One of the big developments during my blog hiatus (other than the change of jobs and home), is that I now own a Kindle.
Initially I thought I'd only use it for holidays and long journeys, to save carting about multiple books. I thought that I'd still buy second-hand books and go to the library. But quickly, the Kindle replaced other books and became the only thing I read.
That means I'm stuck buying electronic book things from the evil tax dodging corporation, which isn't ideal. But it is a hard habit to break.
The same with music. Whilst we may own music on vinyl, CD and even some dusty tapes, I only listen to music on my iPod or 6 Music on the digital radio.
This week Primal Scream released a new album. Alongside dogs, striped dresses and Danish pastries, I can't resist a Primal Scream album. But rather than just download it, I decided to actually buy it. To buy the actual CD (admittedly not vinyl) in an actual real shop.
While I was in the shop (Fop), I also picked up another CD (Vampire Weekend's new one) and two paperbacks. And I remembered how much I liked buying actual books in a shop.
So a return to happier, low-tech times?
Not exactly - the CDs have been transferred to the iPod and the paperbacks are still unread in the bag.
But perhaps a (retrograde) step in the right direction?
Showing posts with label Books. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Books. Show all posts
Sunday, May 19, 2013
Monday, October 04, 2010
Nobody Talks about Book Club
I have joined a book club. Apart from online dating, is there a bigger cliché of lonely modern urban life?
My friend C was telling me about it one night in the pub and I laughed so much at his story of nearly getting into a fight with a woman at the previous meeting, that I was tempted to join myself. Then the next day, I was in an Oxfam bookshop and there was a copy of the book they were reading next, so that sealed it – I was joining a book club.
The first meeting was brilliant Not due to any great meeting of minds and a shared love of literature, but because it was just as funny as C’s description of it. I spent most of the night trying hard not to laugh. There was, as I think is obligatory at these things, a woman who looked at everything from a feminist perspective, a literary snob who had read the book in the original French and someone very argumentative (my friend C).
As predicted by C, the other members of the book club would try to turn the subject to something other than the book in question as soon as possible. Sure enough after one sentence about the book, the feminist had moved onto talking about her son, the education system and anything else other than the book, C desperately and unsubtly tried to steer her back on track and I tried to stifle my giggles.
To add to the amusement, the pub where we meet is also the meeting point of a rival book club and I was told to look as if we were having a better discussion than them. Not to actually have a lively discussion, you understand, just to appear to do so. To be honest the other book club did look a younger more fun crowd than my lot and I may defect in the future.
Tonight is my second meeting. This month’s book was Snow by Orhan Pamuk which I mostly found tedious, but I’m looking forward to the discussions or non-discussions regardless. That is, if anyone else has read the book – apparently there was one meeting where nobody had managed to finish the book and most hadn’t even started it.
My friend C was telling me about it one night in the pub and I laughed so much at his story of nearly getting into a fight with a woman at the previous meeting, that I was tempted to join myself. Then the next day, I was in an Oxfam bookshop and there was a copy of the book they were reading next, so that sealed it – I was joining a book club.
The first meeting was brilliant Not due to any great meeting of minds and a shared love of literature, but because it was just as funny as C’s description of it. I spent most of the night trying hard not to laugh. There was, as I think is obligatory at these things, a woman who looked at everything from a feminist perspective, a literary snob who had read the book in the original French and someone very argumentative (my friend C).
As predicted by C, the other members of the book club would try to turn the subject to something other than the book in question as soon as possible. Sure enough after one sentence about the book, the feminist had moved onto talking about her son, the education system and anything else other than the book, C desperately and unsubtly tried to steer her back on track and I tried to stifle my giggles.
To add to the amusement, the pub where we meet is also the meeting point of a rival book club and I was told to look as if we were having a better discussion than them. Not to actually have a lively discussion, you understand, just to appear to do so. To be honest the other book club did look a younger more fun crowd than my lot and I may defect in the future.
Tonight is my second meeting. This month’s book was Snow by Orhan Pamuk which I mostly found tedious, but I’m looking forward to the discussions or non-discussions regardless. That is, if anyone else has read the book – apparently there was one meeting where nobody had managed to finish the book and most hadn’t even started it.
Monday, April 14, 2008
Shout at the television time: The Galaxy British Book Awards
My sort of New Year's Resolution to read more didn't get very far (the slow-changing nature of the My Library widget on this page is testament to that), so I probably have no business watching or criticising The Galaxy British Book Awards. But nonetheless...
Like everything else these days, it had been been hijacked by the Micro-Celebrities. The best biography section dominated by tv stars and won by Russell Brand, the "popular non-fiction" award was won by Ewan McGregor and that other bloke with a motorbike, and Katie Price/Jordan was nominated for her book about pony care.
But worse were some of the celebrity presenters. That man Ross popped up again to present the big prize, obviously not content with his BBC millions, he has to appear on Channel 4 too. Geri Halliwell was even worse though. She looked quite nice with her curly hair and pretty dress - "oohh you look just like a fairy" cooed Judy, and I questionned whether a woman pushing 40 should really want to look like a fairy anymore. Then she started talking about her new book that she had coming out soon and how, as all of the other authors in the audiences would know, she felt so proud of it. You could see "the other authors" i.e. the proper ones, who weren't singers/dancers/presenters, bristle at that. She then exclaimed "I love reading!". Nothing more, no indication of what it was she liked to read.
