit.ro si tot aici puteti vedea si clipul…

Zău că nu-mi vine să cred că un om a putut sa trimită într-o singură lună atâtea mesaje. Oricât m-aş chinui, n-aş putea să trimit mai mult de 1000 de mesaje pe lună.

Voi ce record aţi atins?

Buun…. să revenim la oile noastre.

Aseară m-am apucat să recitesc Jane Eyre. Imediat ce am aflat că apare la Adevărul am şi cumpărat-o. Prima oară am citit-o în clasa a 9-a şi mi-a plăcut tare mult…

Aseară am văzut un film… e mult spus văzut…n-am apucat să îl văd în totalitate, am prins frânturi din el. E vorba de Funny People.

Sincer, nu prea m-a impresionat…

Trailer-ul îl puteţi vedea aici…

Tot acum şi aici vreau să mulţumesc celor ce îmi citesc blogul. Nu mă aşteptam să fie citit şi mai ales comentat. Cred că mai am multe de învăţat dar mai este timp….

Vreau sa vă mai întreb daca a mai încercat cineva să trimită comentarii pe blogul de pe Blogspot şi dacă a mers pentru că am dezactivat verificarea cuvintelor. Întreb asta pentru că vreau să ştiu dacă să-l mai păstrez sau să-l şterg.

Şi în încheiere, o melodie pentru voi…

Laura Stoica – Mai frumoasă..

PS: învăţaţi-mă să pun clipuri, că văd că nu mai reuşesc…

“I am no bird; and no net ensnares me.”

Emma Nadeau as Jane, in Little Green Pig’s production of Jane Eyre, opening in December.

More info.

[Updated :    FLASHBACK CHALLENGE website is HERE!!      Buttons maybe sometime later.  ]

I’m challenging myself in 2010 to re-read a few books.

I never re-read books!

So.   Since Jenny seemed so upset to hear this, I decided I needed to try this strange experience with more study.  Besides, somebody somewhere said to really read a book, it must be in the second or third time.     (I’ll go look up that quote – I’m butchering it, I’m sure.   I think it was Nabokov.)

Here’s my list:

Mrs. Dalloway / Virginia Woolf

Wind, Sand and Stars – Antoine de Saint-Exupéry (my review of reading it the first time)

Are You There God?  It’s Me, Margaret / Judy Blume

Jane Eyre – because I feel like I’m lying when I say I’ve read this but surely.  Surely!  I did read this already, right?   maybe not.   I can’t really remember.    I know I know the story, so let’s see if I can get through a ‘read’.

and… after finding out about a LOTR challenge, I’m considering diving into The Hobbit.

sigh

“Curiously enough, one cannot read a book: one can only reread it. A good reader, a major reader, an active and creative reader is a rereader. And I shall tell you why. When we read a book for the first time the very process of laboriously moving our eyes from left to right, line after line, page after page, this complicated physical work upon the book, the very process of learning in terms of space and time what the book is about, this stands between us and artistic appreciation. When we look at a painting we do not have to move our eyes in a special way even if, as in a book, the picture contains elements of depth and development. The element of time does not really enter in a first contact with a painting. In reading a book, we must have time to acquaint ourselves with it. We have no physical organ (as we have the eye in regard to a painting) that takes in the whole picture and then can enjoy its details. But at a second, or third, or fourth reading we do, in a sense, behave towards a book as we do towards a painting.”

-Nabokov’s Lecture on Literature

and another quote for you entertainment:

“Tell me what you read and I’ll tell you who you are” is true enough, but I’d know you better if you told me what you reread. ”
— François Mauriac

Yea, I don’t think Frank would bother getting to know me very well.

The official Challenge site offers up a few levels to commit to (My FIVE books fits into the Scholar level) and also suggests re-reading books from various time periods of your life:   childhood (AYTGIMM – first read in 1976 of 1977), high school (Jane Eyre – early 80’s), adulthood (Mrs. Dalloway – 2002 when I was prepping for the full The Hours movie experience).

6 days!!!

New Moon Quote-of-the-day: “Here’s to responsibility twice a week, and recklessness every day in between.” –Jake, Chapter 7

If you missed Stephenie Meyer on Oprah today, you can watch it here. On Monday (Nov 16), don’t miss Kristen Stewart on The Tonight Show, Taylor Lautner on The Jay Leno Show and Dakota Fanning on Ellen!

