Tea leaves

Dona Nobis Pacem

2009-11-05T00:22:00.001-05:00

second star to the right, and straight on till morning

2009-11-01T23:07:00.008-05:00

I am going to retire.

Funny. When I finished graduate school in 1980, I had already worked as a librarian trainee for a year. Then I got the first position that I interviewed for. (I lied to get it. The director needed someone for a temporary position to do reference and the library's newsletter. "Can you do camera-ready pasteup?" "Oh, sure...")

The position was supposed to expire in 30 days, but here I am, 30 years later, and I'm going to retire. I don't know when the state will decide to correlate 30 earthly years with its own unearthly and nutty calendar - maybe 3, months, or 4 - but then, I will leave, and I will not be replaced.

I will not be replaced. My kind is extinct. ("Oh, I remember when librarians did that picky stuff....." ) We catalogers were trained to be analytical and precise, maybe even picky, maybe even prissy. We used an official thesaurus from the Library of Congress, and strict rules of punctuation that separated the title from the subtitle, the author from the illustrator. We followed many rules. We had to: if we were sloppy, if the card catalog was downright wrong or even imprecise, the books would be forever lost on the shelves, lonely and unread.

Now that the online catalogs can be searched as easily as Google, catalogers are just the annoying creatures who buzz around the library sidelines, hairpins dropping from our buns while we practice that ancient Olympic sport, synchronized shhhh-ing.

I wonder who will do the simple things once we all are gone, the non-glam, prissy things like proof-reading. If you happened to look at the library catalog before I proof-read the entry for a new children's book about Disney's wide world of fairies, you, too might have believed that the doyenne of Disney's fae folk was -

***Thinkerbelle!***

Thinkerbelle! I bet she could tell some stories about ol' Peter Pan and Wendy!

To be continued --

goldengrove unleaving

2009-10-27T23:45:00.004-04:00

Spring and fall: to a young child
Gerard Manley Hopkins

Margaret, are you grieving
Over Goldengrove unleaving?
Leaves, like the things of man, you
With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?
Ah! as the heart grows older
It will come to such sights colder
By and by, nor spare a sigh
Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;
And yet you will weep and know why.
Now no matter, child, the name:
Sorrow's springs are the same.
Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed
What heart heard of, ghost guessed:
It is the blight man was born for,
It is Margaret you mourn for.

(Autumn: Mary Cassatt)

what's the buzz? or, bees in my bonnet

2009-10-26T19:30:00.009-04:00

"Buzz" has become one of the most hateful words in the English language.

About 2 weeks ago, I found a dead - insect - in my bathroom, which has no insulation, a pitiful, tiny heat grate, a veneer vanity that peels if you try to clean it, and a door that opens to the garage. The previous owners must have been - - words fail me, especially since they built it for their aged parents. (Perhaps they did not like their parents. It happens.) Only one detail distinguishes this room from an outhouse: it doesn't have a crescent moon carved in the door.

The next day, I heard buzzing. Several - insects - were flying around the skylight. Since I was not wearing my glasses, I assumed the buzzing was from bees. I panicked (even though I do have an Epi-pen on the shelf), and grabbed the first thing I could to spray at them. Unfortunately, it was a tub cleaner with bleach. The buzzing continued. The bleach fell onto some of my clothes. (In fact, about 1/3 of my work clothes now sport polka-dots. I do not like polka-dots.)

The bleach did not work. Next, I swatted at them with a towel. I missed. Good thing, too. When my DH came in to see, he informed me that the buzzers were not bees. They were yellowjackets. Ferocious, lethal yellowjackets.

We got some of the appropriate insecticide and sprayed all of the suspected portals. They kept coming. My DH began to caulk the likely portals. They kept coming. Then he broke out the duct tape. They kept coming.

I wandered outside the yard while he caulked and taped. What I saw out there was horrible, horrible: a swarm of yellowjackets, hundreds of them, flying in and out of the siding outside of where the bathroom had been ~~slapped together~~ built. It was like something out of Hitchcock - The Birds, perhaps - except with buzzing. My DH emptied a can of wasp spray under the siding.

