the further you run from your sins...

Repeating Tradgedies: Lessons for a Modern America...

2007-09-11T12:44:54Z

Why I Am Opposed to the Iraq Vietnam War, Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr.
Excerpts of a Sermon at the Ebenezer Baptist Church on April 30, 1967.

"Let me say finally that I oppose the war in Vietnam because I love America...I speak out against this war because I am disappointed with America...We are presently moving down a dead-end road that can lead to national disaster."

"Now they languish under our bombs and consider us, not their fellow Vietnamese, the real enemy...They must weep as the bulldozers roar through their areas preparing to destroy the precious trees. They wander into the towns and see thousands of thousands of the children, homeless, without clothes, running in packs on the streets like animals. They see the children degraded by our soldiers as they beg for food."

"The Western arrogance of feeling that it has everything to teach others and nothing to learn from them is not just."

Now, remove 'Vietnam/Vietnamese', insert 'Iraq/Iraqi'. Chilling, isn't it? I'm doing research for a paper on Dr. King's opposition to the Vietnam War, and this particular speech struck me as so relevant to the Iraq War. I mean, stunningly relevant. How sad is it that the evils Dr. King preached so beautifully about always seem to come back, again and again?

Romance Review: Flowers from the Storm, Laura Kinsale

2007-08-17T03:50:20Z

Flowers from the Storm, Laura Kinsale
Purchase? Here!

Book Blurb: The Duke of Jervaulx was brilliant and dangerous. Considered dissolute, reckless, and extravagant, he was transparently referred to as the 'D of J' in scandal sheets, where he and his various exploits featured with frequency. But sometimes the most womanising rake can be irresistible, and even his most casual attentions fascinated the sheltered Maddy Timms, quiet daughter of a simple mathematician.

Thoughts: First, I have to say, this book was recc'd to me by the great & wonderful

girl_of_fortune in a recent community request for some steamy, historical recs. Thanks, dearest! But wait - should I be thanking her? Perhaps I should be cursing her instead! *dun dun DUN* Also, let me make a brief warning, here & now, that there will be some slight spoilers, in so far as review must give up some details, but I will try my hardest not to reveal anything that you couldn't guess at from the back blurb. Trust. Hold me to it, girls!

Now, for the real stuff. Okay. FftS has an amazing reputation; it has been touted far and wide as being: "One of the world's most cherished love stories!" And I believe it was even voted one of the Greatest Romances of All Time in some lady magazine poll. That's quite a rep for a book to aspire. Honestly, after having read the book, I don't think it quite lived up to the vanguard of hype (for reasons I will explain below), but I will say that this book is possibly the most stunningly original romance that I have seen in a long time. The characters also have more depth than a child's wading pool (a plus!) and the romance is... very thought-provoking, we'll say, among other things.

To begin: The Duke of Jervaulx (pronounced: Shervoh), a.k.a. Christian, is a wicked, dissolute man, pretty much cast in the mode of your average asshole, aristocrat hero. He smokes, he drinks, he gambles; he knocks up women and basically tells them, "peace out, girl!" before they start showing their pregnancy. Yes, he is basically the hallmark of a genuinely awful man; you probably saw him in the person of your too-cool-for-school high school quarterback as a teen or that lazy, yet surprisingly attractive frat boy that sat behind you in college English 101 and made wicked fun of you every time you opened your mouth. Except, unlike either of those personas, Christian is brilliant at mathematics. So brilliant in fact, that he is set to present this absolutely revolutionary mathematical paper at the Analytical Society (read: a bunch of English math geeks).

This is, naturally, where he meets our heroine. Possessed of an incredibly awkward name and nature, Archimedea Timms (known alias: Maddy) is a Quaker. Her father is one too, and he belongs to the same Society as the Duke. Of course, Maddy is no good at math but simply accompanies her blind Dad to his meetings. Her initial attitude towards the Duke, as one might expect from an uptight, religious spinster, is thinly-disguised revulsion and antipathy - he is worldly and corrupt, a dancer and a gambler as he is! But secretly, she is charmed by his less-than-Christ-like ways that one time she meets him when he presents his paper to the Society.

