Thursday, January 15, 2015

Recent Readings

An English teacher friend of mine recommended that I read "The Storied Life of A.J. Fikry" by Gabrielle Zevin. She said it was "closer to fluff than true literature"(whatever that means) but she "loved it nonetheless." (I rarely use words like "nonetheless" and wondered why it was all one big word rather than three little words).  I said I would give it a go right after I finished "The Ship of Brides" by Jojo Moyes, which she also recommended. I finished "The Ship of Brides" pretty quickly and enjoyed it. It was rather simple, but I liked the different character's stories, and I loved the ending. It was about Australian war brides being shipped to the UK after WWII.  Before I could read the next book she recommended I had to read "A Year in Provence" by Peter Mayle, which I had given to Toby for Christmas. You see, he loves the movie "A Good Year" based on another Peter Mayle book. He loves the movie because of its setting in Provence, France. He loves the story of wine and accountants and leaving the hectic corporate world for life as a grape grower. So, I bought him another story of Provence. He loved the book and wanted me to read it too. I did. It was fun. I don't want to live in France. Now Italy...

Now I finished my friend's recommendation "The Storied Life of A.J. Fikry." I loved the story, the characters, and the writing. What my friend did not mention was the ending. It made me cry. Dang it. Being a menopausal crazy lady, I'm not sure I needed my emotions messed with in this way. Not only did it make me cry, it made me miss my father. In some ways, it makes me miss my mother.

I miss my father because we liked to discuss things -  like books we read or summers we spent or just life we lived. If Dad had been big on movies, we might have discussed them, but he rarely sat through a movie. He did take me to see "The Man Who Would Be King" although he had to get up and walk around. He may have gone outside to smoke a cigarette - who knows what he did while I watched the movie. He loved Rudyard Kipling, but he could not sit still. Anyway, we had lots of discussions - sometimes while he drank coffee and smoked a cigarette and rested in the shade.  Dad would take me with him on Saturday mornings to the junk stores in the older parts of WF. He would tell me stories of when he was a young boy and lived in that area - how he rode his bike down this hill, where his friends lived, how he made deliveries here for his uncle who had a business there. We talked lots while we did construction work, and we did lots of building. He was quite proud of my carpentry ability.  Once while we worked, he told me that all three of the contestants on Jeopardy had missed a question on the book of poems, "The Marriage of Heaven and Hell." I said, "William Blake." He was surprised that I knew the answer, but he loved it too. His reading poetry to us kids when we were young had paid off. We discussed lots of things, but never politics. We came close once when he had a chance to visit the White House during the Clinton administration. Dad was a yellow dog Democrat, but I was having a hard time talking him into going to see the White House and meeting the President. He finally said, "Well I voted for him, but I don't like him much." End of discussion.

The last four years of Dad's life, the radiation treatments had destroyed what little hearing he had - making conversation difficult if not impossible. Dad could not hear me well, but that did not stop him from talking to me - telling me stories of his life - things he thought were important - meaningful to him. I enjoyed his stories, but I missed being able to respond - conversations were one-sided. I still miss those discussions. "The Storied Life of A.J. Fikry" reminded me of that. Maybe the father/daughter relationship in the story was not meant to be sad, but that is how it was for me.

9 comments:

John said...

I too, miss you Dad.

Ex Bootneck said...

It is often said "Coincidence is natures way of being anonymous!"

My book purchases tend to be from a family owned book shop in a nearby market town; rather than source the same from 'Amazon.' Like so many other like minded people we often pay through the nose by doing so, but at least it keeps the old shop ticking over. Having visited the same bookshop today I found myself overheating after 20 minutes (multi-layered winter clothes tend to do that in a heated book shop!) Fortunately I managed to make my purchase before collapsing in a snotty heap. Taking advantage of a long wooden bench on the high street I sat in the biting cold, and literally chilled out…

Having watched the world go by for five minutes I looked up and noticed a middle aged man across the road looking back at me - he was the double of my Dad, which in fact was my reflection in the butchers shop plate glass window. I stared back for an age and truly enjoyed so many memories that flooded back.

I too was brought up on the writings of Rudyard Kipling, as well as the wit, wisdom, and 'one line philosophies' generated by 'big Joss' (Dad.) One of his favourite films was 'The Man Who Would Be King.' As a young lad he would pay me a shilling for every book I read, which he heartily tested me over before parting with the coin.

As I sat and looked at my reflection I realised how much I've missed him, which is the first time I've thought that way since he clocked out 16-years ago.

The book I purchased to day was 'The Nations Favourite Poems' by Griff Rhys Jones. "In a nationwide poll to discover Britain's favourite poem, Rudyard Kipling's 'If...' was voted number one." Which incidentally was my Dad's favourite poem...

Yours Aye.

Okie Dokie said...

My reading is pretty lame these days. Regarding France, I am addicted to traveling all over the world using Google Street View. I think maybe France and Italy are working together to become the ugliest places on Earth. Graffiti is now a part of their culture, and gives those places an ambiance of extreme poverty. I have a cousin in Lorraine, and her neighborhood looks like sh.., well..., bad.

I've written a few short stories that I can't quite get the dialog right. Then I started reading movie scripts, and it dawned on me, that my short stories might actually be easier to finish as a script.

Anyway, I never saw the movie, but I read "Slingblade" and it is the type of story I like. That is, a gory ending, but not gratuitous. The gory ending has to answer a moral question. In this case, the evil man is dispatched, so that the woman and her young son can be free of him, and the protagonist can get back to the nuthouse, where life is much simpler for him.

http://goo.gl/cpNPxs

P.S. I promise that link is not spam, just a PDF :-)

My first short story in this genre that I really liked was by Flannery O'Connor. She was a classic at violent endings:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/A_Good_Man_Is_Hard_to_Find

All ancient stories by now, but that was where my brain was stimulated, and is not fed much by current writers, who seem to think that more pages are better. I guess I'm a short story kind of person...

Bag Blog said...

EB, I don't look like my mom; I look like my dad. It is odd to see his eyes in the mirror. But my hands are my grandmother's. It so strange to see her stout German hands growing older on my arms.

"The Storied Life of AJ Fikry" is about a man who owns a small bookstore on an island the East Coast.

Bag Blog said...

Okie, I will take a look at the links in a little while -not much time at the moment. I like Flannery O'Conner. "A Good Man Is Hard to Find is mentioned several times in the AJ Fikry book I just finished. I'm not sure gory is my thang.

Bag Blog said...

Thanks, John. It is nice when others remember Dad, too.

Jo Castillo said...

I used to read a lot but haven't been doing so for some time. You got me thinking about my dad and that is good. I look more like my mom. I have my dad's quick temper sometimes, though. It is strange to look in the mirror and see my mom, hands, too. Joanna is going to be the same.

Bag Blog said...

Jo, Reading is another reason not to do art. Don't start reading.

Jo Castillo said...

Ha! Maybe that is why I do art. Oops, don't do much art. Play games and do crosswords, now. Sigh......