Hollywood believes that the masses prefer familiar plots and characters, so that they can get easy entertainment without putting too much effort into it. This theory does have some sense to it – this is the generation of instant gratification. God forbid we read a book when we can get a quick shot of entertainment in the form of a 30 minute TV show or two-hour movie. This same mindset appears to go into the production of the plethora of remakes and book adaptations that fill the silver screen year-round. One is hard pressed to find a movie today that isn’t a remake, sequel or book adaption – or sometimes a combination of all three – and it can be argued that this methodology has gotten out of control. The number of sequels in certain franchises has reached astronomical levels. Sam Raimi has signed on to direct the fourth and fifth installments of the Spiderman franchise. Saw 6 came out in October, Rambo 5 is in the works for 2011, with the possibility of a Rambo 6 to follow at a later date. DenOfGeek.com also speculates that, following the success of Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull, there will certainly be a fifth installment in the franchise. A fourth and fifth Shrek film have also been confirmed. Virtually every successful movie produced today is followed by at least one sequel. Even movies that were really intended to be a holiday one-hit-wonder and weren’t created with a sequel in mind, such as the Christmas event film Alvin and the Chipmunks, have fallen prey to Hollywood’s penchant for recycling. Alvin and the Chipmunks: The Squeakquel hits theatres Christmas 2009.

Furthermore, it seems no film is off-limits, no matter how long it has been since the original was released. According to DenOfGeek.com, the 80’s cult classic Heathers has a sequel in the works, though no release date has been set. For series based on books or comic books that have a set number of installments and thus a finite potential for sequels, Hollywood has resorted to making prequels, such as The Hobbit, which precedes the enormously successful Lord of the Rings trilogy, and X-Men Origins: Wolverine, prequel to the successful X-Men franchise.

The decision to adapt The Hobbit for the silver screen points to another trend: Book adaptations have run rampant. According to ChasingTheFrog.com, 30 novels a year are adapted for the big screen. In recent years, the number has far exceeded the average. About.com reports that in 2006, 50 books were made into movies, and in 2007 that number rose to 70. Some of the better-known adaptations include the Harry Potter series, The Lord of the Rings trilogy, and, more recently, the Twilight Saga. These adaptations prove what the movie industry is only just beginning to realize – fantasy novels, an underappreciated genre in written form, make excellent movie fodder. The appeal of book adaptations is understandable – books already have preexisting fan bases that are certain to turn out at theatres to support the movie version of their favorite book. Plus, many action or fantasy novels are geared toward special effects and sequels, which are two key ingredients in the Hollywood formula for success.

However, it is often the case that movie incarnations of popular novels are inferior to the print version, which serves to outrage loyal fans rather than win them over, but incensed fans are not enough to stop the Hollywood’s production machine if they think they can make a buck or two. In what EW.com has dubbed the “Twilight Effect,” a slew of similar book-to-film adaptations are on deck for upcoming years, such as James Patterson’s teen-oriented Maximum Ride series, because the Twilight film, based on author Stephenie Meyer’s bestselling novel of the same name, has done for the fantasy genre what Stanley Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey did for science fiction. The teen hit also proved to Hollywood what, deep down, they’ve known for years: If a movie can draw in a teenage audience, the demographic with the most free time and disposable income, it’s sure to be a smash hit.

However, Hollywood has recently started to dip into genres and books less appealing to the teenage crowd, as well as less well-suited to franchises, action thrillers, and special effects. The film incarnation of Jodi Picoult’s popular novel My Sister’s Keeper premiered last June. While the film featured a blockbuster cast of Cameron Diaz, Abigail Breslin, Alec Baldwin and Joan Cusack, the story of a young girl battling cancer and her sister’s fight for the control of her own body is not typical summer blockbuster fare. Hollywood has even gone so far as to turn a children’s bedtime story book into a film set for released in October: Where the Wild Things Are by Maurice Sendak. This is not the first time this particular book has been adapted for the big screen; another version was released in 1973. Nor is this a record for remakes. Many films have been remade multiple times, most frequently films who have their origin in classic novels. For example, IMDb.com shows that Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte has been adapted as a movie four times, not counting multiple made-for-TV versions, and is set for yet another remake in 2010. The same is true of Charlotte Bronte’s Jane Eyre, which is set for an eighth remake in 2011.

