by Juan Carlos Onetti

This book finally came in through ILL last Friday. I read the entire thing on Monday, taking breaks to go kayaking and walking and listen to a couple of newly purchased albums. It really was the perfect day off, especially because the sun came out and I got to spend almost the whole day outside. I was beside myself with pleasure.

The tone of The Shipyard is very much the opposite of how I felt that day, but somehow the contrast only increased my own delight in being alive. The book is slow, sad, dreary – not so much depressing as deflated. The narration trudges along behind a man named Larson, who has shuffling back to the region of Santa Maria after five years in exile. He has a sort of half-hearted thought of making a comeback, and with this in mind he takes a job as the General Manager of a failing shipyard. Only two other men work there, routinely going through the motions while the owner is off trying to get the bankruptcy order lifted.

In trying to think about what happened in the book, I get lost. Larson is a fairly full-bodied character, but everyone else – the men he works with, his love interest, Angelica Ines, and the other women he encounters – all seem shadowy. The book seems to be less about the events that occur and more about the mood. There is an odd kind of urgency in the mood of the book – everyone and everything in it seems to be poised on the brink of something, but have been poised so long that the weeds have started to grow and the waters have grown stagnant. If only, if only something could be done, something to snap the stupor, everyone, everything, is ready for action. The book is one giant held breath, waiting to be expelled.

I can’t decide if I liked The Shipyard or not. I was fascinated by it, certainly. I was especially struck by Larson’s awareness of the dualness of his person – his internal thoughts and feelings, and how his face and body reacted to situations. He was constantly putting on a mask, slipping into the costume of a man who was full of faith and sincerity, almost believing his own act sometimes. How often do we all do that?

Onetti’s style is mesmerizing, and while I can say I didn’t enjoy the book exactly (in the sense that I enjoyed the sunny day,) I did find it thought provoking. A couple of the conclusions that Larson comes to are definitely interesting.

“…life holds no surprises; at least not for real men. … As for the meaning of life, don’t imagine I’m talking nonsense. I know a thing or two. We do things, but can’t possibly do more than we do. Or to put it another way, we don’t always choose.”

He suddenly suspected what everyone comes to understand sooner or later, that he was the only person alive in a world peopled by phantoms, that communication was impossible and not even desirable, that compassion was worth more than hate, that a tolerant indifference, an attention divided between respect and sensuality, was all that could be asked for or given.”

It was hard for me to agree with these sentiments on such a glorious day, and even now (that the sun has gone away again…) I would still beg to differ. There have been times in my life when I have felt that I was trapped and that life had gotten out of my control, but I’ve never felt that I wasn’t the one that had done the choosing. I do recognize the helplessness (even just the exhaustion) that Larson felt, and so perhaps I can move on from this book with a greater sense of thankfulness – that the sun does still come out (once a week or so…) and that I’ve never yet encountered anything as dreary as the shipyard!

Even so, I’m not sorry I fell under it’s spell for a day.

Yesterday afternoon I saw sun again for the first time since last Thursday. It had been overcast, foggy, and rainy for days before those three hours last Thursday, and the weather returned to that pattern for the following days until yesterday afternoon arrived. I had the evening off so after leaving the Country Store I went home, and because it was actually too hot to go hiking, I spent the rest of the daylight napping and reading Little, Big by John Crowley in the sun.

We got 10 inches of rain in June and had many more dark days than sunny. Normally this type of weather would cause me to lose my mind. However I managed pretty well last month (hurray, it’s now JULY!). I simply decided to take on a “Seattle” mindset – by which, most unfairly perhaps, I mean this: instead of hoping for sun I just assumed there wouldn’t be any and got on with my life, drank LOTS of coffee, and lost all guilt over staying inside reading and watching movies all day.

Aside from all the things I’ve already posted about here, I also finally tracked down one of Peter Dickinson’s earlier novels – The Old English Peep Show – a mystery set at an old country estate where poor Inspector Pibble is up against aging Generals/War Heros, lions, and the dark force behind profitable enterprise. My father has always told me to look for Dickinson’s old mysteries, but until unearthing this one in the basement collection at Jesup, I was missing out! A fast, fun read with well drawn characters, and lots of odd quirks.