If a wasp could twirl its moustache and sneer, these would have been twirling and sneering a loud HAH! I went to the hardware store and said, "short of a flamethrower, do you have anything for swarms of yellowjackets?" I came home. DH sprayed. HAH!

I did some research and learned that yellowjackets can build nests that can cover a football field. (Slight hyperbole. Slight.) I probably have been showering about 2 inches from an entire wall of their honeycomb-like nest. (The horror!)

The exterminator is coming tomorrow. I hope he has a flamethrower.

When I get really depresssed, a donation to Heifer International often cheers me. Usually, I buy a beehive. Somehow, yesterday, I didn't feel like buying a beehive, so I went for the trees. Yes, I do feel a little better.

little things I've been meaning to write, and Friday fill-ins

2009-10-09T15:51:00.004-04:00

Do you love fountain pens? Do your hands sometimes look as though you have soaked them in ink? Mr. Clean's Magic Eraser will make your hands look like human hands again. (I can't answer for your cuticles. Tell everyone you have invented a new style of manicure.)

Have you seen Awful Library Books? You'll laugh, you'll groan... We librarians have to weed the book collection. Weeding is a necessary evil because buildings do not stretch. Awful Library Books displays some of the truly horrible stuff still on library shelves. There must be a middle ground between "keep everything" and "go after your collection with a weed-whacker."

I am addicted to Farmville. Darn that Facebook! I tried Yoville, but didn't enjoy myself there, partly because the only way I found to earn money was to suffer in a bakery, making cookies I couldn't eat. Farmville has become my online dollhouse, with cute animals, trees, crops, and darling things you can buy to dress up the place. (I'm saving up for a pink flamingo.) At one point, I had 7 baby elephants, all gifts, thank you, but I had to sell them because they made the rest of my animals wander. I found a horse in the rice paddy, chickens hiding behind banana trees, a duck and a baby elephant staring each other down, and a swan roosting in a tree. Unacceptable.

And now - Friday fill-ins.

1. Sweet dreams are made of this.

2. I want an iPod Nano especially for me, but I'm torn between purple and grey, and I can't justify the purchase until my little Sansa fails. Which it never will. Apparently, Sensa doesn't subscribe to planned obsolescence.

3. Silliness is obsessing over the colour of a Nano one isn't going to buy.

4. I want to dress like a Moleskine this Halloween.

5. Outstanding or not is too damn subjective.

6. Dancing and cheering and crying with joy is what I want right now because Barak Obama has won the Nobel Prize! I haven't been this excited about a Nobel winner since it was awarded to Jimmy Carter!

7. And as for the weekend, tonight I'm looking forward to hearing what Bill Maher has to say about the award, tomorrow my plans include listening to the sound of heads exploding because of the award, and Sunday, I want to knit on very large needles with my peeps!

where I've been

2009-10-08T15:56:00.005-04:00

Please pardon my absence from Tea Leaves. I'm still here. I have been distracted, nearly beyond tolerance, by (amongst other things) :

A swarm of wasps in my bathroom. At first, just one, then two, then - many - My husband came in to look. "They're not bees." They were yellowjackets. I'd been swatting them and spraying bleach on them. (I know, I know - not many people in this world use bleach as an insecticide. I'm - imaginative.) We had no idea where they were coming from, so he duct-taped every conceivable opening. Next day, more "bees." And then, I saw one crawling out from behind the shower enclosure. How relieved we were - so that's where they're coming from! The next step was to find out why they were coming under the shower enclosure, so I went outside to look - and saw a pandemonium of swarming yellowjackets climbing under the siding. They have built a nest there. A huge one, judging from the furious buzzing. My husband is, as I write, closing up every conceivable opening into the shower stall. If this doesn't work, I'll have to abandon the bathroom and let the yellowjackets have it.
My boss, who is pushing me, none too gently, into retiring as soon as the state decides its version of 30 years. You know something? I'm ready.
The first cataract surgery. I replaced the lenses in distance and reading glasses because I was seeing two separate worlds. The second will be in 1 1/2 weeks. Again, I'll replace lenses. 6 weeks later, my eyes will (for the first time in my life) be both usable and stable. Then I'll face another eye surgery - but I can't think about that right now.
Proof that I needed cataract surgery. I was looking for eye drops in the drugstore and wondering why they didn't have the brand I needed. It took me a full 5 minutes to realize that I was looking at a shelf of nose spray.
A gift card from Borders. What does your average reader use her gift card to buy? Well of course. Looking for Anne of Green Gables and a Devil Duck.

to be continued...

