So many books read, so little of interest to report. You have all been incredibly patient, even going so far as to humour me by commenting on what were clearly filler posts (the idea of going a day without posting fills me with dread – I am working on this). Bless. The truth is that after reading The Rehearsal, which blew me away, I had a lot of trouble settling on any one book and, when I did, nothing that I picked seemed particularly worthy of its own individual review. So, I have decided just to bombard you with all of the books I read last week in one post. Fair?
The highlight of the week, and this is sad, was Hungry by Crystal Renn (with Marjorie Ingall). A barely literate memoir by someone born in 1986 (people my age should really not be allowed to write memoirs), Hungry begins with tales of Renn’s happy if unconventional childhood, leading up to the moment she was ‘discovered’ by a scout and told that if she could get her weight down to 110lbs (at 5’9), the modeling agency would be interested in her. Renn did even more than was asked: she got her weight down below 100lbs through a combination of anorexia and compulsive exercising and, at fourteen, earned her ticket to New York. There, she was miserable and unsuccessful (yes, it is a morality tale as well). Eventually, she came to her senses, made her health a priority, and switched to plus-sized modeling, where she has been hugely successfully as a US size 12 (at approximately 165). Renn is now one of the few modeling faces (and, it must be said, bodies) that are instantly recognizable even to people like me, who know nothing about the modeling world. A very typical celebrity memoir, the book comes across as very frothy for the first half and preachy towards the end, when Renn advocates for the HAES (Healthy at Every Size) philosophy and devotes many pages to her arguments about acceptance and empowerment. Far, far too many. The message is good, but the reader is bombarded and then bored with it. Still, it’s a fascinating story of a woman who has made a very real difference in a generally sizest industry, conquering the accepted wisdom that plus-size models only have limited appeal. I may have been unfairly won over by the photos as well – I do love nice, glossy, colour photos.
Renn's most famous work (for Breast Cancer Awareness)
I also read two (count ‘em, two!) graphic novels: Burma Chronicles by Guy Delisle and Blankets by Craig Thompson. I was incredibly unwhelmed by Blankets, which was disappointing after reading so many enthusiastic reviews. The illustrations were fabulous but the story seemed rather dull and predictable to me. There was no tension in it, nothing that made me care about the narrator or his life events. Burma Chronicles, on the other hand, was just as delightful as Delisle’s Pyongyang. There’s something terrifically charming about Delisle; both his illustrations and his sense of humour endear him to me. Certainly, this is the best way to experience any military dictatorship.
Moving on from Burma to India, I read The Immigrant by Manju Kapur. The story of an arranged marriage and the ensuing culture-clash when the wife, Nina, comes to join her husband in Canada, this should have been right up my alley. It was not. The first section, handling the events leading up to the marriage, was fascinating but after that everything fell apart and focus shifted entirely to the sex life of the couple. Sounds salacious but it was in fact terribly, terribly boring. I persisted until the end, hoping it would improve. It did not. I enjoyed the author’s style of writing so will (after I recover from my disappointment) attempt to track down more of her work (Difficult Daughters seems to get high praise).
The weekend was then spent reading ridiculously fluffy Regency romance novels. I knew, years ago, when I started reading Georgette Heyer that she was viewed as a gateway drug. Lauren Willig’s novels signaled another slip (confirmed when I reread The Masque of the Black Tulip on Saturday). Finally, my former manager (of all people) recommended that I try the newest book by Kate Moore (with the awful title To Tempt a Saint) and down I went. It was quickly followed by the equally ridiculously-named (but far superior in style and substance) Then Comes Seduction by Mary Balogh. I am a ridiculous snob and even as I enjoy these books I feel rather ashamed of even having ‘lowered’ myself to crack the covers (and rather afraid that I will be shunned by other bloggers). But such books are fun, not even remotely as explicit as some of the other literature I read (see The Immigrant above) and, while I’d never spend money on them (thrift overlapping with snobbishness), my library seems to be stunningly well-stocked. Not the sort of thing to read all the time but, as a diversion every once in a while, very pleasant. The Balogh book was also surprising descriptive about garden layouts, which, combined with the recent improvement in the weather here, has reawakened my passion for landscape design, a passion I suppress all winter long and obsess over most summers. The appropriate volumes have been ordered from the library and it won’t be long before I’m daydreaming about sunken gardens, blossoming orchards, and fragrant rows of roses.
Sunken Garden at Upton Grey
The Captive Reader 