Garden update

I called this post 'garden update' to give an update on an earlier post I wrote about our garden plans - but it turns out I'd never actually written said post. So I guess it's just a first garden post for this year, following up from the first-ever post about our new garden from April last year. Ahum...


This year we moved around some plants that weren't doing too well in the spot they were in, such as the grape, which was pining away in a dark and wet spot. Then we dug out some plants that had gotten a bit out of control (mint, anyone?). But that is not all. Of course we also have the strawberries, aforementioned grapes, and the artichoke still left over from last year. But now we get to the good part: we also put lots of new vegetables in.
We have created a dedicated vegetable patch, which now sports broccoli, leeks, onions, carrots and potatoes.

Dedicated vegetable patch area

You can't actually see the carrots, onions or potatoes in that picture, but the top ends are poking out a tiny bit. The potatoes were actually less planned than the other things: we had some that were left in the cupboard to long and started sprouting roots, so we decided to put them in the ground and see what happened. What is happening right now is that they're putting little purpley bits through the soil, so I think they are doing good. We're growing the carrots and onions from seed, which is a first, so we'll see how that goes. Obviously, we bought the leeks and broccoli as small plants, otherwise they'd never gotten this big this quickly.

But there's more (and I honestly have no idea where we're going to put these when they start growing properly): we also have several little greenhouses filled with even more veg.

Baby vegetables-to-be

From left to right you can see rocket, radishes, and peas. They have all been sown from seed, and kept nicely snug and warm in their greenhouses. The peas are a little bit less enthusiastic, but they are coming. Somehow, somewhere, these will be put into the ground once the weather gets a bit warmer and they get a bit bigger. We planted out some rocket last year, which came up but then disappeared under a massive courgette that was groping its way through the garden. We had radishes in the garden at our other house but the snails ate them all, and tried peas before but they never really did anything. So, this is sort of our 'second chance' box.

I'm very curious to see what will grow and what will wither in our new garden, and I fully intend to keep you (more) up to date!

One Hundred Years of Solitude

After finishing Netherland, I decided it was time for another one of those classic novels I still have to read (on a sidenote: I think that in 50 years time Netherland itself will be considered one of those 'must read' classic novels, but that may be my prejudice as a New York-loving Dutch person). Since Gabriel García Márquez has just passed away, and One Hundred Years of Solitude has been living in my bookcase for a couple of years now, ever since my boyfriend got the novel for his birthday from a Mexican exchange student, I decided to go for that one. My boyfriend isn't going to read it even if he somehow finds himself in 100 years of solitude, and a lot of good things have been said about it.

This wasn't my first Márquez novel, because for Spanish class in secondary school I'd read No One Writes to the Colonel. In Spanish. This was, to put it mildly, a challenge. Week after week we'd wrestle through the paragraphs, each having to read and then explain a page in turn. You got to prepare at home, so I always had lots of translated words scribbled in the margins, but still I couldn't make any sense of it. And I wasn't the only one, after finally making it to the final word in the novel, mierda, our teacher triumphantly slammed his copy of the book shut, threw it on his desk, and said; "Si! Mierda!" We stared back at him, expecting some kind of explanation. When he just stood there waiting for an equally enthusiastic response from our side, one of the students ventured: "Mierda? Shit? What does that even mean?" He took a big dramatic Spanish sigh and said: "If you don't understand why that is a great ending, you don't understand literature." Which I thought a bit rich, even then.

Anyway, I would not let that experience put me off of reading
One Hundred Years of Solitude, only this time, I would be reading in English. The front, consisting of a naked lady staring vacantly in the viewers eyes, somewhat baffled me, especially in connection with the blurb, which informed me that the novel was about a little village, and especially about seven generations of a family who had lived in that little village for one hundred years already.
I'm now more than a quarter of the way through, and I don't know much more about the naked lady, or about the seven generations. What I do know is that this book is brilliant. 
I love magical realism, which is why I love Neil Gaiman's work, but this is a whole different thing altogether. You just have to let your suspension of disbelief stretch into impossible lengths, and just go with whatever is happening, even though all your instincts are telling you that a minute ago everything was just as it is in the real world. Also, the style is great, with some characters drawn out over the pages, while others are put down in a few brushstrokes, but then they all turn out to be completely different then you'd originally thought. Big, important events (death, war) can be condensed into a single line, which you will then miss and have to reread to get, whereas small, uneventful things can be drawn out across the pages, with some paragraphs stretching multiple pages.
It took me a while to get into, to get the dense, layered writing style, the somewhat-recognisable-but-still-strangely-different setting and the many references and figurative elements, but now that I'm into it, I want it to last as long as possible. This isn't a novel to read quickly or glancingly, but also, I don't want it to end.
So once again, the label 'classic' has proven to be correct. I feel like I am repeating myself with every classic novel I read, but again, this will be one of those novels that will stay with me for years to come.