Goodbye, Mary Travers

2009-09-17T10:04:00.003-04:00

You made a difference in this world.

overthinking

2009-09-14T22:33:00.010-04:00

I've begun to read Spinning in the Old Way by Patricia Gibson-Roberts. Not only am I getting a sense of how truly ancient spindles are, but how many so-called "primitive" cultures developed the tools and the craft. It might not be the best time for me to be reading about spinning, though. I've now been "espinnerated" twice (i.e., introduced to the hand spindle), and each time I've been stymied by overthinking.

As a former dance student (very, very former) and musician, I know that overthinking is the best way to keep muscle memory from developing. As a leftie-turned-rightie with some dyslexia, I know that overthinking is keeping me from committing to s or z spin, or even spinning in the same direction twice. In practical terms, it means that most of what I spin becomes un-spun with the next twist of the spindle.

Maybe I should detail my spindle...

Paul Rieckhoff: Eight Years Later: Why Is There Still A Hole at Ground Zero?

2009-09-13T00:56:00.001-04:00

Paul Rieckhoff: Eight Years Later: Why Is There Still A Hole at Ground Zero?

Posted using ShareThis

September 11, 2001

2009-09-11T16:29:00.004-04:00

I wrote this post in 2006. Nothing has changed. I decided to join Anna and re-post what I wrote then.

So many commentaries today. So many opinions. So many recollections of worldwide sympathy. So much riding on a shared definition of what happened 5 years ago.

Unless you are an artist or a farmer, or, perhaps, a lover of the moon and stars, the changing slant of sunlight is not as meaningful to you as it is to the multitudes of live beings around us and underfoot. The concept of time, measured on a calendar, means only what we assign to it. Maybe a particular day means gifts and flowers to you. Maybe, to another, it means release from imprisonment, or the gift of new and exciting opportunity. If an anniversary means anything, it ought to measure what we have learned, or what progress we have made toward understanding, compassion, and peace.

September 11, 2001 was a horrible day. Nearly 3000 Americans died because a murderous ideologue and his followers executed them by executing a hideously clever and minimalist plan. No WMD, no missiles: just box-cutters and hatred.

We were right to mourn the dead, and to comfort those left behind. We may have been right to take military action against the country that had harbored the killers - although one can make the case, rather easily, that by attacking Afghanistan, which had been hijacked by the Taliban, we turned its citizens into victims once again.

We veered off course when we expanded that war and used our military against Iraq, a country whose leader had not participated in the September 11 attack. Yes, Saddam Hussein was a brute. He was not, however, an expansionist brute, or a brute whose arsenal included WMD. Iraq did not threaten us, but we invaded Iraq --because we could, and because we wanted control over Saddam's oil resources.

Ego and oil. Oil and ego. What do you call a leader who invades another country to capture its natural resources and settle a score? I call him a brute. I call George W. Bush a brute.

Five years have passed since September 11, 2001. On this artificial anniversary, this arbitrary date on a paper grid, is the world safer or more democratic? Are we wiser? Is anyone (aside from Halliburton and the rest of the military-industrial complex) in a better place?

For that matter, is anyone healthier? Surely not the First Responders, or the residents around Ground Zero, whose lungs have been ruined because our government lied about air quality. Surely not the thousands of maimed Americans and Iraqis who have been caught in a deadly crossfire between one ideological force and another, between an occupying force and "suiciders" (good job, Georgie) who gushed into Iraq because of us. Because of us.

