May: the (Parcel) Force Be With You!

Well, the books continue to flood in - faster than I can read them, really. Most of them are studies of consciousness and the concept of 'I', but as interesting as I'm finding the whole consciousness studies business, my supervisor has hinted (rather heavily) that I need to forget the interesting digressions and get nailing specifics. At this point I realise how far I've drifted from the core of my thesis and am currently simultaneously panicking and trying to pull myself back on course!
Language, grammar, style....that's the meat in the sandwich, and that's what I'm going to concentrate on! To that end I made my way to the Brotherton Library at my old university. It was a visit that I was really looking forward to. Feeling nostalgic, I caught the train to Leeds, walked up to the uni, stopping en route at the Opposite coffee shop for a large latte and a piece of brazil-nut chocolate brownie, which was every bit as delicious as I remember it to be. I was very cheered to find that my Birmingham approved 'SCONUL' card entitled me to borrowing rights and I wasted no time in getting stuck into the catalogue to pick out a few juicy winners. (Actually, I had to go down into the circular basement and walk around the radial shelves just for the sheer fun of it, breathing in the wonderful smell of OLD BOOKS. OK, so I am a bit weird).
I knew in advance that they had a couple of titles that I needed for my forthcoming seminar paper as I done an online search on COPAC, so I still had two spaces on my card to fill. Rummaging around, I came across a copy of Robertson's 1909 Grammar of the New Testament in the Light of Historical Research, a whopper of a book, but sadly a reference volume only. I resolved to track down a copy of this grammatical behemoth online, and turned my attentions elsewhere. A few hours later saw me trotting happily back down to the station with a bulging and very heavy backpack, which has made my back rather bad in the past couple of days. I loved being back in Leeds and, because I have books to return, I have an excellent excuse to go back soon!

As I have my upgrade panel next week, and have to deliver a seminar paper a week later, in adddition to revising/expanding my current thesis chapter, I've had to be absolutely scrupulous about dividing my day up into work parcels. It's working well thus far, and is staving off subject burnout. I also managed to find, during my lunch-break, through AbeBooks a copy of the Robertson grammar, which should be arriving early next week. Amazon has been working overtime on my behalf too, although I experienced my first book-failure from one of their marketplace subsidiaries. Dunn's Unity and Diversity in the New Testament got lost in the post, and, after a visit to the sorting office and an exchange of emails, I got a full refund with no hassle at all. It didn't really matter as I had sourced a copy down in the Birmingham campus library. Books are piled up on my desk at the moment: I have a prodigious amount of reading to do!

Recreation-wise, I'm still trundling through Neil Gaiman's American Gods when I have the energy to stay awake and read. It's OK, but I'm not exactly gobbling it up. The Husband has just finished his Stardust and thoroughly enjoyed it. I've lined up Paul Torday's The Irresistable Inheritance of Wilberforce (charity shop 80p bargain!) for him next. He's already read Salmon Fishing in Yemen and says he's looking forward to starting on it. I was quite annoyed when the woman in the shop hissed 'Drinks himself to death' as I handed over the cash. Talk about a spoiler! Suppose I'd bought it for me? I kind of bought it as a holiday book, as we've booked a couple of days in Milan, but never mind. I'll get another before we go. Seeing as it was the Husband's birthday, I'd got him a copy of the Eyewitness travel guide to Milan and the Lakes. It all looks very exciting, and he sits up in bed happily planning our itinerary.

My insomnia hasn't been too much of a problem recently, despite a trapped nerve in my neck/back which can wake me up unexpectedly. In fact, my lack of insomnia has been a problem - I haven't been able to do my 5am stint of reading for a few weeks now. Before it 'disappeared', I'd got into the swing of waking up, getting a cup of tea, reading for an hour or so before falling into the most delicious doze complete with lucid dreaming. Excellent! But now I am sleeping right through until 7 o'clock. Shouldn't complain I suppose!

**BTW, why do I get so many Chinese comments? Are they comments, or is it in fact, spam tags? I am deleting them to be on the safe side, as I haven't a clue what they say!***

A Chance Find

The glorious sunshine yesterday propelled me into town yesterday, ostensibly to source a copy of The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time by Mark Haddon for daughter #3, who is finding the endless vampire-fare supplied by the school library beyond a joke. She is mature for her age and has outgrown the standard parallel worlds/fantasy stuff written for her age-group, so I suggested that she might like to move more into adult fiction. She has enjoyed some of Neil Gaiman's work (although, interestingly, didn't much care for The Graveyard Book which was written with a younger audience in mind) and I think will like Sarah Walter's Little Stranger when the husband has finished with it*. It occurred to me that Curious Incident bridges the divide quite nicely and decided that I'd try to source a second-hand one from a charity shop. But, as I found last year with Foucault's Pendulum, although they are on the shelves in abundance when you're just browsing, they seem to absent themselves when being sought exclusively!

