(credits: Edmund de Waal)

I finished this book the same way I finished In Cold Blood: thinking I had never read another non-fiction quite like it. You can read it as a family saga or an insightful look at the European history from the late 19th century to the mid-20th. It can also be seen as a personal journey into the world of family heritage and how that influences who you are.

Edmund de Waal is a British ceramicist who inherited 264 netsuke and decides to discover more about how they came down the Ephrussi family line. (He’s now writing a history of the color white – looking forward to it!)

The book is mainly divided into three sections that mark the different stages of the netsuke’s life: the first is set at fin de siècle Paris where a Japanism-obsessed Charles Ephrussi first buys them from an art dealer. The second takes us to early 20th-century Vienna, at the time of its annexation by Hitler, and finally to post-WW2 and bombed-out Tokyo, a place I knew almost nothing about.

I was afraid that amidst all the family history the netsuke would become irrelevant, but they’re cleverly woven into the story. They become a sort of vessel that embodies the zeitgeist of the different times. In Paris they’re a collectors item and objects of art, in Vienna they’re on display in an intimate recess of a golden house, where a Lady dressed to go to parties and meet lovers, but they also become toys to the children allowed to witness that ritual. In Tokyo they are once again in the world they were build for and become a symbol of family history and resilience. I wonder what the future will bring to these intriguing objects.

(favorite Paris anecdote: Monet’s asparagus)

I found de Wall a remarkable writer, one that’s able to bring an artist’s awareness to another format, paying careful attention to the language, its pace and its evocative potential. He often tackles abstract topics, but always in a very accessible way:

You take an object from your pocket and put it down in front of you and you start. You begin to tell a story.

When I hold them I find myself looking for the wear, the fine cracks that run alongside the grain of some of the ivories.  It is not just that I want the split in these wrestlers – a tangle of hopelessly thrashing ivory limbs – to have come from being dropped onto Charles’s golden carpet of the winds by someone famous (a poet, a painter, Proust) in a moment of fin-de-siècle excitement.  Or that the deeply ingrained dust lodged under the wings of a cicada resting on a walnut shell comes from being hidden in a Viennese mattress. It probably doesn’t.

One of the great strengths of The Hare with the Amber Eyes is that it doesn’t ignore the excesses of the nouveaux-riches. It doesn’t downplay the extent of their wealth and privilege, nor the self-indulgence of their way of life. I couldn’t help but make parallels to the current social movements against the 1% and the financial sector in general. The 99% of that time were angry and laid open the way for Hitler and his comforting blame game. But although I believe most readers thought  ”this is too much” at some point in the book (a jeweled turtle – are you kidding me?!), we were never allowed to share the “they got it coming” philosophy.

It is on this visit that I go to the Jewish archive in Vienna, the one seized by Eichmann, to check up on the details of the marriage.  I look through the ledger to find Viktor, and there is an official red stamp across his first name.  It reads “Israel”. An edict decreed that all Jews had to take new names. Someone has gone through every single name in the lists of Viennese Jews and stamped them “Israel” for the men, “Sara” for the women.

I am wrong. The family is not erased, but written over. And, finally, it is this that makes me cry.

*goose-bumps* It reminded me of the time I crumbled watching Alan Cumming’s episode of Who Do You Think You Are.

For a book that goes so deeply into family history, I learned a lot about history in general. The gradual infiltration of Nazi ideals in Austrian society was especially interesting. It coincided with some of the book’s most moving scenes: de Waal’s grandfather isolated in his country estate, penniless and without a nationality, the courage of his grandmother in entering the country to rescue him, and the story of Anna, the faithful servant. Her part in the netsuke’s history is the stuff of legend.

Anna gave me lots of food for thought. What made her stay and rescue the netsuke? Loyalty? Her own personal form of rebellion? And then, shockingly, the family didn’t even remembered her last name. There is no excuse for this, although I also saw her as someone self-effacing and easily over-looked. How else could she have lived all those years in the occupied house?

There is such pedigree in the Ephrussi family, they were all so amazing and influential (Charles has a cameo in Monet’s Luncheon of the Boating Party and was the inspiration for one of main characters in Proust’s Remembrance of Things Past) that I can’t help but keenly feel just how utterly obscure my ancestors are. More than that, I feel sorry there’s almost no family history or objects that have trickled down to my brother and me.