Most awards shows involve actors and they tend to be pretty good at being the magnanamus loser, even if it isn't genuine and they are putting their acting skills into use. Not so the authors. Some of them tried, but none could hide their disappointment and a few especially failed to hide their outright displeasure, especially if the book that beat them was lower-brow than theirs.
Surprisingly, the best bit of the show was the Richard & Judy Book Club Award. Whilst I'm always quick to remove the "Richard & Judy Book Club" sticker if any book I read happens to have been a choice of theirs, I do think it is a good thing, anything that encourages more reading can't be bad. This prize was won by "A Thousand Splendid Suns" by Khaled Hosseini, who gave a brilliant speech about how he hoped one day another writer from Afghanistan would collect this prize, and that it might one day be a woman. I thought I might cry at this point and I've not even read his book, but then I nearly always cry at awards ceremonies.
The entrants in the Best Newcomer category were reassuringly mature, so I suppose there is hope yet that I might write that novel.
Like everything else these days, it had been been hijacked by the Micro-Celebrities. The best biography section dominated by tv stars and won by Russell Brand, the "popular non-fiction" award was won by Ewan McGregor and that other bloke with a motorbike, and Katie Price/Jordan was nominated for her book about pony care.
But worse were some of the celebrity presenters. That man Ross popped up again to present the big prize, obviously not content with his BBC millions, he has to appear on Channel 4 too. Geri Halliwell was even worse though. She looked quite nice with her curly hair and pretty dress - "oohh you look just like a fairy" cooed Judy, and I questionned whether a woman pushing 40 should really want to look like a fairy anymore. Then she started talking about her new book that she had coming out soon and how, as all of the other authors in the audiences would know, she felt so proud of it. You could see "the other authors" i.e. the proper ones, who weren't singers/dancers/presenters, bristle at that. She then exclaimed "I love reading!". Nothing more, no indication of what it was she liked to read.
Most awards shows involve actors and they tend to be pretty good at being the magnanamus loser, even if it isn't genuine and they are putting their acting skills into use. Not so the authors. Some of them tried, but none could hide their disappointment and a few especially failed to hide their outright displeasure, especially if the book that beat them was lower-brow than theirs.
Surprisingly, the best bit of the show was the Richard & Judy Book Club Award. Whilst I'm always quick to remove the "Richard & Judy Book Club" sticker if any book I read happens to have been a choice of theirs, I do think it is a good thing, anything that encourages more reading can't be bad. This prize was won by "A Thousand Splendid Suns" by Khaled Hosseini, who gave a brilliant speech about how he hoped one day another writer from Afghanistan would collect this prize, and that it might one day be a woman. I thought I might cry at this point and I've not even read his book, but then I nearly always cry at awards ceremonies.
The entrants in the Best Newcomer category were reassuringly mature, so I suppose there is hope yet that I might write that novel.
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Variations on a Theme
It often seems to happen that little things in my life with coincide so it feels like a there is a theme. What I mean is that I will be reading a book about something and then quite by accident (or perhaps sub-consciously) I will watch a film or read a newspaper article on a similar subject. It happened a few months ago when I was watched Little Miss Sunshine and read Miss Wyoming, while the Miss World Competition was happening in the real world.
It has just happened again. Last night I went to see a film “The Inheritance”, that turned out to be a Scottish road movie (neatly coinciding with my weekend post). During the film I was contemplating the idea of a road movie in our small country, that you can really drive from one end to the other quite easily in a day. The film got around this by slowing the journey down by a) having a slow driver who wanted to take in the scenery, b) a useful navigator so they kept getting lost and c) a clapped out old camper van that broke down every so often.
Then there was a bit of dialogue in the film about Greggs. Greggs for anyone who doesn’t know (which means you definitely aren’t northern) is a chain of bakers. It started in the north where it is ridiculously popular – the high street of my hometown (which comprised about 40 shops) had 3 branches of it on that one road, plus a few others around the town. Pasties are their big thing. So these two brothers in the film, one who lived in London, the other who’d stayed in Scotland mention Greggs and I realised that Greggs is a huge subject in the north-south divide.
When I first left the north, I was horrified to find there were no Greggs in Norfolk. What was I supposed to eat? Babies in my town are fed Greggs pasties as soon as they are old enough to hold them. There were no Greggs in London when I first moved here either. So this became a valid topic of conversation, both with Southerners and with my family and friends on returning home, where I would have to gorge myself on their Cheese & Onion pasties every visit. Then a few years ago, they expanded and now there are quite a few in London. But here is the thing, they aren’t the same – the pasties are a different shape down here, smaller and of course, more expensive. So I never eat them down here, but now “the difference between Greggs in the north and south” has become a new topic of conversation when I return to the north.
So I concluded (during the film last night) that the issue of Greggs is the crux of the North-South issue.
