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Someone else wrote this, but I’m going to share it. And link back, of course. The below post made on the Palmer Higgs blog is about Mister Emmet’s ongoing quest to fill his days with literary (and at times, not so literary) offerings until such time as he can go out and do more monetarily constructive things with his time. I wanted to share it because we’re all friends out here in the blogosphere. Oh, and it features me!! It’s also an independent kudos to Emmet’s efforts, and proof he does actually read the books, all of the books, cover to cover. And who knows, one day their imprint might carry Mister Emmet’s collection of books to read when you’re waiting for something else to happen…hint hint! Much love.
A Book A Day…
I recently came across an Australian book review site with a really interesting twist (and I’m not just saying that because they’ve done a great review of our book An Eventful Life!)
Emmet O’Cuana was born in Dublin, Ireland. A passionate reader and a keen blogger about all sorts of topics – books, films, comics and other random subjects which took his fancy in the past, Emmet and his wife Stephanie re-located to the seaside village of Bulli, just south of Sydney in 2010. Unable to undertake any paid employment whilst he awaits the approval of his visa application, Emmet was set a “cunning” challenge by Stephanie (his own word – as if a woman would be cunning!). Now that’s an Irishman for you – instead of going to the beach, he chose to undertake unpaid work.
The terms for the book review process set by Stephanie are;
- one book review per day
- Stephanie acts as editor to make sure the reviews are legible
- each review has a maximum of 750 words
This woman is some taskmaster! Frankly, I’m not sure how Emmet gets time to eat three square meals a day or brush his teeth with these requirements but amazingly, he meets them! I forwarded a copy of An Eventful Life to him (you can submit in electronic form but this book has 96 pages of colour photos which are important to the subject matter) and lo and behold, the review was up quicker than the time it took Australia Post to deliver!
He really reads them too. This was not some synopsis taken from the back of the book – his review showed an understanding and appreciation of the book gained only by a thorough read – however fast it may have been. As a fellow speed reader (a useful attribute when manuscripts from hopeful authors come in thick and fast), I know that speed does not equate with carelessness despite the fact that people exclaim “It’s not possible that you just read that!” I admit that sometimes it only takes one paragraph to know if you want to continue or not and I hasten to add here that I am not a manuscript assessor nor have any ambition to be one!
Emmet’s blog is a gem. It has stylish layout, great writing and is a wonderful concept. Cunning woman, that Stephanie.
Anyone who knows me knows I’m an incredibly slow reader. When I read, my internal monologue plays like a tape telling me the story in my head. Every word. Very slowly. Because, you know, I’d hate to miss anything. And while I enjoy reading, it makes me tired, and it just takes so damned long! But I’ve been inspired by my husband and the challenge I set him to review a book a day until he can stay, officially, in Australia. That and I have three hours a day of train journeys to kill.
And so, I’ve been reading Living Oprah, the story of one woman’s quest to live entirely by the guidance and wisdom of the omniscient Oprah Winfrey. Recorded on her blog, of course. An interesting proposal, at first, but I’m now into the final third of the book – which really isn’t that much of an achievement as it’s hardly a brick – and the gimmick is starting to wear thin, just as our author, Robyn Okrant, is contemplating how she’ll possibly cope without Oprah’s guiding light in the coming year.
Now, I shouldn’t sound too cynical, the book is actually an easy and entertaining read. And, to be honest, it’s a concept I have previously pondered myself on occasion – who actually takes Oprah that seriously, and what of those people who do purchase a panini maker only to have it sit in their kitchen cupboard for months solely on Oprah’s mandate? And how many people, for that matter, voted for Obama just because Oprah said so, as a private citizen of course.
Anyway, Okrant spent 2008 following the word of Oprah very literally. She purchased items she’d never otherwise have bought. She redecorated her home and self in styles advised by Oprah’s personal advisors. And she assessed her very happiness against the standardised multiple choice quizes on Oprah.com.
The book is a humourous account of all these undertakings. But it’s also a serious study into the human condition. Well, the condition of some humans anyway. Mostly female humans. Oprah is an oddity when you think about it. What other entity out there commands such sway in peoples lives? Who else could have possibly taken a stint as a talk show host to such monumental and multimillion dollar heights? Who else can effectively preach to us about how to reach deep spiritual fulfillment while spruiking capitalist ideals all in the same breath? Who else has this kind of power? When politicians tell us what’s best for us we take to building defensive walls, but if it’s Oprah…?
If I’m honest have to admit that although I tried, during my recent stint in unemployment, to watch Oprah, I wasn’t able to sit through one whole episode. Oprah is no longer hosting a talk show, in my humble opinion. She has become a preacher. And I cannot fathom how her infotainment format mixed with emotional and spiritual enlightenment, peppered with product endorsements can maintain any level of integrity or actual concern for the many out there who, in the current economic climate, possibly need the emotional coaching but cannot hope to afford he $300-plus shoes Oprah tells us we should love! But for a book, Living Oprah will pass a train ride.