By the end of the book de Waal is in possession of the netsuke. Apart from frail letters and documents, they’re all that’s left of a great family that once had everything. The netsuke are once again ready to begin yet another chapter in their amazing history.

***

Other thoughts: Savidge Reads, Shelf Love, Reading Matters, things mean a lot, Tales from the Reading Room, chasing bawa, Hannah Stoneham’s Book Blog, Boston Bibliophile, Winstonsdad’s Blog, My Book Year, Vulpis Libris, Novel Insights, Canadian Bookworm, Lucybird’s Book Blog, Page 247, Desperate Reader, MarysLibrary, Cornflower Books, Eve’s Alexandria (yours?)

(credits to bloodmilk jewels)

What can I say about this one that hasn’t been said before? Just for posterity’s sake I’ll add a few random thoughts, mostly meant for those of you who’ve read the book (not because of spoilers but just because they’re loose tidbits without a lot of context).

First and foremost: what was your favorite tent? Mine was the one with the glass bottles full of stories and memories. I’d probably never leave.

This is a book meant to be made into a movie and I’m very glad it’s already in the works. I hope the budget does it justice. I especially want to see the fire in the courtyard, the ice garden and Celia’s dresses subtly changing colors. You can tell Erin Morgenstern is also a painter – it’s all about creating images.

Was I the only one who thought that Isobel was Celia, when Marco first meets her in London and invites her for coffee?

Lots of interesting secondary characters that were a bit neglected. Tsukiko, for instance, had a pivotal role at the end but I didn’t feel her tragedy as much as I could have. Chandresh’s spiral into alcohol and Marco-induced oblivion could have been much more poignant. My heart could have easily been broken over Isobel and Thiessen (my favorite character in the whole wide book), but didn’t. There’s so much time spent describing the search for the perfect watchmaker and its construction, that after it was built I felt a bit disappointed - it just sat there.

In general I’m weary of books where anything can happen (e.g. Alice in Wonderland). If there are no limits, I’m not engaged in the story and characters. I was afraid that might happen once the competition began, but it didn’t. Extra brownie points.

Favorite scene: the disturbance in the Force, when the trapeze artist almost falls. Beautifully paced, like literary slow motion.

It’s been said before countless times and I agree: Morgenstern does a great job of creating the dream-like experience of the Circus, I could almost smell those caramel apples. It was my last paper-book of 2011, I liked it a lot, but didn’t make it to the favorites’ list. Why?

I did find it a page-turner but the non-linear plot sometimes cut the flow. Also, the story revolves around this competition between two people in love and several “battles” take place, but there’s not a lot of action or tension until the very end. It also doesn’t help that Marco and Celia are apart most of the story, although the few scenes where we see them together are marvelous – that kiss!

If anyone knows where the Circus will be next, please let me know! I have the perfect red scarf.

***

Lots and lots of other thoughts (was I the last book blogger in the world to post about this?!):

caribousmom, Fantasy Book Critic, A Patchwork of Books, S. Krishna’s Books, The Book Lady’s Blog, Book Chatter, Leeswammes, Book’d Out, My Books. My Life., largehearted boy, 1330v, Fyrefly Book Blog, Babbling About Books, and More, Jules’ Book Reviews, Linus’s Blanket, The Book Bind, Bookhounds, Estella’s Revenge, Farm Lane Books, Alison’s Book Marks, Muggle-Born, Book Monkey, The Guilded Earlobe, Miss Remmers’ Reviews, A Novel Source, Fat Books and Thin Women, Book Diary, Entomology of a Bookworm,  nomadreader, Follow the Thread, The Novel World, Hooked on Books, It’s All About Books, Nerfreader, A Musing Reviews, Capricious Reader, Book Sake, The Paper Reader, Indie Reader Houston, Let’s Eat Grandpa!, Book Nook Club, Prairie Horizons, The Book Whisperer, A Book Blog of One’s Own, The Canary, Reading on a Rainy Day, Jenny’s Books, Estante de Livros, book i done read, Literature and a Lens, Reading Matters, Literary Musings, Books Distilled, Under My Apple Tree, Bookeater/Booklover, Bibliophile By the Sea, Books are my Boyfriends

(yours?)

The simple rule is that all participants must read at least five books. My plan is to focus on Portuguese-speaking countries, and since there’s five of them, I’ll read a book from each. I’ve read loads of Brazilian authors, but Lusophone Africa is still a shameless desert in my literary landscape.

