Vanity Fair Funk

So, I'm reading my October issue of Vanity Fair - and I'm excited about it for a couple of reasons. 1) Nicole Kidman is on the cover (although she's flashing her brassiere in a dubious cover shot). I've been a fan on Ms. Kidman for some time, although lately her film choices have really tried my patience. Perhaps she'll recover for the adaptation of The Golden Compass coming out this fall.
2) There is an excerpt from David Halberstam's book on MacArthur's Korean War strategy, The Coldest Winter. This turned out to be Halberstam's last book - he died tragically in a car accident in April. More on that in a post to come, but back to Nicole.

The claim is that Ms. Kidman bares all in the interview- and I'm sorry to report that she does not (it's not available online). I got the distinct impression that she didn't want to "bare all". Not that I blame her; who among us would relish such an opportunity? Nevertheless, here she is, and here we are reading the article. The interview dwelt on her life post-Cruise, aspects of which she didn't want to discuss. So absent of juicy gossip, why not talk about her career, her acting, her process - she's an Oscar winning actress, for God's sake. Frankly, I was bored - and I didn't expect to be. And the spread was dull, too - Nicole in a swimsuit, Nicole on a boat, Nicole looking intensely into the camera, quelle snore. Where's the style and panache? It was very meh.

All A Girl Could Ask For

I must say that I had a little thrill when I read that Harlequin Enterprises (the romance publisher) will be making all new titles available online for downloading. Some of you may not be aware of the fact that Harelquin Enterprises is a Canadian company. So that thrill was national pride, not anything else. The worthy classic to the left notwithstanding. Source

Another Item on the Wish List

I'm so looking forward to this edition - Edith Wharton is a master and one of my very favourite authors. October 9th is the day.

Without Remembrance of Things Past

I've finally been able to dig into to The New Yorker - My God, that magazine piles up week after week and before you know it, you've got a mountain of them sitting next to the sofa. Well, I'm reading this week's issue and I come across the most fascinating article by Oliver Sacks about a gentleman, Clive Wearing, who suffers from the worst case of amnesia ever recorded. His amnesia is so profound that he has no short term or long term memory; he is plagued by moments where he is thinks he is experiencing everything for the first time. He describes it as being dead and waking up. He keeps piles of journals that are filled with these same lapses and contradictions.

Clive was struck by an brain illness that wiped out critical structures in the brain that retain episodic memory. However, he still has what is called procedural memory; he is a musician and musicologist and is able to play songs he says he has never learned before. He also is still very much in love with his wife, although he can't describe her appearance if she is not in front of him and has no recollection of their years together. It's as if the impression of their relationship has been imprinted on some other part of his brain - he instinctively knows her.

I spent much of the article feeling a deep sadness for Clive and his wife - it struck me as an awful disability since he has been twice robbed - not only of his past (as he knew it), but also of the ability to create a new past. Every day is terribly new. And yet, Clive carries on and finds moments of happiness.

Early Halloween Reading

I've been re-reading some Edgar Allan Poe tales lately, and I've been struck (all over again) by his mastery of suspense. Admittedly, what was considered scary in the nineteenth century must be quite tame by our standards, but one still gets quite a thrill from reading The Masque of the Red Death, The Pit and the Pendulum and my personal favourite, The Cask of Amontillado. I suppose that Poe knew better than most that man's potential for cruelty is boundless. And he was not afraid of plumbing those depths in his work.
But back to that suspense. The tale The Cask of Amontillado is particularly skillful on that score. Although you as the reader knows what must happen - he tells us in that fabulous first line "The thousand injuries of Fortunato I had borne as best I could, but when he ventured upon insult I vowed revenge." - Poe draws you inexorably on, putting little crumbs in your way until suddenly, you've bought it all- hook line and sinker. It really is a rather outrageous tale. But it is a masterful display. My collection is hardly exhaustive (the Penguin Classics edition The Fall of the House of Usher and Other Writings), but you can get free texts on the Free Library. Just click here.

The Higher, The Fewer

Welcome one and all! This is the first of many postings for this my maiden blog. For some late Saturday night reading, take a look at this story in the Friday Times. I've got a fascination with lady body builders - they absolutely transfix me for a multitude of reasons which I'll not go into yet, and Eva Birath fit the bill. Vive la Femme!