In those five years since September 11, 2001, we have killed and maimed more Iraqis than Osama bin Laden killed on our soil.

How Osama must laugh to see a once-mighty nation that now believes its safety depends on keeping toothpaste off planes, or that we are safer if the FBI can monitor how many cookbooks your grandmother has checked out of the library.
(Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain.)

Since September 11, 2001, we could have learned two things: they don't hate our freedom, and we might not love our freedom enough to accept that it comes with some risk. But we didn't learn. And when will we ever learn, if not now?

And now, on September 11, 2006, all I can say is that I am a lover of the moon and the stars. I only hope that our mistakes will not change the slant of our collective light - our democracy - forever.

I can haz squirrel

2009-09-05T16:51:00.001-04:00

(you can, too)

In fact, I do still knit

2009-09-02T21:12:00.005-04:00

See?

I've been knitting hats for a Care to Knit project with my Ravelry peeps. This is hat #3. In the background is a stained glass that my father-in-law designed and made.

I've also been knitting a red scarf for The Red Scarf Project. It's just about time to send it in.

The other news in my textile life: I want a spinning wheel. I want this spinning wheel. The reason I want this spinning wheel is that I was permitted to ~~muddle around with~~ try one at Panera a couple of weeks ago. I'm doing a little better with spindling (which is a good thing, since I've collected at least 10 of them already), and I love spindling, but - a wheel -

The woman who showed me how to spin on her wheel was using fibre that looks exactly like my hair - so I ended up spinning a reasonable facsimile of my own hair. Who else can say that?

In fact, if I decide to get a wheel, I'll have to do some research, try some other wheels, decide if I want single or double treadle, and all that -- but I love Victoria already.
What sayest thou? Would she make a good present when I retire?

(And would that help me decide to retire sooner?)

(You betcha.)

Anna, Emily, Betsy-Tacy, and zombies

2009-08-30T22:22:00.008-04:00

Jane Eyre has been one of my touchstones since I was quite, quite young. Until recently, Charlotte was the only Brontë I ever had read with pleasure. (I loathe Wuthering Heights. Always have. Always will.)

I just finished Agnes Grey by Anne Brontë, the youngest and most gentle Brontë. Her novels should not be read with the expectation of finding the temptestuous attributes of Emily, or the fury and passion of Charlotte. Thank goodness! What Anne Brontë brings to the reader is exquisite observation of the small issues, the details that delineate all societies and relationships.

There is no tramping across moors or flying into rages for Agnes Grey. Instead, the young, sheltered woman decides to go into the world, work as a governess, and save her family from financial collapse. Although she is well-educated, the first position she takes is disastrous because the children are hellspawn - completely uncontrollable, cruel, sneaky hellspawn. Poor Agnes is fired. (The children reminded me of the Gremlins in the toy store. Pretty close!)

Agnes goes home to recover, but she is game, and soon accepts another position. The children here are less demonic, and Agnes remains with the family for several years. The child whose selfishness is impossible to temper grows into the most heartless, flirtatious wench this side of Scarlett O'Hara, but quiet Agnes meets a man whose character and heart inspire her to wish for appreciation and love. Even the most passive, meek woman can change a world.

Since I did mention the other Brontë sisters, I should write a little about Emily's Ghost by Denise Giardina. I wish I were more familiar with the biographies of the other sisters (as well as the dissolute Branwell) because the Emily I met in this novel was so sympathetic, and the Charlotte so silly and man-crazy, that I can not sort out the details. Giardina's descriptions are so vivid that you can see Emily's merlin fly across the skies over the moors and feel the heat from the hearth.

Thanks to Jennifer, Book Club Girl, I have begun to read the Betsy-Tacy books. Midway through the first, I am in love with these little girls. Betsy's genuine desire for a friend cracks through Tacy's shyness, Betsy's loyalty enables Tacy to endure the first day of school, and the girls unfurl their imaginations to soar on a feather to visit the beautiful world they hope to see. I thought of Anne Shirley as I read. These girls could be her younger sisters, joining Anne in her fantasies and exuberance (but keeping themselves a bit more centered...)