I’ve  compiled a draft list to share with you, but I’m aware it’ll all depend very much on the books’ availability. Kinna already warned participants that classic African literature in particular can be hard to find. Let me know if you have any other recommendations.

Here’s the plan – all links go to sites in English:

Angola

First choice

• Lueji (O Nascimento de um Império) by Pepetela

Other possibilities

• Quantas Madrugadas tem a Noite or Os da Minha Rua by Ondjaki
• Flores e espinhos by Óscar Ribas
• João Vêncio: os seus amores by José Luandino Vieira
• As Mulheres do Meu Pai (My Father’s Wives) by José Eduardo Agualusa

Cape Verde

First choice

• O Testamento do Senhor Napumoceno da Silva Araújo (The Last Will and Testament of Senhor da Silva Araújo) by Germano Almeida

Other possibilities

• A Casa dos Mastros: Contos Caboverdianos by Orlanda Amarílis
• Chiquinho by Baltasar Lopes
• Vidas Vividas by Ivone Ramos

Guinea-Bissau

First choice

• As Orações de Mansat by Abdulai Silá (play inspired by Macbeth)

Other possibilities

• Mistida by Abdulai Silá
• Corte Geral by Carlos Lopes
• Tiara by Filomena Embaló

Mozambique

First choice

• Os Olhos da Cobra Verde by Lília Momplé (short-stories)

Other possibilities

• Terra Sonâmbula (Sleepwalking Land) or O último vôo do flamingo by Mia Couto
• Nos motamos o cao tinhoso (We Killed Mangy-Dog and Other Mozambican Stories) by Bernardo Honwana
• Niketche: Uma História de Poligamia by Paulina Chiziane

São Tomé and Príncipe

First choice

• A Dolorosa Raiz do Micondó by Conceição Lima (poetry)

Other possibility

• Versos by Caetano da Costa Alegre (poetry)

And I’m glad I didn’t resist because it became one the best books of 2011. It also helped that the audiobook was read by one of my favorite narrators, Nadia May.

There’s not really a plot (unless you count the change of seasons), but at about 200 pages, it’s the right size to leave you wanting for more. It’s basically the (heavily autobiographical but still fictional) diary of a city woman falling in love with her country house and garden.

The title and the fact it was written at the end of the 19^th century might indicate a florid and poetic prose, full of romantic descriptions of idyllic sunrises and dew on leaves, so Elizabeth’s witty and sarcastic voice was a happy surprise.

Elizabeth was raised in England but married a Prussian aristocrat and now lives in Germany with him and their three little girls (whom she calls the April, May and June babies). She has always lived in the city but quickly falls in love with her husband’s country estate, which has been left more or less abandoned for 25 years. They decided to renovate it, so she goes there ahead of them to oversee the works.

It is during the six weeks she’s alone that Elizabeth discovers the wonders of her German Garden. She spends most of her time outside, eating light meals, reading and gradually bringing her garden back to life. One of the best scenes happens during that time before babies and husband arrive: as a gentlewoman it’s not appropriate for her to get her hands dirty, so she decides to do some clandestine gardening:

In the first ecstasy of having a garden all my own, and in my burning impatience to make the waste places blossom like a rose, I did one warm Sunday in last year’s April during the servants’ dinner hour, doubly secure from the gardener by the day and the dinner, slink out with a spade and a rake and feverishly dig a little piece of ground and break it up and sow surreptitious ipomaea, and run back very hot and guilty into the house, and get into a chair and behind a book and look languid just in time to save my reputation. And why not? It is not graceful, and it makes one hot; but it is a blessed sort of work, and if Eve had had a spade in Paradise and known what to do with it, we should not have had all that sad business of the apple.

Another good one:

May 7th–There were days last winter when I danced for sheer joy out in my frost-bound garden in spite of my years and children. But I did it behind a bush, having due regard for the decencies.

She talks about her husband (whom we know only as The Man Of Wrath, but fear not, he’s actually kind of sweet), her children, visitors and neighbors, and she has witty (and often waspish) comments about them all. I’m going out on a limb here and bet that Jane Austen would love her.

I don’t know much about gardening, but I do know about being passionate about something, so this book and I connected in an unexpected way. I especially enjoyed Elizabeth’s passages about the happiness of being alone and not lonely. I’m usually very social and have to network a lot for work, but it’s still such a joy to have moments by myself. Like Elizabeth, I’m usually at a loss for words to explain this to people who don’t function without others around.