Craziness is all around

The Saturday edition of the newspaper always comes with a themed magazine, and this week the theme is 'we're all crazy', about how nobody is really 'normal', when you look closely. This includes an article about crazy writers, or more generally crazy artists. Traumatising childhoods, bipolar disorder, autism, depression, narcissism, addictions, the list is almost endless. The list of famous artists suffering from these diseases is even longer, stretching from Mozart and Dickens via Woolf and Hemingway to Amy Winehouse and Lady Gaga.
Those suffering from depression, the article goes, are good at keeping faith through difficult times, because that's what they're doing a lot. Churchill and his black dog are the stock example. Those who are narcissistic are best found on stage, where they will entertain people. Cue Lady Gaga. And then there are those who use all their negative experiences and/or depressed and/or manic periods to create great art. Because they see the world differently, because they can put themselves to one side and live inside the story, or just because they don't really give a damn what anybody else thinks about them.
Long story short: mental diseases or problems are great if you want to be an artist. It's also great for the rest of us, because a) these people are turning their attention to art and not self-destruction (although in the case of Kurt Cobain or Van Gogh that may not be strictly speaking true) and b) we get brilliant new art to boot.

But does this mean you have to be a little bit crazy to be a good artist? Can't normal people write/paint/compose nice things?
Jane Austen didn't have any particular mental illness, as far as we know, and she wrote pretty good novels. Same goes for Shakespeare's plays, or Rembrandt's paintings, or Bach's music. I know many popular musicians who may be a bit more expressive than the rest of us, but that doesn't make them raving narcissists. Then another part of the paper included an interview with Eleanor Catton, the youngest ever winner of the Man Booker Prize (The Luminaries, which has been living in my bookcase for far too long without being read) and she came across as pretty normal, maybe a bit tired, but nothing too funny. Of course, the article about the 'crazy artists' doesn't mention these people at all.

So what is this thing about mental illnesses combined with artistic genius? Clearly, it's not as if the former is a strict prerequisite for the latter. Even more, there are many mentally ill people who never produce any art worth speaking of in their lifetimes. So is it just the connection that makes us wonder? 'Hey, I thought they were crazy, but look at what they can do!' Or is there really something special to their works, something that we can't quite grasp, but that makes us wonder? Or maybe even makes us slightly jealous, that someone can see the world and create these things while we will never be able to?

But then again, as the rest of the magazine goes, none of us are completely 'normal', we all carry our own special kind of strangeness or madness inside. Maybe some show it more than others, and find it easier to express themselves to channels that others don't generally use.
Anyway, I don't really see the big deal here. And taking stock of my favourite authors and painters, most of them don't show that many cracks and shadows, so maybe I myself am too 'normal' to appreciate the true genius of the others. Maybe that's why I wonder at the article, because I don't really see the connection all that strongly. Or maybe it's because I still dream of becoming a writer some day, and I don't want to be put off by the idea that there has to be something 'wrong' with you to be able to succeed...

House of Cards

There was an article in the newspaper on Saturday trying to explain why all of a sudden people like to watch series that revolve mostly around 'bad guys'. It somehow went from the black-and-white villain world of Lord of the Rings, via the Cold War, to the current 'everyone's a shade of grey' thinking. Which to me still doesn't explain why people like to watch stuff like the Red Wedding scene; there is nothing grey or 'in the middle' about that one. Bad guys are generally still bad guys, the good guys are the good guys. Combined with an article I read today about how Captain America is the only moral beacon left in an otherwise corrupted and confused world, I had to conclude that we still tend to over-analyse things. If people want to watch series like Dexter or Breaking Bad or Game of Thrones, let them. There are also loads of people still watching Friends reruns or sobbing about the HIMYM finale, so it's not really like the world has changed that much. (The one thing they did get right was that paid networks like HBO or Netflix do not have to cater to the taste of lots of people because they don't rely on advertisers, so they can experiment more and therefore make more daring series. But that doesn't really say anything about the 'spirit of the times' except that it's still all about money.)