Jennifer is hosting Betsy-Tacy Convert Week, which will begin on 9.28. Head on over if you'd like to be converted - or just to reminisce.

I seem to have run out of time for zombies. ("No time for zombies" - was that a tv show?) Tune in again...

gonna take that dream and ride that dove

2009-08-27T09:25:00.010-04:00

Gratitude: thank you, Anna, Diary of an Eccentric for Hugh and Bess by Susan Higganbotham. I'm so excited to read this and share it with my friends!

Gratitude: thank you, Cheya (Booklogged) at A Reader's Journal, for The Guernsey Library and Potato Peel Pie Society by Mary Ann Shaffer. I love epistolary fiction, and I've wanted to read this book for a long time. I know I'm going to enjoy it because every friend who has read it is still raving about it.

Gratitude: this morning, on my way to work, I was listening to an album by Laura Nyro. Do you remember the song, "Save the Country"? I cried when she sang about the two young brothers. Now there are three. Please, people, let the dream live on.

Come on, people! Come on, children!
Come on down to the glory river.
Gonna wash you up, and wash you down,
gonna lay the devil down, gonna lay that devil down.

Come on, people! come on, children!
Come on down to the glory river.
Gonna wash you up and wash you down.
Gonna lay the devil down, gonna lay that devil down.

I got fury in my soul, fury's gonna take me to the glory goal.
In my mind I can't study war no more.
Save the people! Save the children! Save the country now!

Come on, people! Come on, children!
There's a king at the glory river.
And the precious king, he loved the people to sing;
Babes in the blinkin' sun sang
"We Shall Overcome."

Come on people! Sons and mothers!
Keep the dream of the two young brothers.
Gonna take that dream and ride that dove.
We could build the dream with love, I know,

I got fury in my soul, fury's gonna take me to the glory goal.
In my mind I can't study war no more.
Save the people! Save the children! Save the country now!

We could build the dream with love, I know,
We could build a dream with love, children,
We could build the dream with love, oh people,
We could build the dream with love, I know,
We could build the dream with love.

and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.

2009-08-26T09:25:00.003-04:00

Friday fill-ins

2009-08-21T14:59:00.006-04:00

1. I remember, I remember, just give me a minute.

2. Dear Anne Tyler, I want you to know that I want you to write more books, and soon. (Please.)

3. Is that my, um, whatchamacallit !!?? (I guess I didn't remember after all.)

4. I'm trying to resist the temptation of halvah. It's been a long time.

5. I'm saving a *interesting, I can't seem to answer this one... * just for you! (I wonder what that says about me? )

6. If I made a birthday list a spinning wheel would definitely be on it!!!

7. And as for the weekend, tonight I'm looking forward to Bill Maher on HBO, tomorrow my plans include laundry, letter-writing, and finishing Agnes Grey, and Sunday, I want to practice spindling with my Ravelry peeps. (I'm doing much better. I'm no longer in danger of strangling myself.)

haiku by Basho

2009-08-18T22:20:00.010-04:00

The sea darkens;
the voices of the wild ducks
are faintly white.

by Matsuo Basho
1644-1694

an award, a gift, a teaser, and a duck

2009-08-18T10:59:00.011-04:00

First, the award, from Kristi, who blogs at Books and Needlepoint.

Do you reach for a cup of cocoa or tea when you're relaxing, seeking comfort, sharing a plate of cookies with family and friends? You know that feeling you get when you drink a yummy cup of cocoa, tea or a hot toddy? That is what the Heartfelt award is all about: feeling warm inside!

Thank you!
The rules are to nominate up to 9 blogs. First, I'll cheat a little: go back to Kristi's blog and look at the other nominees. Go on - I'll wait. (tap tap tap) Now you can visit these friendly blogs:

A pass through the Moon Garden
The Cauldron
Elizabetty Knits
Hand eye crafts (the annual Knitters' Hunk contest is underway...)

... and everyone else in my sidebar!