The passion for being forever with one’s fellows, and the fear of being left for a few hours alone, is to me wholly incomprehensible. I can entertain myself quite well for weeks together, hardly aware, except for the pervading peace, that I have been alone at all.

I’m planning to read more of her this year – I know Nadia May also narrated Enchanted April. Any others I should try?

***

Download Elizabeth and her German Garden for free on Project Gutenberg.

Other thoughts: So Many Books, Musings, Small World Reads, Iris on Books, Old English Rose Reads, SassyMonkey Reads, A Garden Carried in the Pocket, Luvvie’s Musings (yours?)

I guess there are two ways to approach The Space Between Us: on one hand the impact and widespread domination of the oppression of women in Indian society, on the other the impact and widespread domination of the class system in Indian society.

The book delves deeply into the sufferings of women of any cast at the hands of men. Male characters who are not “mean” are merely weak and anything good they do is just not enough to make up for the hurt other men caused. These men (rich or poor, educated or illiterate), by their abuse or neglect, make the lives of every woman in The Space Between Us a trial.

It’s this common ground that apparently creates a real bridge between them, despite their different backgrounds. At points the story threaten to go the melodramatic way, but Umrigar managed to keep me grounded and thinking “horrible, but you know it happens all the time.“

As the story develops and we start knowing more about the past and present of these two women, there seems to be real love and loyalty between them. They also seem convinced they have conquered, at least partly, the unavoidable distances that money, education and station can create. How could it not be so when the maid Bhima nursed mistress Serabai after her husband brutally beat her? Or when Serabai paid for Bhima’s granddaughter’s education? Yet, when family and class loyalties put the relationship to the test, the results are unforgiving.

Despite Umrigar’s wonderful ending (cried like a baby), underlining the inexhaustible spirit of poor and continually-broken women, there’s still the message that the next generations of Indian women will still be doomed to the careless whims of men. However, unlike Out (which I read just before), although there is no redemption in The Space Between Us, there is resilience, and that’s something very human to hold on to.

I enjoyed the book very much even though it kept breaking my heart into tinier pieces as the story moved along. Men are all bastards and the plot borders on the soap-opera-ish at times, but all was balanced by the wonderful writing. I was fascinated by how a narrative voice so poetic created such a realistic book, and how, being so spare on descriptions, it still managed to convey such vivid images of place. I could smell the slums and hear the chapattis frying.

***

This was the last of the five books Joanna recommended I read during 2011. The others were: Star of the Sea, The Vanishing of Katharina Linden,  Kindred and Out. I hope to have as much fun with the 2012 ones!

***

Other thoughts: S. Krishna’s Books, Ramya’s Bookshelf, Stiletto Storytime, Book Chatter, A Guy’s Moleskin Notebook, Caribousmom, Shona’s Book Shelves, Musings, Lotus Reads, Katarina’s Reads, The House of the Seven Tails, Books in the City, At Pemberley, Lit and Life, Rebecca Reads, She is too fond of books, Fizzy Thoughts, Book Splurge, A Writer’s Pen,  Bibliophile Support Group, Bibliophile by the Sea (yours?)

Four women work the graveyard shift at a lunch box filling factory in Tokyo’s outskirts. Their jobs are back-breaking and repetitive, their families universally unloving and their futures equally bleak. One of the women accidentally kills her husband after he becomes abusive and the other three are drawn into the effort to hide the crime. When the police arrests a local club owner with connections to prostitution, the women hope it’ll be the end of it, but they hope in vain.

There is no redemption in Out. Everything from the story to the description of suburban Tokyo is unrelentingly bleak and unforgiving. There is not one likable character or one moment of sunshine. Kirino creates her story almost surgically, and every sentence seem to add another layer to the dark mood of the book.

Quite a lot happens, so why did it feel like the story developed slowly? Not slow as in boring, more the slowness of the lethargic lives these women lead. There’s not much humanity in any of the characters and everyone is racist, opportunistic and all men are misogynistic. Don’t be mislead by the plot about three women helping a fourth out of trouble, as there’s also no friendship in Out, no one loves or does any good to others, either to friends or family.

I’ve read in several places that the book is a commentary to women’s place in Japanese society, and can see the point: the numbing of feelings and consequent loss of humanity caused by sexism, ageism and a huge stress of physical appearance. My problem as a reader was that I also became numb to the character’s plight (was it the author’s intention? If it was, it’s brilliantly done!).