Then he dies.

Or so everyone thinks! Months pass; Maddy is slightly saddened that the one man who has ever tried to flirt with her got himself shot in a duel over another man's wife, but life is moving in an onward direction for her. Maddy decides to volunteer in her cousin's mental hospital (guessing the patients' real mental illnesses is an interesting dimension to the book), and LO! She discovers that Christian is ALIVE, and he didn't die in his duel, but merely had a stroke. On the bad side, the stroke pretty much screwed up all of his language and comprehension skills. With limited comprehension and disjointed speech, Christian appears to have gone stark, raving crazy from all of his former wild, sexy abandon. Maddy believes it is the will of God that she care for him, and thus the story truly begins.

The interesting thing about Christian is, when the story is in his POV, Kinsale shows us the world through his eyes: in all of its garbled, mashed up glory. There are times towards the beginning when I, literally, had to make some educated guesses as to what the hell was going on in his mind. It can be...frustrating. However, I'm told this all very realistic when it comes to recovering stroke victims; so, I really have to give Kinsale credit for how she depicted Christian's behavior. It may be frustrating, but it is written quite beautifully. The simple fact is, any writer who can take a hero, make him incredibly unsexy for about 50% of the book and still make me want to see him romantically happy at the end, is one possessed of a fine set of writing skillz.

In fact, the whole book is written well. Even while I thought the book could use some judicious editing, you cannot fault Kinsale for her writing. The characters are depicted consistently, as fleshed out human beings (with all the good and bad that comes with that), and the material of the book is often heart-wrenching.

Now, the bad. It may be summed up in one word: Maddy. There were times, quite simply, throughout my reading, where I wanted to rip my own hair out, she was so ANNOYING. There were times I felt bad for her and thought she was adorable, too, but those times were ever so far and few in between. In short, Maddy could be an irritating, judgemental psychopath of epic proportions; I kid thee not! I mean, she spends a good portion of the book making prudish, moral judgements on a confused, disoriented stroke victim! And this is from a woman who believes that God has sent her on a special mission to help this man; and, let me tell you, if this book is some kind of example of her "help"... then you should run like the dickens any time Archimedea Timms tries to "help" you. It is a miracle that Christian didn't end up dead in a London gutter; he easily could have, you know!

This was one of the reasons that I wasn't totally sold on the Maddy/Christian romance. It was very interesting sure, but a lot of what he feels for her seems to be simply: thank god someone saved me! And, as for Maddy, he was thrust upon her hands and God wants her to look after him and all... I guess I just felt Christian deserved better. Perhaps he could've found a woman who wasn't bitterly, eagerly picking apart his faults at every possible turn; I mean, seriously, who wants to be stuck with that for the rest of their lives? However, she does unbend a little towards the last page of the book, but by then... It is too little, too late, let me assure you.

SO. Best romance ever? Maybe not, but apart from the Maddy factor, I quite enjoyed the book. Laura Kinsale is a lovely writer and I have to give her credit for writing such a completely original novel. I really do recommend this one, if only for the chance to read a romance novel that is well off the beaten path.

A verdict... 4 out of 5.

Summer '07 Book Reviews

2007-08-13T01:29:11Z

Some drive-by reviews of the books I've been reading lately. Reviews are short, sometimes (but not very often) sweet and totally off-the-cuff, unedited ramblings!

Desperate Duchesses, Eloisa James

Quickie: A marquess's sheltered only daughter, Lady Roberta St. Giles falls in love with a man she glimpses across a crowded ballroom: a duke, a game player of consummate skill, a notorious rakehell who shows no interest in marriage—until he lays eyes on Roberta. Yet the Earl of Gryffyn knows too well that the price required to gain a coronet is often too high. Damon Reeve, the earl, is determined to protect the exquisite Roberta from chasing after the wrong destiny.