Jennifer, the Book Club Girl is enabling me to become a Betsy-Tacy Convert! She has given me the first four books in the series. (Incidentally, her blog also is very friendly.) I'm going to start them this weekend. Somehow, I never read this when I was a young girl, and it'll be such a treat for this old(er) girl. Thank you so much, Jennifer!

For Teaser Tuesdays, I'll give you a verse from The One and Only Human Galaxy, a new book of poems by Elizabeth Swados.

You are a city made of dots
the tops of your heads
merge together
into a mosaic.

Oops. I seem to have run out of time for the duck.

Friday fill-ins

2009-08-14T11:03:00.003-04:00

1. When will I decide to retire? How will I make that decision? It's not as easy as I thought it would be. So many issues, beyond the financial...

2. "Carnival of Souls" was the last good book I read or movie I saw or tv show I watched. It was the "Rifftrax" version, so it didn't have quite the ... atmosphere ... that it usually has, but I needed to be cheered up and taken away, just a bit, from reality.

3. Everything has its beauty but war.

4. A weed-whacker salad (i.e., Mesclun) with craisins and walnuts and mozzarella cheese is what I ~~had~~ will have for dinner.

5. I'd like your metabolism. Mine is a disaster.

6. The Delaware Art Museum is where I want to be right now, loving the collection of Pre-Raphaelite art.

7. And as for the weekend, tonight I'm looking forward to Ralph's spumoni cream-ice, tomorrow my plans include a little spindle-spinning and knitting _____ and Sunday, I want to knit and spin with Ravelry peeps!

The Chosen One - Carol Lynch Williams

2009-08-11T20:33:00.005-04:00

Last night, I read the ARC of The Chosen One by Carol Lynch Williams that I received from Julie at Booking Mama. I intended only to read a chapter or two, but I read it at one gulp. Young Kyra, only 13 years old, lives in a locked compound led by The Prophet, and policed by The God Squad. The members of this religious group practice polygamy and believe that the word of The Prophet is the ultimate authority on earth. Although Williams avoids labelling the sect, her descriptions of the families, with women in long dresses and braided hair, call to mind the offshoot-LDS group depicted in "Big Love."

Kyra has a questioning nature, and has already begun to question the strict rules about reading books other than scripture, the rules that prevent her from calling outside doctor for her ailing, pregnant birth mother, the rules that require child abuse in the name of discipline - and, especially, the rules about the relations between men and women. She has been rebellious, as far as possible, by visiting a bookmobile, and by kissing a boy from the compound, but she is a loving daughter to all of her mothers, and to all of her siblings.

Her rebellion turns to panic when The Prophet decrees that she has been chosen to become the seventh wife of Uncle Hyram, gentle father's brutal, 60-year-old brother. Although her father pleads with The Prophet and his brother, Kyra is told that she must marry, or face disasters worse than the brutal beating she is given by The Prophet's enforcers. She knows that her family, also, will be punished severely by The God Squad, which not only delivers beatings, but is known to have murdered those who disobey or try to run.

The Chosen One is considered a teen novel, but Kyra's story is so riveting, so realistically-written, that anyone could read it and be caught up in her choices as the one chosen to live a life she never would choose for herself.

Thank you, Booking Mama, for sending me this book.

Friday fill-ins

2009-08-07T10:47:00.010-04:00

1. Looking forward to September is my ~~favorite~~ only summertime comfort.

2. My favorite John Hughes movies is (oh dear, I never saw one...)

3. Velvet is something I love to touch. I even love to imagine touching velvet. In fact, when I have a migraine, I imagine a soft, dark green velvet pillow beneath my head. I still regret not buying a pair of green velvet gloves when I was Harrod's. I might have a bit of an unhealthy love of velvet. Maybe I shouldn't be telling you this.

4. The full moon delights me more than almost anything. Not everyone sees a man in the moon - some see a rabbit...

5. Somewhere, someone is writing a haiku right now. I wish it were me.

6. When daylight fades I want to be home.

7. And as for the weekend, tonight I'm looking forward to watching "Real Time" with Bill Maher, tomorrow my plans include finishing a knitted hat for Care to Knit,and Sunday, I want to spin with one of the pretty spindles I've been collecting and knit with the my Ravelry peeps.