None of these four women cared, so I was never terribly interested in what happened to any of them either. For instance, at some point we are told that Masako was treated horribly by her previous employers, mostly because she was a woman and good at her job. In normal circumstances I’d have boiled, but I was kind of bored by yet another proof that life is unfair and nothing you can do will ever change it.

Was also surprised by the innumerable references to looks (or lack of them). At first I put it down as a criticism of the objectification of women, but they came up so often that after a while they felt less like a social commentary and more like the expression of Kirin’s actual way of thinking and looking at people (again, if she’s demonstrating how she’s also influenced by her own misogynistic culture, it’s perfectly accomplished!). The same with the ending: the sadomasochism bit felt gratuitous and only there to unsubtly increase the grimness of it all. But, disclaimer: it’s likely that’s just me getting influenced by the unforgiving feeling of the book.

Reading Out was my attempt at eating silk-worm cocoons in China a couple of summers ago: I’m glad I did it for the experience, but I’m not sure I’d like to do it again.

***

Other thoughts: Tip of the Iceberg, Leeswammes, Mysteries in Paradise, A Book Sanctuary, Musings of a Bookish Kitten, Farm Lane Books, another cookie crumbles, Novel Insights, Book Magic, Piling on the Books, Book Chase, It’s all about me (time), Dolce Bellezza (yours?)

I have fond memories of not only the show, but also, strangely, of Thames’ intro. When it came up you knew you were in for a treat, and although I know it was also the intro to other shows, in my memory it’s forever attached to The Wind in the Willows.

Ah to be a kid in the 80s in Portugal! I’ve no idea why, but on top of the ones dubbed in Portuguese, we got a huge mix of cartoons dubbed in other languages (originals were usually Japanese) and then subtitled in Portuguese. I can still sing parts of the generic of Alice im Wunderland and Ferdy the Ant in German, Les Mystérieuses Cités d’Or in French, Captain Planet (We‘re the Planeteers, you can be one to!) in English and Boes Boes in Dutch. Others were left in their original language and only subititled, like the soccer cartoon Tsubasa (Japanese – do you remember the Japan vs. Brasil game? A classic!) and The Tale of Tsar Saltan (Russian).

But I digress. The Wind in the Willows was very different from I was expecting. The biggest surprise was that Grahame alternates the adventures of Toad, Mr. Badger, Ratty and Mole with slower chapters that, although still involving the characters, are more lyrical and focused on things like love of home, friendship and the wonder of small things. In theory, these changes in mood could become contrived, but Grahame does it so naturally that you can’t help feeling that all works wonderfully.

It was a great and beautiful discovery, these thoughtful and happy sections. More nostalgia-happy than puppy-happy, and some parts got me all teary.

My favorite moment was when Mole, who had lived with Ratty a long time and was having too much fun to notice time fly, noticed a familiar smell while walking in the forest. The smell of his long-forgotten home.

Shabby indeed, and small and poorly furnished, and yet his, the home he had made for himself, the home he had been so happy to get back to after his day’s work. And the home had been happy with him, too, evidently, and was missing him, and wanted him back, and was telling him so, through his nose, sorrowfully, reproachfully, but with no bitterness or anger; only with plaintive reminder that it was there, and wanted him.

Also loved the descriptions of food, in particular of Mr. Badger’s winter storage. Could his home be a better safe haven, especially after you were lost in a cold, unknown and dark forest? Grahame’s descriptions of domestic bliss can only compete with those by Mrs. Gaskell.

Rows of spotless plates winked from the shelves of the dresser at the far end of the room, and from the rafters overhead hung hams, bundles of dried herbs, nets of onions, and baskets of eggs. It seemed a place where heroes could fitly feast after victory, where weary harvesters could line up in scores along the table and keep their Harvest Home with mirth and song, or where two or three friends of simple tastes could sit about as they pleased and eat and smoke and talk in comfort and contentment.

I understand the chapter “The Piper at the Gates of Dawn” is the general favorite and I can well understand why. This is the moment when The Wind in the Willows really goes beyond “children’s book” and becomes, simply, a “Classic”. Still, my favorite, the one that really made the book for me, was “Wayfarers All”. It’s about how the Water Rat gets seduced by the nomadic lifestyle of his friend the Sea Rat. It appealed to my wanderlust streak and rang true in many moments. It starts:

The Water Rat was restless, and he did not exactly know why.

