DTRMCR's reading list pt 6

Norwegian Wood by Haruki Murakami

DTRMCR's reading list pt 5

New York Trilogy by Paul Auster

DTRMCR's reading list pt 4

In the Miso Soup by Ryu Murakami

DTRMCR's reading list pt 3

The Woman in the Dunes by Kōbō Abe

DTRMCR's reading list pt 2

Black Swan Green by David Mitchell

DTRMCR's reading list pt 1

Timbuktu by Paul Auster

Laura’s in France for a week, and I’ve got lots of trips around the area for work, so I imagine there’ll be lots of reading from me over the next few days…

Twilight

In the last week, I’ve read the entire Twilight saga. All of it. Twilight, New Moon, Eclipse and finally Breaking Dawn. A few thoughts.

An eerie sense of familiarity

I left my keys at Laura's house, so I waited for her in the Hilary Step after college, and got stuck into Travels in the Scriptorium by Paul Auster. I re-read Oracle Night recently, whetting my appetite for his uniquely dispassionate oddness.

So far, it's a hall of mirrors, more so still than what I remember of his other works. There's an eerie sense of familiarity to it. Repeated names, ideas, and concepts from his other books given the impression of déjà vu. It is unusualness that reigns, in tone, in subject, in style.

Twenty pages in, I found a bookmark. It was mine, from when I'd started to read the book a year or so ago. Déjà vu indeed! Or rather, déjà lit.

I don't want to chit chat, I just want to read.

The only good thing about the shit conference that I attended today in Derby was that I got to read the whole of Paul Auster's Oracle Night on the journey.

Just after I took out the book from my bag, I spotted Jacqui from R___ on my train. Fuck, I don't want to chit chat, I just want to read. She didn't see me, so I exhaled in relief and turned the first page.

At Derby station, I ran into Jacqui. No avoiding her this time round. She was carrying a copy of The Lovely Bones, by Alice Sebold.
"We're about an hour early," she said. "I might get a coffee and read my book for a bit."
"That sounds lovely. I'll join you, if I may."

"Today I didn't even have to use my AK"

Durex gave me a lift to Bolton in the morning - I was off to get my stitches out. Finally! An end to all this root canal rubbish! Lucinda, as always, was brilliant. I'm hoping I don't have to go and see her again - that my teeth won't cause me any more problems - but at the same time I was a little sad at the thought of not seeing her again. So it goes, I suppose.

Back to work, and - luckily - my idiotic transgression from yesterday seems to have borne none of the foul fruit it could have. I must give the impression that I'm expecting a gun rack shipment via eBay. I'm glad it was kicked to the kerb, and that it doesn't looks like there'll be any kind of awkward meetup as a consequence of my error. Phew, what a relief! Case closed!

I bought Persepolis for Tracy at lunchtime - a birthday gift. I called her - and she was just around the corner in town. Brilliant! As I headed round to meet her, I strolled past Vicky and her David. I'd finished on the phone, but I kept it by my ear. Case closed, I'd said, so let's leave it that way. Tracy was very pleased with the book. It was lovely to see her.

I met the casual sex girl from work for Friday pint after work club - just the pair of us, as usual. After a bit of a catch up - we hadn't hung out since she and I had a bit of a to-do about her wanting to date me - her ex showed up. The poor lad is taking their recent break-up pretty badly, and now he's been made redundant. He was only dumped by her a couple of months ago. We left the Lass to hide out from him in Odder. Halfway down our next pint, he showed up there too. Oh dear! So we turned around and scooted into the Thirsty Scholar. He didn't find us. I enjoyed re-acquainting myself with her on entirely non-romantic, non-sexual terms. Win!

On the bus home, I leafed through the new Economist, a Friday pleasure like no other. China's trade in South America, US air-bases in Columbia - all pretty standard (interesting, but dense) Economist fare. The obituary was for Benson, a carp, and was exquisitely written.

PETERBOROUGH, in the English Midlands, is a red-brick town, best known as the midway point on the line between King’s Cross and York. But from the bottom of Kingfisher Lake, just outside it, urban toil seems far away. There, all is most delightful silt and slime. A push of your probing nose sends up puffs and clouds of fine mud through the water. A riff of bubbles rises, silvery, towards the surface. The green reeds quiver, and sunlight ripples down almost to the depths where you are lurking, plump and still.

Nothing I read about Michael Jackson was as eloquent. What a fish, and - oh my! - what a newspaper!

When I got home, Kate was watching TV, but with no real purpose. QI wasn't on, nor was Jonathan Ross. I flicked a bit, and found something about allotments. "Oh wow," said Kate as she came back into the room, "this was the film that I worked on!" It was called Grow Your Own, and I thought it was pretty good. Kate was full of little nuggets about what she'd done during individual scenes. It was like having a director's commentary, only with the costume department. I only wish I'd seen it all.

All in all, I have to say, today was a good day.

I'm a walkin' in the rain....

Matt and Chaw were out, and Kate was working, so I spent most of the day to myself. I read the end of Pollen by Jeff Noon, which dragged rather towards the end (weird, in that I really struggled to put it down when I first started to read it - like an amazing first date then a terrible second one), and got through the rest of the Economist from the day before.