Anyway, one of the series mentioned was House of Cards, which we have been watching for quite a while (no, we don't have Netflix, yes, downloading was legal until 2 days ago, yes, we downloaded all of it before it became illegal). I've visited Washington, even took a tour of the Capitol, which makes me go 'been there!' every other minute, which is always nice (it also made me notice the horrible inconsistency in the opening scenes of Captain America: Winter Soldier, but that's a whole other thing). Other than that, there isn't much I can relate to. I'm not that much into politics, or lobbying, or fund raising, or journalism, and even less into playing games and manipulating people. Still, it's a great series to watch. And the article I mentioned got me thinking: why do I like to watch this?
Firstly, of course, because everybody is watching it. I've been getting Postcrossing cards for months with people saying "I watched House of Cards today - it's great!" from Canada, India, Latvia, and everywhere in between. Most of my colleagues are also watching, with whispered information and reactions passed on during the breaks (whispered not because we're ashamed, but because some people will shout "No spoilers!" if you talk too loud). It's a group thing, because everybody is talking about it.
But it's more than that. Also... the acting is great. I am really starting to loathe Kevin Spacey, which means he must be doing something right. But the plot is great too: I'm curious as to what crazy thing he's going to do next - he must be satisfied with what he's got at some point, right? But no, he's off again, aiming higher, going further, manipulating more.
And then there is that nagging feeling of 'Could this be real?', generally immediately followed by 'No, it can't be real! Right?'. Is this the hidden world of politics? Is this how things really work? Is this what politicians really think of 'the common man'?
Funnily enough, they don't really do cliffhangers. The end of season one was as un-cliffhangeresque as you'll ever see. Nothing was really happening, no 'who killed JR' moment, just people jogging in the park. Most episodes also wrap up nicely; the main problem or problems have been resolved, most people have gotten one step closer to their goals, some people have been diverted or confused a bit more, and everybody is happy. But still, you want to see the next one. You want to know what happens next. Amazing, when you think about the lack of suspense at the end of an episode.

So I'll have to conclude that it's great writing, great acting, and a slightly voyeuristic 'behind the scenes' feel that make me hooked. And that will be my stint of over-analysis for the day, time to watch another episode!

Netherland

During my English studies, there were several courses aimed at 'contemporary literature'. In my view, 'contemporary literature' was often translated to 'literature written by people not born in the UK, US, or Australia' or 'post-9/11 literature' (or combinations of the two, such as The Reluctant Fundamentalist, which I'll suggest to anyone who will listen). Somehow, post-9/11 novels attract other post-9/11 novels, which means my book collection has a relatively large amount of them. Netherland, by Joseph O'Neill, has been among them for a while, and after finishing Bridget I wanted to get on with something that was actually literature, and contained more emotions than 'will he ever tweet me back?'-angst.

Before we go any further, I would like to say that the category 'post-9/11 novels' does not contain any novel ever written after the 11th of September 2001. It indicates novels that were written in response to the 9/11 attacks, or that have been influenced by them. Some are very clearly in this category, such as Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, some less obviously so, including Ian McEwan's Saturday. Some take place in New York City and deal with the obvious aftermaths of the events, some are set in the countries that the US invaded after the attacks (I've read We are Now Beginning Our Descent by James Meek, which is set in Afghanistan and Iraq) and some take place in a fictional future also influenced by the events. What they all, or most of them, have in common is an atmosphere filled with heaviness ("Something oppressive... like thunder" as Fiver tells us in Watership Down). People going through the motions, without actually thinking about it, mostly just to stay alive. Or on the other hand, people desperately trying to get out of the oppressed feelings, only to find themselves thrown back time and again. It's not that I particularly like reading about people who find themselves in such situations, but I am very impressed by the way writers can put these emotions through in their works, and they make me see why Literature is Literature, and what it can do.

So, back to Netherland, which has been sitting on my bookshelf for quite a while now. I had been advised to read it by many fellow students, some of whom had to read the novel for a class, so it has to be particularly good if they recommend it after having been forced to read it themselves. I had no idea what or who this novel was going to be about before picking it up, only that it was on the post-9/11 category. I didn't know, for example, that the main character is a Dutchman. And that there would be several Dutch words and sentences interwoven in the text, without translation or context, which I'm guessing makes them pretty hard to understand for non-Dutch people. Also, it gives an extra layer to the title, which is nice.
As if a Dutch protagonist isn't enough, the novel is also about cricket. There are few things I consider less American than cricket, but there you are. I don't know anything about cricket, either (which made a certain chapter in The Go-Between very difficult to read), but the author does a good job of not making that an issue. Otherwise, it's about New York City, and relationships between people, and how those relationships were stressed to the point of breaking in the aftermaths of the events.