Films based on classic books are not the only genre in danger of being remade these days. Hollywood has now turned its eye towards cult classic films, such as Footloose, Fame, Dirty Dancing and even The Rocky Horror Picture Show, which all beg the question: Is nothing sacred? One would be hard-pressed to find a film that doesn’t have roots in a novel or previous film, or sometimes both. It was once said that there is nothing new under the sun, and in today’s Hollywood it rings truer than ever. In fact, the only original cinematic attractions in modern Hollywood are the movies full of gross or ridiculous humor, such as You Don’t Mess With the Zohan, and the movies that mock other films, such as the Scary Movie franchise. However, even these movies draw upon the films they parody.

In short, Hollywood today isn’t producing anything that’s going to last. Hollywood’s Golden Age seems to be over – the age of stars like Humphrey Bogart and Audrey Hepburn, whose films are still favorites with modern audiences. But this phenomenon isn’t isolated to just the film industry. The modern age also isn’t producing lasting literature comparable to that of Charles Dickens and Jane Austen, or revolutionary music like the Beatles, who still have die-hard fans, even though two of the band members are dead. Perhaps Hollywood is not the only problem; perhaps modern audiences are demanding less by repeatedly shelling out 10 bucks to see the same film they’ve seen a hundred times before, packaged under a different title. Nevertheless, Hollywood cannot be completely absolved. Film studios, producers and directors have found a formula that works and don’t want to risk their financial security in these uncertain times by generating radical or revolutionary films that have the potential of shocking or alienating audiences. But it’s been proven a hundred times before – the only way to make progress is to push boundaries and move into new territories that have never been charted before. Audiences will love it or hate it, but hey – at least they tried it.

What do you guys think of the “Twilight Effect”? Is it getting out of hand? I’m really starting to wish they’d leave my favorite series alone! They’re turning all my favorite books into sure-to-be-substandard adaptations. The Uglies series by Scott Westerfeld and the A Great and Terrible Beauty series by Libba Bray (both of which I highly recommend) are set to be adapted in 2011 and 2010, respectively. How do you guys feel about this recycling-gone-amok?  Discuss in the comments! Plus, don’t forget to follow on Twitter!

6 days!!!

My Never

PS – Click on the image to buy this hott American Library Association poster (that sounds strange, I know lol):

I admit, sometimes it’s difficult for me to pick up a new book.  I look at new characters, a new mini, fictional world, and it kind of—almost—looks like work.  Even if the words are on the page and all I have to do is read them.  Because the fact is, if I turn just to the right or left, very often I have within my reach a book that’s part of a world I already know and love, and don’t have to think about—don’t have to warm myself up to.

I’m not wholly alone in this, am I?

The fact is, there are about a trillion books in the world that I want to read—but I’m a slowish reader, and unfortunately have a finite lifespan, and much more finite time at my disposal, so if it takes effort to get into a story, I’d rather flit to something else.  Also, I admit, I’m a nostalgic.  I like to visit the same characters again and again, they’re like old friends.  I realize those two arguments completely counteract each other, but I can’t really explain this.  Somehow they’re both 100% true.

Which is why I’m wanting to re-read Harry Potter and Twilight, after only having read them maybe a year ago.  And why I’m bouncing in my seat for the new (and sadly final!) Fablehaven book by Brandon Mull.  It’s also the reason why I’m such a TV junkie, I think.  Also, there’s something… almost legitimizing in a set of books, isn’t there?  If characters work in not just one book, but three, or seven, or several… they’re that much more real, aren’t they?

Then again… oh there’s something satisfying about finishing a good book and looking at it and knowing that it’s done.  That the main character got what they set out to get, and all is more or less accomplished.  Some books could never have been part of a series in the first place—can you imagine a sequel to Jane Eyre?  Yes there are spin-offs of Jane Austen’s books, but… you can see why she didn’t write them herself, can’t you?  The story is done!  Party over!  Whatever the characters do afterwards… well, that’s their problem.

So what’s a more satisfying read for you?  One good book that gets it done in the time allotted, or stretching it out, as long as is conceivably decent?  Of course there are some series that last too long, but that’s a different subject entirely.  I really can’t say for myself… sometimes it depends on the plot—obviously something well-planned out like Harry Potter is going to be pretty satisfying, but then again, I’m re-reading the Anne of Green Gables series right now, and enjoying them excessively, and they are about as far from plot-heavy as you can get.  Maybe more what I’m asking is, what justifies a series?  And is it, after all, a more impressive accomplishment to finish a full story in one book?  Or does it really just take as long as it takes?

There’s no right or wrong answers here.  What do you think?