Have a lovely weekend, everyone!

Lord Alfred Tennyson , born 6 August 1809

2009-08-06T16:08:00.007-04:00

The Eagle
by
Alfred Lord Tennyson

He clasps the crag with crooked hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ringed with the azure world, he stands.

The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;
He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls.

Dead can dance

2009-08-05T13:30:00.014-04:00

I'm absolutely SOLD on audiobooks. How did I ever drive long distances (i.e., more than 10 minutes) without them? I listened to three in July.

First, I indulged in two Maisie Dobbs mysteries: Among the Mad, and An Incomplete Revenge. (Although I really want to read the series from the beginning, these two were available at the library and I needed books!) Each takes place in the early 1930s, and each shows how the horrors of the European War continued to be lethal long after the war ended. Maisie Dobbs is a trained psychologist as well as a trained investigator, and she uses both her training and strong intuition to solve her cases.

Maisie herself was injured when she worked as a nurse in wartime France. She recovered, but her fiance was injured severely, and still lay, insensible, in a nursing home. Among the Mad brings her back to the shell-shocked soldiers she had cared for in France, and presents a murderer whose alleged purpose is to bring attention to the way these injured soldiers have been treated by the English government. An Incomplete Revenge takes Maisie to the country during hop-picking time, where she investigates a series of fires that seem to occur yearly at the anniversary of a Zeppelin attack. A Romany clan is suspectected by the townspeople, as are the outsiders who come to earn money by helping with the harvest. The European War figures in this book, as well as an intrepid woman reporter looking for the story that will establish her as a journalist.

The third book I enjoyed in the car was a Miss Marple mystery: Sleeping Murder. Did Agatha Christie ever miss with Miss Marple? I don't think so. This book, published posthumously, depicts Miss Marple assisting a young couple investigating the Victorian house they just have purchased. Gwenda, the young wife, has frightening flashbacks that convince her she has not only lived in the same house, but witnessed a murder there 18 years ago. Miss Marple does not interfere in their investigation, but quietly makes inquiries in the town and suggests pathways for Gwenda and Giles to follow. Would it have been better to let sleeping murders lie?

Oh, and Dead Can Dance? I also listen to music in the car. Right now I'm listening to Aion, their Renaissance-tinged album released in 1990. If you never heard Lisa Gerrard's magical voice, and if you would like to be swept into another world, this is the album for you. It certainly is for me.

If the dead can sleep, I like to think they also can dance...

The Physick Book of Deliverance Dane by Katherine Howe

2009-07-30T11:22:00.006-04:00

The Physick Book of Deliverance Dane - Katherine Howe

Multiple timelines in a novel can be tricky. Each plot must be believable and developed on its own, and must mesh with and further the parallel narrative(s). A.S. Byatt's Possession and Marge Piercy's Woman on the Edge of Time are nearly perfect examples of how two intricate stories can weave one satisfying fabric.

Yes, reader: I do set high standards for literary gymnastics. The Physick Book of Deliverance Dane was a Barnes & Noble recommended selection, and I expected a lot. Since I have recommended the book to friends, you may infer that I enjoyed it and wanted my friends to enjoy it as well. True. Do not infer, however, that it meets the standards set by Byatt and Piercy. It does not.

The modern (1991) story in this novel introduces Connie Goodwin, a graduate student of early American history who is spending a summer cleaning out the house of her long-dead grandmother, and searching for a scholarly topic that will satisfy her advisor. The two projects meet and mesh when she discovers a small paper in a centuries-old Bible that bears the name "Deliverance Dane." Her curiosity about Deliverance leads her to propose the research as her project, and her advisor agrees.

In the late 17th century, Deliverance Dane lives in uneasy times as a wise woman and herbal healer whose potions and attention are sought after by the sick. She knows the danger of being accused as a witch if she should fail to heal one of her patients. When a child dies, she is accused, convicted, and hanged. Her daughter Mercy follows her mother's last wish: she escapes from the town, taking her mother's book of remedies and spells - the Physick Book - to continue the work of healing and comforting those in need.