Now I've been to NYC, I've seen the gaping hole and visited the church that the rescue workers slept in while they were searching the wreckage and read the memorials and I still don't feel like I've come even a little bit closer to understanding what happened and why it made such an impact. (I can see the national and global impact, but I'm talking about the man on the street, the 'normal' New Yorkers who didn't lose any loved ones but had to go on living in a scarred city, in a world that would never really be the same again.) But this novel can show me, if even only a little bit. It makes you understand the events, and try to accept them, or at least give them a place. I haven't finished the novel yet, so I don't know which way it's going to go, but I can already see it will make a lasting impression on my understanding of life, the universe and everything, which is what you need, once in a while.

Bridget's Third

You know I've read and love Bridget Jones's Diary, because I wrote about it before. You probably also know that a third novel came out quite some time ago, and that it was completely burned down by reviewers. I found this quite disappointing, as I had been looking forward to the new book ever since it was announced a long while ago. But I decided not to read it, to keep the idea of Bridget and Mark living happily ever after in my mind.
Then I read an interview with Helen Fielding, who was not at all concerned about all the bad reviews, saying that it's the readers who decide, in the end. And the book has been selling really well, which must partly be long-time readers wanting to know what happened next, and partly word-of-mouth advertising. But she did persuade me a bit, and also, she made me curious. What would Bridget be like at 50? And also: could it really be as bad as the reviewers made it out to be?
So last Saturday, I was standing in a bookshop with a friend, when she casually asked me whether I had already read it. When I said no but I did want to, she pushed it into my hands, and I bought it.

Now this is one of those books you can't have laying around for ages, moving it around to get to another book and thinking 'ow, yeah, I should read that one day' (as with Crime & Punishment, or Oliver Twist, to name a few examples). This is one of those books you dive into immediately. Which means that after 3 days, I'm about half-way through now.
I won't be giving too many spoilers, apart from what you've probably already read online, but if you really really don't want to know anything about this book, stop reading here.

At first, it was great. More Bridget! More craziness! More counting of alcohol units and weird self-help books. The writing style and wittiness were all there, just as if there hadn't been a 15 year gap.
After the first few elating paragraphs, I started to see what the reviewers meant. It wasn't the same Bridget. She had gotten older, and sadder, and at the same time stayed the same. This doesn't really work. Bridget was always kind of goofy, but you could see that she was quite smart and had Common Knowledge. Somehow, this has disappeared. No more literary remarks between the lines, no more small comments on events taking place 'in the outside world'. Also, she has managed to raise two kids to school-going age, but can't figure out how Twitter works? She can dress them, feed them, get them to school, get them back home, feed them again, bathe them, put them to bed, and not clear up the kitchen? Not very realistic.
And then there's the 'no Mark' thing. I can see how Helen Fielding wanted to get Mark out of the way so Bridget can have another love interest, but then really put him out of the way. Not have him lingering about with Bridget crying over him all the time, and the kids asking about him all the time (seriously, the younger was 4 months old when he died, how much will she be asking after daddy?). Also, it's been what, 5 years? It's like Helen Fielding couldn't really forgive herself for killing off Mark (a lot of fans would agree with her there) and therefore kept him in a bit.
And then there's the whining. It's all so horrible, being over fifty, being fat, having kids, having to do a job, being on Twitter, having a guy not call you back, on and on and on... In the earlier books, Bridget would be slightly unorganised and sometimes sad, but she wouldn't really whine about it. She would keep a bright face and move on, or try to move on, and if there was any obsessing over men, it was positive.
Finally, the whole structure of the book. It isn't called Bridget Jones's Diary anymore, for a good reason, because it isn't really a diary. It starts in the 'now', and then goes back through Bridget's older diary from the year before, with her adding fore-shadowing or 'back-shadowing' comments in between. This is Bridget Jones commenting on Bridget Jones. And it doesn't work, it takes away from the self-absorbed Bridget and turns her into a very self-conscious Bridget, trying to censor her past self.

That doesn't sound too good, does it?

But then I got thinking: the earlier 2 Bridget novels were written in the 90s, a time of optimism, of forward-going, of new-found freedoms. This novel is very much a post-financial crisis novel: everything is darker, people whine more, people are more self-absorbed and less focused on the world around them. Also, less interest in culture and literature, as expressed through Bridget's inability to write the screenplay for her Hedda Gabler adaptation (the only truly feminist/literary bit in the whole novel so far). Somehow, positive, bubbly, outgoing Bridget finds herself in darker times. And she has had to adapt, big time.
Which made me see the novel in another light, and as I came to this insight already half-way through the novel, I may have to read it again pretty quickly to see if my theory holds any ground.
But for now, I will have to get through it first. And even with the above stuck firmly in the back of my mind, the whining is still pretty tough to get through. I hope she falls in love again pretty soon...