A Day In The A Blue Mountains.

Thanks for visiting my blog. I welcome you to take your time and browse , visiting my bush garden and discovering the wonders of my city within a national park; Blue Mountains National Park. Via my blog you will travel with me through the successes, trials and tribulations of gardening on a bush block. I share with you my patchwork & quilting, knitting, paper crafts, cooking and life in general.

Thursday, 15 November 2012

Day 320/366

What I'm Reading ATM

1. a small particle or speck, especially of dust.

7 July 2012
I am in love with the word 'mote'.
On Wednesday night, I had almost completed reading Charlotte Bronte's Jane Eyre.  The next morning I faced the dilemma of carrying one book(Jane Eyre)with me to the train station, and then completing the book within the first fifteen minutes of the trip, so being left book-less for the remaining hour, as well as on the journey home; or carrying two books.

A third option was, I concluded, the best.  I left Jane at home, on my bedside, with Mr Rochester, to be concluded that night.  In my little tote bag (that my daughter had made for me), I carried instead, Captain Corelli's Mandolin.  Well, not his actual mandolin, but Louis de Bernières book!

Is it coincidence that both Bronte and  de Bernières should play with the word so?  Like music to ones eyes so that when I read the word, I envisage sunbeams, sparkling with movement created by the most detested matter known to the humble housewife: Dust.

How is it that the sun can transform a most annoying substance into a ballet of illuminated movement?

Alone, a sunbeam is beauty, add to it motes of dust and it is transformed into a Capella for the eyes.

I discovered motes early in life, memories go as far back as age four or five.  Motes transfixed me to the moment created by the poetry of sun and movement, of light and mote. (For now dust is no longer dust). 

Shake out a blanket, an item of clothing, a rug or feather duster and all you get is a face full of dust.  Catch the same substance in a sunbeam, shake out the duster in sunlight and you get dust motes circling and twirling and glistening gold.

25 September 2012
Since writing the words above I have read many more books.
Jane Eyre (Charlotte Bronte)
Captain Correlli's Mandolin (Louis de Bernières)
The Book Thief ( Marcus Zusak) 
Losing My Virginity (Richard Branson)
Angela's Ashes (Frank McCourt)
'Tis A Memoir (Frank McCourt)
The Kite Runner
Nineteen Eighty Four (George Orwell) 

The War Within (Don Tate)

Nineteen Eighty Four I'd read previously and re-read to refresh my memory.
I found it a very depressing story.

Both The Book Thief and Angela's Ashes are written during the Second World War.

The Book Thief: In this story Death is personified. 

I thoroughly enjoyed reading The Book Thief, Angela's Ashes and 'Tis because of the unique writing styles which drew me in and cast me along effortlessly.  I cried, I laughed, I was torn by the harshness of poverty, cruelty, and despair experienced by young children born into a life they had no choice in.
The war scenes brought home to me what it must have been like for my parents, growing up in a war torn country, during World War II, in way they have never been able to.
The War Within is a story about a different war: The Vietnam War.
I'm finding Tate's writing style a little stilted but the storyline keeps me interested.
Like McCourt, Tate writes a more 'blokey' kind of story which makes me reluctant to recommend them to my female friends for fear of insulting them a little with the sometimes vulgar language and anecdotes. 
Yet, some of Tate's childhood experiences where not far off my own, which shocked me a little because I believed that I experienced many upsetting situations because I was the child of immigrant parents.
Seems that life experiences are not restricted to race.

15 November 2012

Above is a photograph of some of the books I've read over the past months.
I have spent many hours reading on public transport, to and from work, I have spent days in bed with can only be a return of my chronic fatigue syndrome which leaves me little energy to do much.  Sometimes even reading is a struggle and I manage forty minutes or so followed by an hour's sleep.
To 'review' all the books I've read since starting this post would make for an awfully long post.
Some of the books in my list are not mentioned or photographed yet.
For example David Pelzer's My Story and Debra  Byrne's Not Quite Ripe.
Many of the books I've read have similar themes running through them, of poverty, hardship, caused either by war or social standing. Many were about childhood abuse. Some were fiction, many were autobiographical.
One which stands out is Arbella - England's Lost Queen by Sarah Gristwood.
Initially finding it too technically interwoven with references and historic facts I persisted to discover a tragic life so controlled by the politics of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries that it saddened me the reader, as I slowly began to understand the lengths rulers, leaders and politicians go to maintain power.
In those days, punishment was brutal and often fatal.
The reading gave me a better understanding of how some of our country's civil and migratory rules and regulations were initiated.  Paranoia was a common enough reason to throw someone of great social standing into the Tower.
Arbella, an orphan and heiress to the English throne was used and abused by those around her. Her marriage, bringing with the possibility of heirs, was regarded as a threat and to be avoided at all costs.
During Arbella Stuart's time, the world was a much smaller place and surveillance of royalty very much practised. Add to that her gender and Arbella did not stand much of a chance.
A recommended read for royalists and non-royalists alike. 

Another book I managed to read was Golden Bats and Pink Pigeons by Gerald Durrell gave me a bit of light hearted relief from all the painful experiences I'd been reading!
More the length of a long essay than a novel, it explored the island of Mauritius and conservationists' attempts to save wildlife in danger of extinction.

The last book I've read, only finished last night is Into The Wild by Jon Krakauer.
I have watched the movie at least three or maybe four times.  It is one of those movies that continues to affect me each time I watch it.
My usual habit is to read the book before watching the movie but with The Kite Runner and Into The Wild it's been the opposite.
Although I like both movies very much, I enjoyed the books much more and they are more in depth.
When I began reading Into The Wild I felt a bit irritated by all the introduction but it is a well written book which intertwines the lives of other historic figures who venture into the wild to find themselves, including the author's own life.
I found it an interesting, insightful book, perhaps not as dramatic and emotional as the movie.  

1 comment:

  1. What a great post, Sweet Pea, I really enjoyed your reviews. I have read and enjoyed many of the same books. There is nothing like a book to lose yourself in and they make travelling by public transport a real treat as you can't read when you are driving a car.


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