Over the years, women descendants have less use for, or belief in, the magic and potions, as science and medicine replace the old ways. The book itself becomes a mere object to be cataloged amongst household effects. It is sold, and misplaced in some bureaucratic tangle.

The sights, smells, sounds, and aura of each dip into the past are both compelling and repugnant to the modern reader who is used to sanitized images of well-known events. We do not often see the horrific conditions of the imprisonment, where accused and convicted women were chained in deadly squalor. Howe shows us the truth without a single gratuitous moment, contrasting the evil of the good folk who used torture and death in the name of their religion - without mercy, without introspection, and without logic. Howe's scholarship is thorough, and woven into the plot with grace.

in the present, Connie's efforts to trace Deliverance in local church records and archives yield both facts and a new boyfriend, Sam, who works as a steeple jack, preserving local architecture. When Connie discovers the facts of Deliverance's death, and the possibility of the survival of the Physick book, she brings the information to her academic advisor. His excitement seems both disproportionate and strange, especially when he posits a question: "Have you not considered the distinct possibility that the accused were simply guilty of witchcraft?"

Connie is caught between what she has been trained to believe and this preposterous quesion. Can witchcraft and magic be true? Or, are they superstitions perpetrated by the ignorant and cruel? Her mother, Grace, always has believed in practical magic, and has practiced unscientific healing methods that have made Connie scoff. In addition, Connie has neither disclosed nor examined the physical shock she felt when she first touched the Bible, nor taken the mystical symbols that appeared on her grandmother's door seriously. Her advisor's demands and fixations become more troubling and vehement as her project progresses. How far from her dispassionate, scholarly path will she stray as she searches for the story, the book, and a solution to a mysterious and sudden crisis?

I think the author was wise to set Connie's story in 1991 rather than the present, where a few mouse clicks may have made Connie's legwork through the churches and archives unnecessary. The physical details of each building and record-keeper are vivid - more vivid than Connie herself. The old house she is cleaning has no electricity, so Connie illuminates the night with lanterns and candles. The advisor's odd behaviour conceals beliefs that are more strange than his apparent belief in the validity of the Salem verdicts. Sam is likeable, but pallid, Connie's dog is a loving companion (familiar?), and the reader is shown the academic and seaside beauty of Cambridge. Most of the present is convivial, almost cozy, in the way of some academic novels.

But - the two plotlines are not equal. The world of Deliverance and Mercy is vivid and compelling; Deliverance and Mercy are real characters whose emotions are true. Connie's story is - well - meh. It seems a contrivance to bracket the past. Her research, love affair, and demented advisor are pale and paltry compared to the life-and-death struggles caused by ignorance in the past. And -- if the author is going to use magical realism, it has to appear with more consistency, and less as deus ex machina. (I found myself thinking "more cowbell.")
Why, then, do I recommend this book to friends and all? Simple : it's fun to read. Just don't expect Byatt or Piercy.

Note: if you wish to learn about the persecution of witches from the view of the social, economic, historical, and feminist issues that doubtless underpinned the pious religious prattle, read Never Again the Burning Times by Loretta Orion.

Teaser Tuesday

2009-07-28T14:42:00.005-04:00

TEASER TUESDAYS is hosted by ShouldBeReading and asks you to:

♠Grab your current read.
♠Let the book fall open to a random page.
♠Share with us two (2) “teaser” sentences from that page.
♠You also need to share the title of the book that you’re getting your “teaser” from … that way people can have some great book recommendations if they like the teaser you’ve given!
♠Please avoid spoilers!

My teaser:

"When he sensed Emily was about to speak, Dury said, "Do not ask what it is about," becore she could in fact ask. Dury felt his face turning red with embarrassment as he remembered that Lysistrata featured a group of women who agreed to deny their husbands the pleasures of the bed until they stopped fighting a war."

from p. 147 of Emily's Ghost: a novel of the Bronte sisters by Denise Giardina.