I read this in a tattered second-hand copy but want to get a beautifully illustrated edition for my collection, to read to any future children.

I’ll leave you with the gang singing The Open Road:

***

Other thoughts: Just Books, The Literate Mother, somewhere i have never travelled, Rebecca Reads, Books ‘N Border Collies,  A library is the hospital of the mind, Books Under Skin, Books for Breakfast, Drinks for Dinner (yours?)

The House of Niccolò series take place in the mid-15th century, at the height of the Renaissance, in all its glorious political intrigues and (mis)alliances. Once again Dunnett covers locations and events not often seen in historical fiction, brilliantly mixing fictional and real characters: the first book, Niccolò Rising, was mainly set in Flanders; the wonder that’s The Spring of the Ram takes us to Trebizond, last strong-hold of the Byzantine Empire, and Race of Scorpions is about the battle for Cyprus.

Two siblings – James and Charlotte – fight for control of the island and its wealth, but there’s more at stake than Cyprus’ sugar plantations. The fate of this strategic trade post may tip the balance of power between the different European Kings and Queen, between Catholics and Muslims, the Pope and the Sultan, between Genoese, Florentine, Venetians and other mercantile powers.

Both James and Charlotte know about Niccolò de Fleury’s abilities and resourcefulness and both want him on their side. They know he grew up as a mischievous apprentice in a Bruges dye-works, but that his youthful and unassuming exterior hide a brilliant mind that feeds on riddles, mathematics, mechanics, pranks and patterns of all types. A mind that over the last two books created one of the richest banks and textile companies in Europe, and played an important role in the fate of Trebizond.

So the scene is set for a fantastic romp through the Mediterranean.

Before starting Race of Scorpions I read two books that warned about the myth of the “lonely genius” that single-handedly changes the world. While in theory and in real-life I tend to agree, these characters make up one hell of a story! Niccolò is that type of person.

You’re constantly being surprised by his next move. He consistently manages to get into hard spots, but the web of connections and loyalties he’s carefully accumulated usually provide a way out – often an unexpected way, and almost always a way that makes you realize he has outwitted you, and everyone else, yet again.

There are eight books in the series and I’m reading them at the rate of one per year, to make them last. Race of Scorpions was part of my Top 10 of 2011.

As always when I post about Dorothy Dunnett I must make a disclaimer: they’re not easy books. The plot seems larger than life and the political intrigues are complex and demanding. But she rewards you ten-times over for your effort.

Little aside for those who’ve read the book (no spoilers): at one point I felt a decrease in my reading speed (and interest), when Niccolò keeps travelling from one place to the other. Two minutes after I formulated that thought Dunnett hits me with The Moth Scene. Wow. Probably the best literary scene of 2011. Also, I’m looking forward to having Gelis back in Scales of Gold – hope she’s at Philippa’s level!

***

Other thoughts: The Books that Light Reads, Half-real Worlds of Paper and Ink, Words in Flight (yours?)

There are some theories about why this happens, but for the sake of my romantic streak, I assume that the Universe is trying to tell me something. Recently, it told me to read H.P. Lovecraft. The evidence:

1. I’d vaguely heard of Lovecraft before, but knew only that he was (probably) a classic. In early November, three things happened in quick succession:
2. Day 1 – For the first time ever I do one of those online quizzes to find out which famous author has a writing style similar to mine. H.P. Lovecraft is the answer.
3. Day 2 AM – On gtalk and out of the blue my brother tells me “The works of H.P.Lovecraft are all available online for free. Never read anything by him but would like to try. I think it’s almost all horror, right? Do you know him?”
4. Day 2 evening – A friend of mine is visiting and while we’re chatting she’s browsing my 1001 Novels You Must Read Before You Die. She distractedly turns the pages while I tell her about this H.P. Lovecraft coincidence. She stops for a moment while I finish my tale and when she looks again at the book, it’s open on the page of At the Mountains of Madness by H.P. Lovecraft…

*cue creepy violins*

So I obediently went over to audible.com and downloaded At the Mountains of Madness, apparently Lovecraft’s most famous horror novella.

It about an unfortunate group of explorers who travel to Antarctica for scientific purposes. They soon discover the dead remains of an earlier group, apparently attacked by some unknown creature.