Thoughts: There's really only two words to describe the newest offering from James, and those words are the dreaded: sequel bait. Yes, I said it -- this book is one long, bloated advertisement for the remaining books in the Desperate Duchesses series. It's so bad, in fact, that the secondary characters (in whose nature, I believe, it is to be secondary) are really the main focus of the book; the hero & heroine are pushed to the side and become empty vessels with stilted dialogue and tepid romantic encounters. The secondary characters aren't much better; if you've ever read another James novel, then you will recognize these characters -- they are poorly disguised variations of heroes & heroines from her previous novels.

A verdict... 2 out of 5. Read only if you are a true masochist; this book annoys far more than it delights.

The Decline & Fall of the Roman Empire, Edward Gibbon

Quickie: British parliamentarian and soldier Edward Gibbon (1737-1794) conceived of his plan for Decline and Fall while "musing amid the ruins of the Capitol" on a visit to Rome. For the next 10 years he worked away at his great history, which traces the decadence of the late empire from the time of the Antonines and the rise of Western Christianity.

Thoughts: Venerated as a classic of history, this book is quite remarkable. Gibbon's history is as exacting as the man himself and he spares no detail in his exhaustive treatsie as to how & why the Roman Empire met its untimely demise. There is a wealth of information; so much so, in fact, that it is hard to absorb in just one reading. This is a book that needs to be read and re-read for a complete understanding. However, the book is not without some modest flaws: for example, Gibbon is no stranger to overly purple prose or sentences that extend the length of a paragraph, or more. Still, if you've ever wanted to understand why the Roman Empire fell (and I mean really, REALLY understand; this book is massive & is no casual read), then this is perfect starting place for you.

A verdict... If I gave this any less than a 5, the history gods would string me up by my toes and visually torture me with repeated viewings of Showtime's The Tudors.

A Brave New World, Aldous Huxley

Quickie: "Community, Identity, Stability" is the motto of Aldous Huxley's utopian World State. Here everyone consumes daily grams of soma, to fight depression, babies are born in laboratories, and the most popular form of entertainment is a "Feelie," a movie that stimulates the senses of sight, hearing, and touch. Though there is no violence and everyone is provided for, Bernard Marx feels something is missing and senses his relationship with a young women has the potential to be much more than the confines of their existence allow.

Thoughts: Aldous Huxley's A Brave New World, harbinger of things to come? Even a casual read of this book will reveal that Huxley predicted many of the technological & social inventions of today: cell phones, viagra, virtual reality, the increasingly self-absorbed nature of society, etc. Actually, this is a more chilling read than Orwell's 1984, simply because Huxley envisions a world where people are trapped by the things that they love, not the things that they fear. Which, if you've ever read any quote about love being 'a trap', then you'll know that Huxley may be onto something. However, it doesn't pack the same emotional punch as 1984; which is a shame, because the message of A Brave New World is actually quite terrifying.

A verdict... 4 out 5. A compelling and frightening look at what we may be becoming. Also, as a bit of trivia, Huxley wrote the script for one of my favorite, ever stories: the 1944 movie, Jane Eyre with Orson Welles and Joan Fontaine.

Eclipse, Stephenie Meyer

Quickie: As Seattle is ravaged by a string of mysterious killings and a malicious vampire continues her quest for revenge, Bella once again finds herself surrounded by danger. In the midst of it all, she is forced to choose between her love for Edward and her friendship with Jacob --- knowing that her decision has the potential to ignite the ageless struggle between vampire and werewolf. With her graduation quickly approaching, Bella has one more decision to make: life or death. But which is which?