Book Five — Chapter Ten Harold, Panflickian Mysticism, Adam Paints

CONTENTS NEXT

The Independence was small compared to the Cunard Queens Adam had travelled on on jaunts with the family and on solo trips with Melchizedek. Adam had the cheapest quarters he could get and still not have to share a cabin. He was in an inner room on the lowest deck surrounded with groups of female students in whom he displayed no interest. He was called on his anti-social mein and responded with simple demurrals such as, “I am not a hostile person,” and “I am not that social, that’s all.” He had brought along a ratty copy of “Jane Eyre” and would occasionally dip into it. He dined with his neighbors but offered little other than polite responses. He paid scant attention to much at all. The funk of chapter nine persisted.

But.

One evening when he was sitting quite alone in a large room in the bowels of the Independence, he watched as what appeared to be a family walked through the far entrance. The light was neither dark nor bright. It was an odd place for anything momentous. The children of the family could not have been more than pre-adolescent. A boy on the chubby side with slightly more than a crew cut. A taller girl with an infectious smile and long light brown hair. Behind them walked a woman who can only be described as a statuesque blonde, with a full head of hair that would do Betty Hutton proud. And behind her came a man of great solidity whose bulk suggested no shred of indolence or absence of strength. If one were to say he looked a bit like Ernest Borgnine, that would be accurate, but the man’s face was, in fact, about to become familiar to anyone who had an interest in classical music.

Yes, he would soon appear on television screens all over as the most photogenic member of the New York Philharmonic Orchestra. Its conductor Leonard Bernstein would, in 1958, launch a memorable series of Young Peoples Concerts. The man’s name was Harold Gomberg. He played oboe. The woman’s name was Margaret Brill. She was a professional harpist. The children were Gerald and Andrea.

Within less than five minutes, Adam had somehow been integrated into this Bergmanesque group, taken over as it were, in a fashion reminiscent of Sinicock. He spent most of the rest of the trip, through Gibraltar to Genoa, talking with Harold and socializing with the Gombergs. At times, there was a tension. Margaret might appear to wrest Harold away from some intense late night chatter.

I have said this was a seismic summer. Meeting Harold had much to do with it. But there was more.

The Gombergs were shamelessly wed to the small island of Capri, just off Naples. Even then Capri might have seen a “touristic” choice. But Capri was miles removed from what it is today. Tourists came, most certainly, but the island was doable. Its magic was unimpaired.

Harold invited Adam to spend the summer in Capri. Adam had few plans for his trip. So he proceeded from Genoa to Naples with not even a brief stop in Rome. He rode a boat across to Capri and took the funiculare up to the main square and wandered until he found a nearby albergo called La Residenza. That evening he walked back to the square and found Harold and his family in their favorite cafe, the one closest to the place where cabs disgorge their passengers. That was where all vehicular traffic was halted, making Capri proper deliciously car free.

Other people happened by the Gomberg’s table. Soon Adam had a passing acquaintance with the disparate group that formed Harold’s circle on the island.

Harold attributed the magic of Capri to radioactive air. Adam had no reason to question any scientific statement — lacking knowledge of the whole realm. The place was beautiful. It was a wonder. He made friends with Anello the owner, the owner of La Residenza. He wandered all all over.

What Harold imparted to Adam, aside from being a wonderful companion, was a sense of freedom. Adam could not get over the fact that Harold engaged in rigorous practice for six hours a day. The oboe is exacting and precise. It requires every ounce of feeling one can bring to it. When Harold emerged from this intense daily routine, he was a free man, at ease with what he was able to do, in love with the languid pace of life on this island. He exulted in the dolce far niente, the sweet doing nothing of the place. Swims in the sea, meals by the seaside, walks all over, long evenings in the piazza, talking, looking, breathing, being.

And painting.

Harold painted and his paintings were of sufficient quality to be exhibited and sold.

What Harold brought to Adam was an inestimable gift that was rarely stated in words. But it was easily understood and utterly right. It was the perception of the artist in our hero. Whether Adam understood this then is less important than the fact that it was true.

Harold encouraged Adam to paint. But I get ahead of the story.

Remember the massive funk our hero was in when he decided to make this trip? It did not leave him. It was going strong all the while. I do not think it was Portia so much as women in general, the need for women, the place of women in his life. When he experienced his depression, tendrils of despair enfolded his heart, suggesting a conundrum beyond his capacity to understand or reckon with.

But help was on the way.

Our hero had a notion to visit Rome and Florence. So after an orientation to Capri, he left the island. He was soon wandering the streets of Rome. Smelling the smells. Bumping. Dodging. Eyes darting. Ears filled with street noise and songs in the background,

He stayed on the cheap. His dark and rambling pensione stood near the too of the Spanish Steps. He read “Jane Eyre”.