For want of a little entertainment, I threw some borrowed tools in a bag and strolled down to Clare's to give them back to her. She was watching the Wire with Tom, and we had a cup of tea or two and chat. Ollie came round too. It was Bettsy's stag do last night. I wasn't invited, for obvious reasons. So it goes. I walked home in the rain.

Only one more day of antibiotics to go. God I miss booze!

Three or four dots

Lucinda has three or four dots that are slightly darker in the green part of her right eye, to the right of the pupil. This much I know because today I had the third part of my root canal procedure. This much I know because I was tilted back further than I had been before, and couldn't watch the clouds through the skylight window, so I concentrated on her eye instead. It's a tiny detail about her, but I like tiny details.

The procedure was really cool - it involved a blowtorch! I could taste the smoke in my mouth as Lu applied a hot tool to the deep part of the filling. I didn't feel a thing. She re-built my tooth, polished and cleaned it. It looks great, I'm really happy with it.

Part way through, Lu said that Pervy had told her that I'd said on this blog post that the last treatment was really painful. We laughed. Well, I tried to - it isn't easy with a mouth full of cotton wool, articulating paper, "suction please" and someone else's fingers.

Afterwards, I gave Persepolis to Lucinda. I hope she enjoys it as much as I did.

Pea and mint risotto, raspberry meringue, sauvignon blanc

Pippa came round for tea, my second guest (after Dr Jim), and just as welcome. Pea and mint risotto is easy to cook, and less wanky than it sounds. We talked about the ongoing dental work, about last week’s news, about the move, about her arrogant housemate and her planned move to M21. Our grand old chat ended, as always, with me thinking that too long passes between our meetings.

I’d finished Maus, and Pip had finished Perseopolis, so we swapped them. As Pippa’s taxi pulled away, I was already turning pages with a smile.

Kate came home unexpectedly early, which was a nice surprise. I was a bit pissed, but didn’t say anything too stupid, I hope. Matt and Chaw soon arrived too. Chaw said that her friend Kate, who she’s trying to matchmake me with, was coming out to the dogs for Dunk’s birthday. The love-plot thickens, eh?

The Thief's Journal

I rode the pilot’s seat (at the very front on the top deck) of the 15 bus to work today. It’s my new route in, and at the time of day that I caught it, the bus seems to head directly into the rising sun. I’ve started to read the Thief’s Journal by Jean Genet, a filthy little horror of a book. I like it.

Kate was working, and Matt and Chaw were out, so I had the whole house to myself. I made mushrooms, tomatoes, and pasta as I listened to some of Kate’s records and then mooched about in my cargo pants. Spotify. Facebook. A bit of studying. And slowly starting to feel less like a visitor and more like a resident. Slowly…

Aunt Julia and the Scriptwriter

The book I'm reading, Aunt Julia and the Scriptwriter, is brilliant. It's tender, gripping, and most of all funny. I've never read anything by a Peruvian before. I'm sure I will again.

Course materials

My course materials arrived today. God they're heavy! If I carry these around for eleven weeks, I'm going to end up looking like Arnie. I can't wait to get started on the work.

The Revelations of Dr Modesto

“I only buy a book for the way it looks, then I put it on the shelf again.”

The Revelations of Dr Modesto is such an obscure book that it doesn’t even have its own page on Wikipedia. Its author doesn’t have a page either. A shame, as the book is an absolute gem. It’s about the success that comes from conformity, emancipation by becoming the epitome of average. Like Candide, the book explores its central idea through an exaggerated story. We see the value (or emptiness) of the corporate lifestyle in all its glory (or shame). Sublimely surreal throughout. Delicious.



I picked it up in Oxfam Books at the weekend because I liked its cover. The man it shows wears a suit, a tie, and a fedora. His face is painted like an unhappy clown. Like china, his face cracks, and behind the cracks are the mean-spirited faces of tiny suited men. His eyes are bloodshot. It’s like a portrait of the book.

“Who watches the Watchmen?”

Pip seemed quite pleased with her birthday present. We met for lunch at the Pop Café and caught up. Had I really not seen her since the cellar bar opening? I was a right misery then, perhaps that’s why. Moving house has dominated my time for the last five or six weeks, but I didn’t realise it had been that long. We talked about New Year, about Paul, about the new house.

I zipped around the shops after work, trying to find presents for everybody left on my list – Owen is proving very difficult to choose for. The old reliable favourite, Waterstone’s covered Mum and Lewis, and as their books were both on 3 for 2, I picked up something that I’ve been looking to get my hands on for a long time: Alan Moore’s Watchmen.

Wow! What a work of genius! What a great story! What a rich sub-plot! Such great characters! A wonderful alternate reality! I read the whole book through, front to back, all twelve issues, without stopping for anything more substantial than a piss or a cigarette. Amazing! Rorschach especially captured my heart, with his stubborn refusal to accept morals other than his own… but let’s not spoil anything for the poor souls who’ve yet to read this wonderful, wonderful book.