A blog of books I've been reading, and what I've thought of them. I KNOW I don't read enough etc. Don't make me feel any more guilty about it than I already do.

Monday, June 20, 2005

"Will There Really Be a Morning" by F. Farmer

Yes, yes I know, the autobiography of a tortured Hollywood star, how camp can you get? What next, "Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?" Put those prejudices aside, dear reader, because despite a schlocky tone and jacket, this is harrowing stuff straight from the horse's mouth (Frances Farmer did start out as a journalism major before switching to acting). Some of those mental hospital scenes leave you wondering how ANYONE could survive such an experience, let alone go on to have another "career". Imagine becoming a star, making 19 films with actors such as Cary Grant (just getting there is enough for me) and then being incarcerated for 11 years in a mental insitution by your own parents? And only being released to look after them? It IS written to shock, hence scenes like the lesbian rape and the cat being pulled apart alive by the inmates. But the descriptions of the barbaric "treatments" she was forced to endure make me feel all shivery and uncomfortable, particularly the hydrotherapy. You end up feeling a lot of empathy with someone who, by her own admission, was cold, mistrusting and difficult to love. Of course, it's made me want to see the film now. Thanks to Nick for lending it to me, and letting me devour it during my weekend in London.

Wednesday, June 08, 2005

"The Adventure of English" by Melvyn Bragg

It's taking me a bit of time to get through this one - after three weeks, I've only just got to Chaucer. The problem with it is that, no matter how hard old Merv tries to tart it up as an "adventure" (by throwing in wars and kings), it's still basically a book about philology. Which IS interesting, don't get me wrong, but just not the rollicking rollercoaster thrills 'n' spills ride that keeps you turning the pages. Also, I find it very irritating that he insists on quoting every little piece of verse in both old English AND in translation. It's O.K. once or twice, just to let us have a look at the original and think either a) oooh, I can read old English, therefore I am cleverer than I thought or b) oooh, I can read old English, it really hasn't changed much at all, has it? But every time is overegging the pudding (an image which no doubt comes from Norman French). Anyway, I've got a long train journey this weekend, so am hoping to make some serious headway with it then.