I found myself up Micklegate at the Oxfam bookshop (where, at last, there was one indeed) and decided to go a bit further up the hill to Ken Spelman's marvellous book emporium. The open fire glowed in the hearth and I trotted up the rickety stair to the Classics section. They must have had a new delivery of books because the first thing that caught my eye was a 19th century diglot version of the Sybylline Oracles, bound in leather. It was only a little over £10, so I picked it up - and then saw a Loeb edition of Herodian (although only the first volume) and I added that to the pile. Wandering over to the medieval section I found a Penguin Classics copy of The Letters of Abelard and Heloise....and then one of The Lives of the Saints. As the last two were only £1 each, I felt no jabs on conscience whatsoever, and the Herodian was cheap for a Loeb and would boost my 'collection'. There is something akin to a chemical hit in such serendipity and I couldn't wait to get to a coffee shop and unwrap the books, beautifully packaged as usual, in crisp dark green paper.....

* ....in fact the Dog, obviously bored, finished it (off) before he did. Curling up on the bed she literally devoured the first quarter of the book. Fortunately the Husband had already read beyond the destroyed portion, but its rather tattered and bloodied pages means that he can't whip it out on the train!!!

In the Desert, Up the Nile, In the Graveyard

The Testament of Gideon Mack has been duly passed onto the husband, who whipped through Neil Gaiman's The Graveyard Book in double-quick time while we were away. I have eventually managed to hold of a copy of The Sisters of Sinai (blogged about some time in early spring) and, to be quite honest, am finding it pretty dull at the moment. The first part of the book is taken up with a lengthy description of the sisters first venture up the Nile and details their tribulations with their hired 'dragoman'. I have found myself caring less and less, and if it doesn't get interesting and onto the nitty-gritty of manuscript discovery p r e t t y soon, I shall stamp my tiny foot in annoyance. The 'stipend' has seen me buy a copy of Charles Puskas Jr's The Letters of Paul: An Introduction, a pretty useful vade mecum for the basic facts on the epistles - always useful - as well as a somewhat less useful (but nontheless appealing) Penguin Classics copy of The Desert Fathers : Sayings of the Early Christian Monks compiled and translated by Benedicta Ward, who is a reader at Oxford, as well as a religious. I must admit that I was attracted as much by the cover as by the subject matter itself - a medieval illustration from the Bedford Book of Hours, depicting a 'hippocentaur' (half man, half horse, but with huge ibex-style horns on its head), a monster that does not seem to make an appearance in the book of medieval grotesques and monsters that I purchased the other week.

The desert fathers were renowned for their simple, solitary and austere lifestyles, their simple faith, lack of scholastic learning and joyful acceptance of life. One of the entries tells the story of the hermit-monk Macarius, who, on discovering a thief loading his few possessions onto a donkey, assisted the burglar to load up the rest saying to himself all the while that he brought nothing into the world, the Lord provided, and now its time to relinquish it all. Hmmm. Not sure I'd be so helpful. Still, the book is going to provide some short but interesting bedtime insights. A few lines is all I can seem to manage at the moment before my eyes shut!

Travel.....and More Books...

Half term looms (again) and the prospect of a few days in Barcelona is prompting me to find a suitable travel book for the journey. And the broken nights/early mornings - I'm suffering from ruptured sleep patterns again and whilst this can be a blessing sometimes (two extra hours of academic reading before the household stirs) it can be a bit of a pain away from home, when you're already pretty stressed-out and exhausted by travelling and unfamiliar surroundings. So, as usual, I'm looking for something not-too difficult, absorbing and well-written. Amidst all the 'serious' stuff that I'm reading at the moment, I picked up a discounted copy of The Testament of Gideon Mack by James Robertson (£1.99), not a writer I've ever come across before. Reviews seem rather encouraging, mainly highlighting the pleasing style and unusual nature of the first-person narrative (not that first-person is unusual, the narrative is...) so that might be the one for the journey. Something for the Husband needs to be bought, and having exhausted the Neil Gaiman corpus, I'm going to have to trawl around Borders or the like, as he most certainly will not have the time to source one himself. The usual online book suppliers are certainly benefitting from my AHRC funding money: only this week I have ordered The Handbook of Discourse Analysis, Textual Scholarship: An Introduction and A.P.Hartley's What a Word!. This last is a 1930 first edition and I was surprised at the ridiculously cheap price (only a couple of pounds). I am deeply grateful that I can indulge - yes, that's the word - my passion for books, academic or otherwise, and am all too aware that many students are nowhere near as lucky as I have been in securing funding. But neither was I - for many years, and I think I was deeply scarred by husband #1's cold remark (when I asked if I could buy a paperback) that I 'already some had books'. Call this my therapy.

A New Term, A New Pile of Books......