So, I have been a little lacking in the posting stakes of late, this is due to a challenge I set my lovely husband, Emmet. You see, he isn’t able to work in Australia until the lovely people at Immigration say he can, and fingers crossed they will. So, in the interim, I’ve issued him the challenge of reading and reviewing a book day until he can stay! Somewhat like asking a kid to eat candy, as Mister Emmet is indeed a bookworm, but also something to keep his mind from wandering and to give him the opportunity to create a portfolio of work, which might come in useful down the track. Anyway, I’m the editor, holding the reins to make sure he keeps his reviews accessible for all…after all, it’s everyone who we want to appeal to! Suggested works are recommended, as we’re not yet sure how long the project will be going for…
…drop by, www.abookadaytillicanstay.wordpress.com, leave comments or encouragement, tell your friends and pass it on!
Dear world, I would like a book deal.
I recently read this article about one woman’s journey kicking and screaming down the aisle. Well, if you read the article you will realise two things. The first is that the author’s new husband chooses not to adhere to the old adage that blue and green should never be seen…and the second is that the author, Lucy Mangan, really doesn’t have much to contribute to the world other than a run of the mill ex-Bridget Jones story. Oh Lucy, so you never thought you’d get married…until you met the man who actually asked? No, really. Go figure. Who’d have thunk it. Sorry, but isn’t that generally the way it goes? Or at least that’s the ‘fingers crossed’ way things should go before reaching an over the hill moment and settling.
The third thing you’d realise is that someone, somewhere out there, will pay five quid to read the extended version of Lucy’s book, The Reluctant Bride.
Actually, Lucy, why did you get married? It was only while doing research on the author, having read the article with no regard for the byline, that I realised Ms Mangan, or is it Mrs Mangan, is the same columnist whose obnoxious articles feature at the back of the Guardian Weekend magazine, which I otherwise enjoy alongside breakfast and tea in bed. I stopped reading her articles after the one where she outlined the differences between herself and her husband with disdain dressed up as humour, with one relapse being her Christmas article – read list of ‘humourous’ and probably ‘fake’ emails between her various family members.
Anyway, back to the issue at hand. I am, as is evident by my blog, a newlywed. Prior to this I was convinced that no one in their right mind would be interested in marrying me, and ever so close to, at the ripe old age of twenty-five, accepting this as fact. It wasn’t about self loathing. It wasn’t about attracting the attention and sympathy of my friends and relatives. It was the sum of having spent six years in singledom. Yep. Six long and lonely years…
My first boyfriend was an Irishman I met overseas. He has a degree in philosophy from Trinity College and was older than me with dark hair and pasty white skin. It lasted all of about three months but I was in love. Or so I thought at the time. I was somewhere between eighteen and nineteen. He left the country. Then I left the country. And that was the end of that.
Then I went to college and met no one. I was both working and studying full-time and barely had time for much else. Unfortunately, at this time I was possibly the fittest I have ever been. Wasted. I had taken up the gym to deal with stress and rewarded myself a can of coke once a week as my only treat. And I somehow managed to stick to that regime. Then I graduated.
Some time after I moved to Sydney I signed up with a dating agency. It cost a pretty penny and really wasn’t all it thought it was. I’m almost certain they just rented the reception room of a swanky office block to appear convincing. After taking my hard-earned cash they told me they would use a technical and psychosocial process to locate my perfect match. Unfortunately their sales pitch fell down when they mentioned that for my dollars I got six dates in six months. Hardly a precision process then.
If I’m honest, I can barely remember the six dates I did go on, which doesn’t go well for the fellas involved. They really didn’t leave much of an impression but for the one bloke who decided he’d like to take my number and even went to some effort to suggest we get together the following Friday and that he’d call me. By Wednesday I had heard nothing. I texted him and asked what the deal was. His response? He’d had the chance to think about it and decided that I wasn’t someone he wanted to see again. Thanks for that. Now, I wasn’t exactly heart-broken. The man was nice enough but there was no instant spark. What I would have appreciated was a ‘thanks but no thanks’ text politely letting me down. I was probably disappointed at the time, but not much else.
There has been no revolving door of men in my life. No six month guy, or two month guy, or even one night guy. I’m not a Sex in the City girl. I don’t understand chasing tails. Probably because, if I think about it, I was chasing rainbows. Something mythical and perfect but entirely unreachable. Or so I thought.