This morning, I started reading the book “Pies and Prejudice: In Search of the North” by Stuart Maconie. It was a present from my friend who has never left the north as she thought it would be appropriate for a “northerner in exile”. Its easy enough reading, amusing but not life-changing. I felt that I could have written something similar myself. Within the prologue, he discusses whether a road trip is possible in England and Greggs the Bakers. Actually so far, I feel as if I have written it already.
So there it is, the common themes in my life at the moment are UK road trips and what a chain of bakers means to regional identity.
It has just happened again. Last night I went to see a film “The Inheritance”, that turned out to be a Scottish road movie (neatly coinciding with my weekend post). During the film I was contemplating the idea of a road movie in our small country, that you can really drive from one end to the other quite easily in a day. The film got around this by slowing the journey down by a) having a slow driver who wanted to take in the scenery, b) a useful navigator so they kept getting lost and c) a clapped out old camper van that broke down every so often.
Then there was a bit of dialogue in the film about Greggs. Greggs for anyone who doesn’t know (which means you definitely aren’t northern) is a chain of bakers. It started in the north where it is ridiculously popular – the high street of my hometown (which comprised about 40 shops) had 3 branches of it on that one road, plus a few others around the town. Pasties are their big thing. So these two brothers in the film, one who lived in London, the other who’d stayed in Scotland mention Greggs and I realised that Greggs is a huge subject in the north-south divide.
When I first left the north, I was horrified to find there were no Greggs in Norfolk. What was I supposed to eat? Babies in my town are fed Greggs pasties as soon as they are old enough to hold them. There were no Greggs in London when I first moved here either. So this became a valid topic of conversation, both with Southerners and with my family and friends on returning home, where I would have to gorge myself on their Cheese & Onion pasties every visit. Then a few years ago, they expanded and now there are quite a few in London. But here is the thing, they aren’t the same – the pasties are a different shape down here, smaller and of course, more expensive. So I never eat them down here, but now “the difference between Greggs in the north and south” has become a new topic of conversation when I return to the north.
So I concluded (during the film last night) that the issue of Greggs is the crux of the North-South issue.
This morning, I started reading the book “Pies and Prejudice: In Search of the North” by Stuart Maconie. It was a present from my friend who has never left the north as she thought it would be appropriate for a “northerner in exile”. Its easy enough reading, amusing but not life-changing. I felt that I could have written something similar myself. Within the prologue, he discusses whether a road trip is possible in England and Greggs the Bakers. Actually so far, I feel as if I have written it already.
So there it is, the common themes in my life at the moment are UK road trips and what a chain of bakers means to regional identity.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Good Consumerism
My recent gallery visit also, inevitably involved a just as long visit to the gallery shop. The Photographers Gallery shop (unlike say the V&A which stocks anything tenuously related to any of its displays), does stick to things related to the gallery – photography books, postcards, design magazines and photography equipment. But it is still one of my favourite gallery shops because I love photography books. I covet them. I could spend all day browsing them.
And I was thinking as I sadly put down the £23 exhibition book that if I won the lottery/robbed a bank*, I would buy loads of books. Glossy photography books, to fill bookcases and rest on my coffee table, to be dipped into, flicked through, admired and inspired by.
Forget designer clothes, flashy cars and big houses, all of these things I can manage without, but I hate not being able to buy all the books I want. Because books are good things, providers of knowledge and they should be free to everyone. (I realise there are libraries, which are fine for some things but not the sort of book I’m currently coveting, which I want to be surrounded by, not have to remember to return after four weeks).
To me, buying books is good consumerism, likewise films and music (of a certain quality obviously) – as opposed to clothes and shoes buying which always makes me feel guilty = bad consumerism.
The other thing about this is that these books are usually available to buy online cheaper (Amazon has the exhibition book for £16) but somehow it isn’t the same. There is something about buying the books in the gallery shop, it feels more special that way, then just clicking to put a pixilated purchased into a cyber shopping trolley.
* Would a Judge show leniency if I was caught robbing a bank to buy books?
And I was thinking as I sadly put down the £23 exhibition book that if I won the lottery/robbed a bank*, I would buy loads of books. Glossy photography books, to fill bookcases and rest on my coffee table, to be dipped into, flicked through, admired and inspired by.
Forget designer clothes, flashy cars and big houses, all of these things I can manage without, but I hate not being able to buy all the books I want. Because books are good things, providers of knowledge and they should be free to everyone. (I realise there are libraries, which are fine for some things but not the sort of book I’m currently coveting, which I want to be surrounded by, not have to remember to return after four weeks).
To me, buying books is good consumerism, likewise films and music (of a certain quality obviously) – as opposed to clothes and shoes buying which always makes me feel guilty = bad consumerism.
The other thing about this is that these books are usually available to buy online cheaper (Amazon has the exhibition book for £16) but somehow it isn’t the same. There is something about buying the books in the gallery shop, it feels more special that way, then just clicking to put a pixilated purchased into a cyber shopping trolley.
* Would a Judge show leniency if I was caught robbing a bank to buy books?
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