I'm in a bit of a book frenzy at the moment - courtesy of a small unexpected pension lump-sum bonus. It started off respectably enough: a second-hand copy of Alexander McCall Smith's The Sunday Philosophy Club (which, on first reading a couple of years ago, I had hated enough to leave it behind in the holiday apartment - I had failed to 'get' its subtle observation). It is pure comfort reading, gentle, wryly amusing and deep enough to provide some food for thought. I also bought the husband another Neil Gaiman (Smoke and Mirrors), as he'd finished Neverwhere which he enjoyed immensely. Then my fiscal prudence specs slipped somewhat: my response to needing to study is generally to buy more books, as if the mere act of buying them was equivalent to absorbing the knowledge therein (I actually realise that this is not true....). I kind of justified the expense by reasoning that the expenditure was in fact a very small proportion of my forthcoming 'stipend' (what a lovely old-fashioned word!) and that they might contain some insightful nugget that would illuminate my whole PhD. The lists comprises of Coles & Dodd's Reading German (for my upcoming German language-reading course in October), Reading Paul by Michael Gorman, The Deliverance of God: An Apocalyptic Re-Reading of Justification in Paul by Douglas Campbell and The Philosopher's Toolkit: A Compendium of Philosophical Concepts and Methods by Julian Baggini and Peter Fosl. Quite a list to get through. Quite a heap on the bedroom floor! Oh, and a second-hand copy of Your PhD Companion by Dr Stephen Marshall and Dr Nick Green from the Oxfam bookshop, which I read practically all the way through in Starbucks this afternoon.

Oratio Obliqua

Am scratching about for something interesting to take my fancy. I finished Robin Wasserman's Skinned, and although it was tolerably good, it didn't really live up to the promise of the initial few chapters. The characters' behaviour became increasingly stereotypical, and the excesses of angst betrayed its teen-fiction standing. My twelve-year old daughter liked it, though whether well enough to purchase the upcoming sequel remains to be seen.

Daughter #2, ransacking the Sunday car-boot-sale stalls, happened upon a 2-volume edition of F.W.Farrar's The Life and Work of St Paul (1879), which she bought for a mere £3. I was delighted, as I am a fan of his quasi-whimsical, late-Victorian (but very scholarly and insightful), immensely readable ponderings. It was in fairly good condition, but sadly someone had seen fit to plunder it for its coloured maps. Shame, but the prose is as enthralling as ever, if somewhat fanciful.

'It is clear, from the education provided for Paul by his parents, that they could little indeed have conjectured how absolutely their son would be reduced to depend on a toil so miserable and so unremunerative. But though we see how much he felt the burden of the wretched labour....while he plaited the black, strong-scented goat's hair, he might be soaring in thought to the inmost heaven, or holding high converse with Apollos or Aquila, with Luke or Timothy, on the loftiest themes which can engage the mind of man.'

This week she arrived home with two rather attractive 1895 volumes of Demosthenes Orations - the orators are not really currently my cup of tea, but there's no denying the shabby handsomeness of the books (although, sadly, Volume 1 is missing). The Husband is still engrossed in Neil Gaiman's Neverwhere: it's lasted him for quite some time, having started it on the outward plane journey of our holiday some 3 weeks ago. For someone who spent many a year NOT reading, he's certainly getting some good stuff under his belt now, although he does tend to get what I borrow/buy for him (I'm his personal book-shopper) so it's not really a balanced reading programme at all. I noted not long ago that the books I choose for him tend to be a bit predictable - all in the same vein: NG's Anansi Boys, American Purgatorio by John Haskell, Dogwalking by Arthur Bradford, You Shall know Our Velocity by Dave Eggars, Steven Sherrill's The Minotaur Takes a Cigarette Break, Chuck Palahniuk's Fight Club.....all a bit weird and with a hint of sadness/madness. We were both, however, reduced to wonder by the amazing tales in David Eagleman's Sum: 40 Tales from the Afterlife.

Perhaps it's time to diversify more....

Holiday Reading

I am very, very pernickety about what I read on holidays. The book has got to feel j-u-s-t right or I really do get quite grumpy. I've made some real mistakes in the past: St Augustine's 'City of God' on a Greek beach holiday when daughter no.3 was three months old (what was I thinking of?); Nikos Kazantzakis' 'The Fratricides' which just filled me with gloom as I finished it off on the last day of a holiday filled with rain; 'The Thirteenth Apostle' which I threw across the apartment in disgust....and so it goes. I feel a bit like Des Esseints in Huysmans' 'Against Nature' neurotically trying to match aesthetic experiences. But, for me, holiday reading is part of the whole holiday experience. Thus I am wondering what to take with me to Venice. I am stricken with regret that I have already read Sally Vickers' 'Miss Garnett's Angel' as that would have been little short of perfect - well-written, but easily digested and with the correct sort of atmosphere and sense of place. As would 'The Seven Sisters' by Margaret Drabble. Or 'The End of Mr Y' by Scarlett Thomas - but I've read them already too, and I rarely do re-reads. I want something with a decent plot that will distract me if there's any turbulence on the flight, but not too complex. It has to be well-written.....nothing Dan Brown-ish, not pure thriller, but definitely with some intrigue. The local library hasn't turned up anything for me as yet, although the husband is happily getting on with Neil Gaiman's 'American Gods' (which I am eyeing enviously). I guess I'm just going to have to head for Borders and grumpily poke at the shelves. I am emphatically not like one of my former colleagues who took with him to Crete Denniston's 'Greek Particles' and a few volumes of Livy (in the original)!!!