Thoughts: Ugh. Another filler/sequel bait book. What is it with summer and sugary-sweet, not much there books? I guess it is the beach-read season, but not all beach books are superficial & awful. Maybe summer 2007 is a just a bad season for romance? Or maybe I'm a surly curmudgeon. Anyway, I have faithfully followed this series since the first book, Twilight, and have been utterly charmed by it -- until now. This third book in the vampire/teen/romance saga is a sad attempt to push up the series book count, and that it all I have to say about that. The heroine made me want to gouge my eyes out and the characterization was so all over the place, I wondered if I had some how gotten a knock-off copy of this book.

A verdict... 2 out of 5. I'm going to willfully block this book out of my mind. It's a shame, but there's nothing worse than painfully obvious plot contrivances and once beloved characters acting out of character.

Knight Errant, R. Garcia y Robertson

Quickie: Robyn Stafford, a thoroughly modern heroine, finds herself transported to 15th-century England in this novel of time travel, romance, witchcraft, and political intrigue, set in one of England's most turbulent historical periods. Robyn's search for a way back to her own time is complicated by her growing love for Edward Mortimer, Earl of March, a key figure in an escalating struggle for the English throne. As Robyn is drawn into the conflict, it becomes clear that she has her part to play in events--and she plays it with courage, dash, and intelligence.

Thoughts: Well, the blurb on this book calls the heroine 'intelligent'. I call her, truly, too much a moron to live. God, I am being difficult to please this summer, aren't I? Well, I'll say no more about this except to say that if you like level-headed, smart, interesting heroines, than STAY AWAY from this book. Your sanity could be the forfeit. God, I mean, the heroine tries to explain what spandex shorts and digital watches are to medieval peasants, than is dumbfounded (!) when they throw her in prison for being a witch. And, that is only the beginning, let me assure you.

A verdict... 1.5 out of 5. Oh, yes, it is that bad. Just trust me!

If Only in My Dreams, Wendy Markham

Quickie: Clara McCallum finally gets her big break as an actress when she's cast as the romantic lead in a World War II-era epic, but the good news is accompanied by a frightening diagnosis of breast cancer. Though her doctor tells her it's treatable, Clara can't bring herself to tell those close to her and instead opts to go forth with filming. Her decision has unforeseen consequences when she boards a train for the set and ends up in New York in 1941 and meets the real-life Jed Landry, the soldier her character falls in love with in the movie. When Clara finds herself falling for Jed in the past, she's torn between saving his life and returning to the future to undergo treatments to save her own.

Thoughts: If this book took the form of something else, it would be a puppy - a sad-eyed, snuggly, fat puppy that I would cuddle with while I slept at night and it would lick my face & be cute & such. Is that too weird to say? Probably, but this book is adorable! For real! I wasn't expecting much - I thought the back blurb had huge potential for cheese, but this ended up being one of my favorite books of the summer. Unexpectedly sweet and touching, this book reminds me of a line I heard in a movie, once: '...great things can happen to you, even this late in game.' Oh, god, I heart this book! The romance was lovely and the characters were beautifully drawn - this book is a rare, true treat!

A verdict... 5 out of 5. Without a doubt!

The Innocent, Posie Graeme-Evans

Quickie: The year is 1450, a dangerous time in medieval Britain. Civil unrest is at its peak and the legitimacy of the royal family is suspect. Meanwhile, deep in the forests of western England, a baby is born. Powerful forces plot to kill both mother and child, but somehow the newborn girl survives. Her name is Anne.Fifteen years later, England emerges into a fragile but hopeful new age, with the charismatic young King Edward IV on the throne. Anne, now a young peasant girl, joins the household of a wealthy London merchant. Her unusual beauty provokes jealousy, lust, and intrigue, but Anne has a special quality that saves her: a vast knowledge of healing herbs. News of her extraordinary gift spreads, and she is called upon to save the ailing queen. Soon after, Anne is moved into the palace, where she finds her destiny with the man who will become the greatest love of her life -- the king himself.