The explorers begin traveling inland to discover the reasons behind the attack and eventually come to a city of ice, tens of millions of years old. This city looks abandoned and they reach the conclusion that the remains could only have originated in ancient things coming from out-of-space… but are they really all dead?

*cue creepy violins*

To this day I have no idea what the Universe was trying to tell me. Lovecraft is a master at creating a doom-and-gloom atmosphere (he completely freaked me out with his 6-foot blind albino penguin), but in general the book did little for me.

He clearly likes to tell his story slowly and dramatically, constantly talking about The Unspeakable Horror and reveling in minute details of… basically everything, but especially “the icy, mountainous, eerie, tunneled landscape” and all sorts of measurements. He really like those measurements, Lovecraft did, but they’re not the best thing for pushing a story forward.

I found his writing style very old-fashioned and Gothic (is it really like mine?!), and kept thinking of Frankenstein, and its similar “forbidden knowledge” themes. Although this book was written in 1931, I would have guessed Lovecraft was a Victorian. It’s almost unthinkable that he was writing at the same time as, for instance, Fitzgerald or Hemingway.

Thenceforward the ten of us — but the student Danforth and myself above all others — were to face a hideously amplified world of lurking horrors which nothing can erase from our emotions, and which we would refrain from sharing with mankind in general if we could.

All this to say, dear Universe, that you need to be a bit more specific about what you mean with this Lovecraft connection. I’ll be on the look out for further clues.

(photo credit)

***

Other thoughts: Boston Book Bums, The Indextrious Reader (yours?)

In the future, I’ll remember 2011 as the year when…

• I started tweeting
• I started reading Patrick O’Brian
• I realized that non-fiction can be as fun as fiction
• I discovered how read-alongs can enhanced the reading experience
• My TBR imploded

OVERVIEW 2011

Format

I’ve had my e-reader for two years but it still not part of my reading habits. On the other hand, I can’t live without my audiobooks.

Genres

Not an exact science, but it seems about right: lots of fantasy, historical, “literary fiction” and classics. I’m happy with this balance, most of the time I read what I feel like reading.

Type

The expected supremacy of fiction, although 12 non-fiction is a record. I had such a great experience with them that I’m determined to increase that figure in 2012.

Languages

Something I want to work on. If I can read in different languages, why don’t I? Laziness might have something to do with it…

So with this in mind, these are my

PLANS FOR 2012

I don’t want to be too strict because it gives me great pleasure to spend time in front of the TBR shelf and chose what to read next without any restraints. All in all, I’m very happy and motivated about these five resolutions:

Less challenges, more read-alongs

In 2011 I participated (and completed) three challenges: One, Two Theme, Graphic Novels and Steampunk - I also entered four read-alongs with other book bloggers – Villette, The Discovery of Heaven, Sense and Sensibility and Heart of Darkness. Although I had fun with the challenges, read-alongs not only added to the reading experience, but also worked better for me in bringing me closer to the community.

So far I’ve only signed up to one Challenge: The Introverted Reader’s Southern Literature Challenge. Others might still lure me, but what I’m really looking forward to is participating in read-alongs, especially if they coincide with books already on my shelfs. If you know of any interesting ones, please let me know!

Read more in different languages

At least one in Spanish, two in French and five in my native Portuguese. The plan is to read originals and not translations.

Re-read more

Only re-read three books in 2011, but they were some of the best. The lure of the TBR is too strong, but I want to make time for old favorites in 2012. Several that come to mind: The Mists of Avalon, Atonement, Mansfield Park and Emma, some by classic Portuguese author Júlio Dinis, some by Guy Gavriel Kay (probably Tigana and The Lions of Al-Rassan).

Read War & Peace

Already have the audiobook, all 61 hours of it. That’s about five hours per month. I’m taking it easy, there’s no hurry.

Celebrate Dickens & Shakespeare

I’m not a Dickens fan and it’s likely I’ll give him up after I read Our Mutual Friend, which has been waiting in the shelf for a couple of years. In 2012 the world will celebrate Dickens’ 200th birthday and it seems the perfect opportunity to pick it up, but I’m not sure I’ll have the courage. Still, I’d like to somehow pay homage to him (I’m always up for celebrating authors, even if they’re not favorites), probably by reading Clare Tomalin’s new biography.

Confession: I’ve never read anything by Shakespeare, but this is the right time to change that. After all, there’s so much happening to celebrate his work this year.