Soon he set out for Florence by way of Siena. When he got there, he found a rather splendid pensione by the Arno. The Consigli. He got a spacious room with a painted ceiling and carved wood trim on the main floor. He promptly fell into bed. He had a discernable fever. He did not need a thermometer to know. He was burning bright.

The weather outside was threatening He spent a fitful night. He woke with the same fever. He huddled under the covers and read deeper into Jane Eyre. He set the paperback down and nodded off. He woke up. He nodded off. The depression was there in full flower.

As he read, something happened. He came to the following words in “Jane Eyre”.

“Life appears to me too short to be spent in nursing animosity or registering wrongs. We are, and must be, one and all, burdened with faults in this world: but the time will soon come when, I trust, we shall put them off in putting off our corruptible bodies; when debasement and sin will fall from us with this cumbrous frame of flesh, and only the spark of the spirit will remain, — the impalpable principle of light and thought, pure as when it left the Creator to inspire the creature: whence it came it will return; perhaps again to be communicated to some being higher than man — perhaps to pass through gradations of glory, from the pale human soul to brighten to the seraph! Surely it will never, on the contrary, be suffered to degenerate from man to fiend? No; I cannot believe that: I hold another creed: which no one ever taught me, and which I seldom mention; but in which I delight, and to which I cling: for it extends hope to all: it makes Eternity a rest — a mighty home, not a terror and an abyss. Besides, with this creed, I can so clearly distinguish between the criminal and his crime; I can so sincerely forgive the first while I abhor the last: with this creed revenge never worries my heart, degradation never too deeply disgusts me, injustice
never crushes me too low: I live in calm, looking to the end.”

Adam got up. He set the book down, He dressed and made his way out to the street that ran along the Arno. He went in the direction of the Ponte Vecchio. He came to a square.

He walked into the square in the rain and the afternoon darkness and saw the open door of the Chiesa degli Ognissanti. He entered. It appeared empty. He went forward and took a seat in the rear. Even with the dark outside, the place was light. Before him, he could see a giant elevated crucifix.

He sat waiting. For what he did not know. No thoughts were in his mind. He simply sat. Time passed. An old woman came in. She passed Adam and took a seat farther up.

Adam sat.

Suddenly, the space filled with music. Someone playing the organ perhaps. Before he could ascertain this, Adam was seized by a sense of wholeness, of oneness with everything.

The words of Charlotte Bronte about the motion of things had touched something in him. He now felt an all-embracing sense of unity. I have ill-described it. It was his experience, not mine. In the rain that day in Florence his life was changed. His fever was gone. His depression was gone. He was healed at a deep level.

Why do I claim this? This unity, this sense of connectedness to everything, the ultimate redemption of everything? This visionary certainty? Many others have claimed the very same experience. Nietzsche up in Sils. Wesley at Aldersgate. Anyone suddenly swept with a tangible sense of oneness with everything.

When Adam got back to Capri, he did not speak of this. It was not something he ever spoke of. It simply was. There was an echo of it which was visual. One evening Adam walked alone to a vantage point south of the main square of Capri. It was a starry night of the sort one rarely sees today. Between the plethora of glittering stars in the sky and the plethora glittering lights on the of boats on the sea could be no line drawn. Heaven and earth were seamlessly joined. It was not a deduction. It was a jolt. An amen to Florence.

I have stated that the summer was seismic. Readers may scoff. Let me dare to advance. Remember Adam’s three month window of freedom after O-At-Ka? The Italy experiences were closer to ecstatic knowledge. Closer to the affirmation in “Jane Eyre”. If Adam had to choose a state of being, it would be the freedom he felt the previous summer and gradually lost. If Adam had been asked what he believed, he would have referred to the ultimate unity he sensed in his summer abroad. Together, Adam now knew what was important, what was true.

Though his depression had lifted, Adam was left with the problem of relating to women in some significant and enduring way. But he now began to be a bit oriented to opportunities that existed before his eyes as he wandered about Capri. There was a little clique of Roman nobles. I use the term loosely. They were rich. Their parents sat on the opposite side of the square from where Harold sat.

There was a club in Capri called Number Two, so named because its address was 2. The Number 1 address was for the resplendent Hotel Quisisana across the street. Numero Due opened very late every night and was actually a sort of cellar with dancing and the opportunity to buy a Strega or beer at the bar.

