January 2006

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Krik? Krak! by Edwidge Danticat

January 24, 2006 in Book Reviews, Essays

The sun has finally returned to Portland. At least for a few days. Forecast fox has a line of gray rainy clouds for the next few days. Sometimes double gray rainy clouds.

A few days ago I found myself wondering about how early inhabitants dealt with the cold gray often rainy weather that seems to define “winter” here in the Northwest. No prozac or full-spectrum bulbs. I like to imagine that everyone just hunkered down in the lodge house and told stories. By lodge house I don’t mean the large log building at the end of the ski run serving nice drinks.

For a longtime I’ve been fascinated with Haiti.  I’m not sure if this book of short stories helped form this fascination I have of the country or if I acquired the book because of my interest. Don’t really know where this book came from. Although according to the price tag on the back — it lived in Borders at some point.

On one of those pages at the beginning reserved for quotes there is an excerpt by Sal Scalora, “White Darkness/Black Dreaming” Haiti Feeding the Spirit:

“Krik? Krak! Somewhere by the seacoast I feel a breath of warm sea air and hear the laughter of children. An old granny smokes her pipe, surrounded by the village children…’We tell the stories so that the young ones will know what came before them. They ask Krik? We say Krak! Our stories are kept in our hearts.’”

Sometimes consciously exploring why I like a collection of stories eliminates some of the magic.

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Eucalyptus by Murray Bail

January 23, 2006 in Essays | Comments closed

I’m not sure where this book came from. Most likely A Clean Well-Lighted Place for Books – an independent bookseller in SF that was right down the street from my old apartment

Set in the Australian outback (I guess it’s the outback) a mysterious man buys a giant ranch and then proceeds to plant Eucalyptus. Every type of eucalyptus. Rare, common etc. His daughter — Ellen the speckled beauty soon arrives and thus becomes so beautiful that it becomes necessary to find her a husband in the interest of averting some sort of catastrophe. Ellen has a fondness for slick traveling salesmen and others of their ilk. Her father announces that the only successful suitor is the one that can name every eucalyptus on his property winning the hand of the speckled beauty and the very large ranch.

Eventually many try and many fail until one man looks like he might just finish the naming. Ellen, somewhat upset because she isn’t being wooed, comes across a man lying under a tree (eucalyptus of course) who begins to tell her human interest stories in lands near and far. Personally, I thought he was something of a lousy story-teller.

Generally this sort of novel appeals to me — I love the stories of Gabriel Garcia Marquez and others within that genre. Eucalyptus failed to transport me to the that bit of land sighing with Eucalyptus trees. The plot is an old story which is not really unusual, but with an old plot the key is to weave a many textured world with well-drawn characters. This book also had the “readers club questions” in the back — which I find irritating (other irritants include the Oprah seal of approval and lengthy introductions.)

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Sometimes you find yourself grasping at straws

January 9, 2006 in Civics, Culture, Essays | Comments closed

For conversation. Seriously something has happened. One goes to parties and no one seems to talk about anything. And then you stop and think about what is anything. Politics. Supposedly very taboo. How about books and music. How about the rest of the world? How about your own country? How about just being passionate about something. Anything. People still seem to prefer to talk about themselves.What about that tree in front of your house that you look out upon and see the seasons. Maybe a quick walk in the rain. Raindrops around your head that somehow make you realize you have other senses. Light. The absence of light. The presence of light. Light in the mornings and light in the twilight. Maybe you live somewhere that there is little light during one season. But you begin to understand the subtleties of light.

The central library here in Portland smells really bad. And I traveled around in buses and local transport in Africa and India for many a month and have never smelled anything as foul as the Portland (or San Francisco) public library reading rooms. In 3rd world countries impoverished people strive for cleanliness — even if means bathing in a gutter. Here the smell is a badge

A quote that means something to me this year — 2006:

“Be the change you wish to see in the world”
Gandhi

I read Charlotte Simmons by Tom Wolfe. Not necessarily a big fan of Tom Wolfe — but I believe he can put his finger on the pulse of time like no other modern author. The sense of entitlement in this country scares the shit out of me. Especially amongst the middle-upper class youth. Those in college. How many have actually worked. How many think of themselves as part of something else? How many think of those around them and how their actions might be affecting the lives of others. And take care?

I thought this might be age. But it’s not. It’s wealth. It’s apathy. You don’t have to work? Then maybe give 3 hours a week volunteering. Chances are you live somewhere that someone needs a tutor. To learn how to read. Because that is the country in which we live.

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