Thoughts: You know, I didn't hate this book. As a history major, I probably should have - it's about as 'accurate' as the 'delightful' Tudors on Showtime, which is to say: a hideous mockage of actual events. As least, though, Evans doesn't try to pull that '85% accurate' shit out of the woodwork with The Innocent! It's pure fantasy, and it's never presented as anything but. So, I can't be too harsh with it. Neither shall I be; though the heroine is a Mary Sue of epic proportions, I actually kind of enjoyed this. Not much, I'll tell you, but enough to finish it to the bitter, bitter end. Although the writing is definitely wanting, Evans has interesting ideas for her characters which helped me hang on, and were, actually, quite compelling. I'd liken it to an artist whose idea for a painting is simply stunning: but the drawing skill isn't up to the task of showing it in its full glory. Still, this is a moderately pleasant book to spend a rainy Sunday afternoon with - and many books have a lot less than that.

A verdict... 3 out of 5. Middle of the road, but in the hands of a more able writer, this book would have been a knock-out.

Vivien: The Life of Vivien Leigh, Alexander Walker

Quickie: Leigh, the actress who embodied roles she made famous Scarlett O'Hara in Gone with the Wind, Blanche DuBois in A Streetcar Named Desireis presented from many perspectives in this rendering by London film critic Walker. With access to unpublished materials and conversations with family members and professional colleagues, he arranges a composite of a willful, talented and, finally, self-destructive woman.

Thoughts: Though you knew her from Gone With the Wind, you probably didn't know what a psychological mess Vivien Leigh was, on the inside. Apparently a film critic, Alexander Walker, helps to shed light on the 'real' Vivien Leigh. This book...is pretty depressing. It is, in disturbing detail, a brightly colored road map to the violent destruction of a woman's life. It's pretty uncomfortable to read and made all the more so because Leigh started out with such promise: beauty, intelligence, vivacity and talent. Walker, to his credit, doesn't shy away from the uglier aspects of Vivien Leigh's life (and mental illness), but still manages to render a sympathetic portrait of his subject. A very interesting read; if nothing else, Vivien Leigh had fascinating life.

A verdict... 4.5 out of 5.

AND... August's To-Be-Read Extravaganza:
(and in no particular order!)

The Life of Charlotte Brontë, Elizabeth Gaskell
For My Lady's Heart, Laura Kinsale
Gods and Myths of the Viking Age, H.R. Ellis Davidson
Deerskin, Robin McKinley
Marriage and the Family in the Middle Ages, Frances & Joesph Gies
Flowers from the Storm, Laura Kinsale
Beyond Innocence, Emma Holly
To Have and To Hold, Patricia Gaffney
Medieval Costuming in England and France, Mary G. Houston
Wings of a Dove, Henry James
Avalon High, Meg Cabot

This Violent Heart Beats For You: a jane eyre mix

2007-08-11T20:06:01Z

Moved here. :) Updated and restored links 02-02-08.

The Girl from Bucharest

2007-08-09T13:24:50Z

The Girl from Bucharest

Rating: R (semi-graphic sex & language)

Description: A young man has an unexpected encounter with a Romanian prostitute.
Note: Written in 20 minutes; prompted by the lyrics to an Imogene Heap song. This story is a little darker than what I usually write, but I still feel as if something is missing. I don't know what yet.

She danced for him in the twilight hour of hopelessness, in the red light district of Bucharest. For a moment (her chain mail dress scraping against her thighs, drawing blood), she reminded him of someone else. Another woman, perhaps? Some other whore he’d been with in Boston or New York or elsewhere? He watched her with heavy-lidded eyes, heavy from drink and other things, and couldn’t place a woman in his life that was like the one dancing before him – a young woman, a girl really, whose life was an endless parade of ugly sexual encounters and whose eyes were as lifeless as the concrete floor she danced on.

“I dance you,” she’d told him when he’d first entered the club. Drunk, barely out of his teenage years, out of luck, but never out of cash, he’d agreed. She’d looked good to go: the body of a Romanian supermodel, a pretty face slathered with all manner of cosmetics, and a dress designed to make a man want to fuck and fuck, and never worry about the consequences.