Integrated into this ciique, Adam danced at close and sensual quarters with a delightful young woman named Anna and then went parading with her in the sultry night air. Careful to emulate the hand on shoulder perambulations of his Italian counterparts. The group marched through the Piazza Umberto, with Harold and his friends looking from the left and the Roman nobility in horn rimmed glasses and high fashion regalia, looking from the right. Fellini missed the scene,

In addition to these pleasurable activities, Adam took up painting. Harold urged him. Adam liked the work of the local artist Eva Fischer. She did facades. He set out to paint his own facade. A river with a one dimensional collection of building faces filling the canvas. It consumed him. Colorblind, he simply used the colors as he pleased. Hour after hour. Day after day.

In the mornings a young, gay German named Klaus would arrive and see him through the consumption of a large glass of water. Adam would imbibe standing up and contracting his abdominal muscles so he could feel the liquid descending inside him. Klaus swore by the exercise. As in all his relationships with gay folk, there was never a moment of awkwardness. Adam’s proclivities were understood. Life went on as it should.

Painting. Drinking water in the morning. Walking down to the Piazza. Taking the funiculare down at noon. Riding a small boat to a little grotto where you could swim and find an outdoor buffet of sorts. Eating lunch under the noonday sun. A dish of delectable mashed potatoes with chunks of ham scooped onto a platter. Sitting nearly naked in the peace of the island’s radioactive air.

One day Harold almost got into a fight with Carmine, an Anthony Quinn-like native, but it subsided and all was well.

Adam wondered what it would be like to sleep with a woman. It almost seemed he would, with an older friend of Harold’s, but it never happened. He never knew why. Or maybe he did.

Back up to the Reginella on the Via Matermania for a snooze and more painting. The arrival of dark. A walk down the hill past small and wiry men carrying huge sacks of concrete. Crying “Attenzione!”

Another night of talk with Harold. Another trip to Number Two. Adam was exhaling.

The summer drew to a close. Harold came to inspect the painting. After more than a minute, he put his hand on Adam’s shoulder. “I can say honestly I would be happy to have painted that myself,” he said.

Adam took the painting back on the Independence. He carried it to Pickinsboro. Mildred was impressed enough to put in a handsome frame. He took it back to Williams. He hung it in the living room of the Panflick-Lanvin suite.

Portia was a few miles away in Bennington and he maintained some contact. But the pull was over. And he was entering a time when he would have no serious relationship with any woman until he met Ganya a few years hence. This would be the year when he would cause Melchizedek the worst pain of his life.

Portia never saw the painting. It turns out that no one would.

CONTENTS NEXT

Sympathies exist,
Presentiments and signs
That baffle our mortal comprehension;
To dream or to see
Or to feel or to hear
What seems not to be there.
But such things exist,
Things beyond this earth,
Things beyond our sacred
Thoughts of heaven.
These are the things that reason defies –
But reason sometimes lies.

-Paul Gordon, “Jane Eyre”, a musical based on the novel by Charlotte Brontë

Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre:

Me, she had dispensed from joining the group; saying, “She regretted to be under the necessity of keeping me at a distance; but that until she heard from Bessie, and could discover by her own observation, that I was endeavouring in good earnest to acquire a more sociable and childlike disposition, a more attractive and sprightly manner—something lighter, franker, more natural, as it were—she really must exclude me from privileges intended only for contented, happy, little children.”

“What does Bessie say I have done?” I asked.

“Jane, I don’t like cavillers or questioners; besides, there is something truly forbidding in a child taking up her elders in that manner. Be seated somewhere; and until you can speak pleasantly, remain silent.”

Do you remember the positive indignation of adult severity in the face of your early self-expression? I think the knife really twisted because you knew they were just flying by the seat of their pants, arbitrary jerks running scared, threatened by your stabs at mastery. They had no more particular power or experience than another kid facing you down in a play war.

Don’t forget that. Every person who attempts to wave some type of banner of authority in your face is probably prickly-sweaty under the arms and hopped up on 90% couch fort bravado. Poke their pile of cushions with a stick and see if it tumbles down.

I was asked by Shelly Burns to guest post on her “Because of A Book ” section on her “writeforareader” website. It’s a place for writers to speak about a book that was particularly meaningful for them, and why. It’s also a great website to find new books and fabulous new authors– or rediscover old ones. Here’s the link to my post:

http://writeforareader.blogspot.com/2009/10/because-of-book-with-jennifer-chambers.html

Or, please visit http://writeforareader.blogspot.com to see some of Shelly’s other featured writers or her own work. I recommend it highly.