I fell in love once more before I met my husband. I fell in love with someone I had met through work. He was tall, dark(ish), older, wiser and handsome. But he came with a Mack truck worth of baggage, including a child. I was harbouring the school girl crush that I’d forgotten to have during my time at the all girls Catholic high school I went to. If I’m honest it probably went on for a year or so before I confronted it. He knew. I knew he knew. I was embarrassed but got it out of my system…eventually.
My husband is an Irishman I met in Sydney. He has a degree in Philosophy from Trinity College and is older than me with dark hair and pasty white skin. Sounds familiar but it’s nothing more than coincidence. The day I met Mister Emmet I was probably feeling a more than a little sorry for myself. The sixth year of my singledom was coming to an end and I was commiserating entering a seventh. Two weeks later we met again. Overnight my world changed. I enjoy a romcom as much as the next girl but I never really believed in love at first sight. Or second sight as the case may have been.
But that was what I got. Immediately I knew this was something special and totally different to what I had felt before. What I thought was love. I was wrong. I didn’t know then where it would go, but I knew it was worth doing something about. And then he left. Back to the other side of the world. Back to Ireland.
The funny thing is I can pinpoint the moment I knew this was probably it. That he was the mythical one. And all of this after less than a weekend of contact! He phoned me. He phoned me twice, actually. The first call went to voicemail. I checked the mail. ‘I’m using the last of my coins to call you, I’ll try again’. And he did. And I answered. And I cried. Just a little bit.
And the rest is a story for another day.
But unlike Ms Mangan professes, I was not dragged kicking and screaming down the aisle, I just didn’t expect it would happen to me. I guess sometimes that which you least expect, happens!
Disclaimer: Look, I have nothing personal against Lucy Mangan and wish her all the best before her book gets remaindered. I’m sure she’s a lovely person and very happily married to her husband, Christopher. Oh yes, and I also have a penchant for the Daily Mail. I’m sorry, it’s a weakness I’m not quite ready to deal with.
After spending the last few years wearing out my eyes with either policy papers, correspondence or uni books I have finally had the chance to read a work of fiction again, purely for entertainment and enjoyment purposes, and without the need to write a review of its contents for any official purposes. But, old habits are hard to break and so I’m about to write about this book anyway, but this time purely for entertainment and enjoyment purposes.
Swedish writer Stieg Larsson was not fortunate enough to have witnessed the success of his Millennium trilogy, having passed away suddenly in November 2004. The first of the trilogy, later given the English title of The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo was published in Sweden in 2005 but did not make an English translation until 2008. Now, in 2009 millions of copies of all three novels have been sold worldwide, and there are rumours of a Hollywood production, while a Swedish language film has already been released in the Nordic countries earlier this year.
From the original Swedish the title of the first book translates to Men Who Hate Women rather than The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, but while the Swedish title makes more sense – each part of the story opens with a statistic on violent acts undertaken by men against women - I can honestly say that it would have been unlikely for me to have picked up a novel with any such title.
The girl with the dragon tattoo is Lisbeth Salander, a socially retarded victim of society and serially abused young woman with a penchant for all things hacker and dark. Although initially required to investigate him, she is teamed with journalist Mikael Blomkvist, who I can’t help but suspect is at least in some way based on Larsson himself, who has been hired by billionaire ex-industrial tycoon Henrik Vanger under the pretence of writing the Vanger family biography but who is really commissioned to solve the forty-year-old cold case of the disappearance, and potential murder, of Vanger’s great-niece, Harret. Larsson utilises the locked room mystery as the vehicle for his story, although his locked room is an island with no way in and no way out on the day the alleged crime was committed. Most of the clues are right under the noses of Vander and his family, it just takes a new set of eyes to truly see what the forty year old evidence presents.
The story is compelling as Larsson details each character in isolation for a time before revealing the connections between them and bringing them together to solve the mystery of Harriet’s disappearance. The development of his characters and the detailing of their lives is believable and engaging. His interruption of one character’s story with the parallel undertakings of another is a little disruptive but none the less leads you to read on in the hopes of getting back to the other character’s story. This tool is useful in sending the reader back and forth between the characters and in not allowing the story to get too bogged down in following a linear storyline. Larsson’s characters are written with a depth and recognition that leads me to believe they are based, if not entirely than in part, on characters within his own life. As I said before, I have little doubt that the author’s experiences in the journalistic arena have influenced his writing of Blomkvist, similarly the other magazine staff. So too, Larsson’s real life experiences with fascism, right-wing extremism and the anti-violence movement are knowingly reflected elsewhere within the novel.
Be warned though, there are a number of truly disturbing episodes of sexual violence detailed within this book, however, they are handled in a relatively skillful manner. Although Larsson uses detailed description to set the scene elsewhere in his story his coverage of these particular incidents is not excessively graphic, providing enough emotional investment to empathise with characters involved, but not so much that it is dwelled upon.
Book two in the series is The Girl Who Played With Fire…I’ll get onto that shortly.