Her English was shit, but he didn’t care.

Her eyes were dead, but he didn’t care.

“I dance. Like you?” She spoke while she undulated to the techno music, but the words were mechanical. She had said this often, and he could tell. He wondered, then, how many times a night she had to do this, how many men she had to ask if they liked the way her body moved to awful Eurodance music.

“I like,” he said. He gave her a twenty. It was American dollars, and she took it from him, sliding the bill into her cleavage. Her breasts were small, natural and for some reason that made him unbearably sad. Most of the women here had high, round breasts the approximate size of Russia, obvious strippers with no pretenses, but his young dancer didn’t. There were track marks on her arm too, and an old, purple scar that trailed jaggedly under her collarbone.

“I make heppy?”

Happy, he wanted to say. You make me happy. But her voice was small and vulnerable. It was pretty, too, like the churchbells that woke him up every day at dawn here, but it reminded him too of broken, wild things and he couldn’t say why.

“Deal tonight. I dance.” She got on her knees. “And you heppy.”

He stared at her for a moment, and she stared back. He tried to tell himself it was just a business transaction, that he was going to pay and she could go and buy all the fucking heroin she needed for ever and ever. He said this to himself until he thought he was going to vomit from self-loathing, while she looked on, eyes glassy and tired.

“Yes.” He sighed, and undid his zipper.

You are shit, he told himself, as she put her mouth on his dick. Fucking shit.

But she had a skillful, cunning, little mouth – an angel’s mouth, a sad girl’s mouth, the mouth of a girl who had lost the game of life and knew it. The spoiled girl-women at his mother’s country club had nothing on her, not in their bodies or clothes or mouths or the way they could make him feel.

As dusk turned to night, he took from her a pleasure that he was sure no one had ever cared enough to give to her.

He climaxed, quickly, and when he did he thought of her desperate, little face and her beautiful, little mouth. He didn’t know her name, and wondered how it would have felt to have screamed it when he came.

Weakly, the ordeal over, he gave her a thick wad of money from his pocket – a hundred? Five hundred? He couldn’t remember.

“I thank.” Her hand rested on his thigh, and she moved it when he looked at it, quickly.

“I thank.” She said it again, and he noticed this time that her eyes were green, as green as the sea glass that he used to find on the beach when he was a child.

“I—” He felt sick. He wanted to say something, even if it was just I’m sorry, but by the time his mouth had found the words, she was already moving away.

He closed his zipper and his eyes, in that order.

“I dance you?”

He heard the words over the music and recognized her voice speaking to someone else. Of course the man she was talking to would say yes, and the whole scene, sordid and revolting, would play itself out, again and again, over the course of the night.

He wanted to not care and he wanted to feel sorry; he went to the bar and took a shot of cheap vodka, the alcohol burning his throat as he watched his dancer perform the same act for another fucked up man.

Her hands were writhing above her head, her body was twisting to the beat, and when she moved for her customer, she was looking at him. From this distance, her eyes didn’t look green anymore, but were black, like empty holes in her empty face.

He took one more shot, paid his tab and then left.

As he walked out the door, he imagined her black eyes on his back, drinking in the sight of his leaving. What did she feel? Relief? Something else? Bad feelings – things he didn’t want to think about – tumbled inside his stomach as the slap of cold, outside air hit his face.

He went back the next night, but she wasn’t there. She wasn’t there the night after that or after that or after that. He stopped going after a week, but every night until he left the city, those whore’s eyes haunted his dreams, making him wake in the night sweaty and dreading, hard and helpless.

I dance you?

You are shit, he always told himself, his body trembling as he went back to sleep. Fucking, spineless shit.

And in his wine-red, hazy dreams of a girl with eyes like darkness, she danced for him and laughed and never disagreed.

***