The other book I found in the treasure trove of the Jesup basement was Ursula K. Le Guin’s The Lathe of Heaven. I wanted to read it so that I could watch the movie that is based on it. I had found out from her web site that this movie was just about the only movie based on one of her books that she liked. The book proved to be fascinating. It is set a bit in the future, and focuses on George Orr, who has a slight problem with dreaming. His dreams change reality, or so he claims and that is why he overdosed on drugs – he was taking them to prevent himself from dreaming. He is sent to a psychiatrist who specializes in dreams, and quickly proves that he is not kidding around, nor is he crazy. Dr. Haber realizes the potential for good that Georges’ dreams provide, and he in turn proves how very wrong things can go when someone tries to change the world and control their own destiny. The book is a whirlwind, as each time George dreams both he and the reader have to come to terms with the newest version of reality. Beautifully written as always with Le Guin’s work, this book blew my mind.

The movie was really interesting too. It was extremely close to the book, and as such was very satisfying. It was made in 1980 and was PBS’s first direct-to-TV production. The budget was small and the scope of the film large, but for what they had to work with I think the result was excellent. My viewing enjoyment was somewhat hampered, however, by a terrible transfer to DVD. There was large degree of “ghosting” which was distracting. Apparently this is because PBS didn’t save a copy of the production after the rights to rebroadcast expired! It was too expensive to pay for all the rights they needed to continue broadcasting. The home video release was remastered from a video tape of the original broadcast, and I assume that’s where the DVD came from too.

Anyway, I’ll stop boring you with the details! I definitely recommend the book, and in spite of it all recommend the movie to anyone who wants to see Le Guin’s work accurately reproduced on screen.

My final fond memory from this past rainy June is waking up late on a Saturday and tumbling out of bed, only to curl up in a blanket and watch My Neighbor Totoro and laugh and cry and in general thoroughly enjoy that dreary, lovely morning.

by Eduardo Galeano

I was going to read The Shipyard by Juan Carlos Onetti as my Uruguay pick for the OT challenge, and June was the month for it. However I was thwarted by the ILL system here in Maine, which is undergoing some transitional thing that has caused major delays in state wide book traveling. As the month drew to a close I began to panic, and finally gave The Shipyard up as a temporary loss. Crossing my fingers I went to the library at COA (where I recently was initiated into the patron record!) and looked for something, from any South American country, that I could get through before June ended.

After nearly giving up, for the collection had an abundance of Mexican and Argentine writers but not a whole lot else, I emitted a little squeal when I scanned the back of The Book of Embraces and saw the words, “Uruguayan writer Galeano“.

A quick flip through the book proved it to be full of drawings and lots of empty space – thankfully a quick read! It proved to be a fascinating one as well. It is composed of short pieces of writing that provide a collage or a kaleidoscope view of the author’s life and the state of affairs in Latin America during the 60s-late 80s. Some pieces are historical, some are political, some are autobiographical, some are stories other people told him, and some are just small beautiful thoughts.

At the beginning of the book Galeano put this: “Recordar: To remember; from the Latin re-cordis, to pass back through the heart.”

As an older man Galeano is passing the events and experiences of his life back through his heart, and he is embracing all of it – joys and sorrows. My knowledge of events in Latin America over the past century is spotty at best, so it was eye-opening for me to read of revolutions and dictatorships and torture and exile happening in so many different countries. Galeano wrote about these terrible events just as gently, though, as he wrote about his wife’s dreams or told a tale that celebrated art. Yet while his writing was “gentle” there was also a force behind it that made almost every piece impact me.

There are a lot of things that made me sad in this book, but the fact that Galeano could reach this point in his life, look back, and then look forward and say he is not finished with living makes me glad.

‘I still have a long way to go. There are moons at which I have not yet howled and suns which have not yet set me alight. I still have not swum in all the seas of the world, of which they say there are seven, nor all the rivers of Paradise, of which they say there are four.
In Montevideo, a child explains:
“I never want to die, because I want to play forever.”‘

I am also glad that I have discovered Galeano and intend to read some of his other work – of course!

On one other note I was extremely satisfied as well, and this was to discover how close Galeano and Cedric Belfrage, his translator, were. I often wonder, when I read translated works, how faithful to the original they are – not just in words, but in tone. There can be no doubt about Belfrage’s translation. In a note at the beginning of the book Galeano wrote this about Belfrage, who died shortly after finishing The Book of Embraces:

‘I would recognize myself in each of his translations and he would feel betrayed and annoyed whenever I didn’t write something the way he would have.‘

That’s lovely. It makes me feel that I am not missing as much by being such an English only reader. However, I would very much like to someday read a non-English book in it’s original language. Learn Spanish (or Russian, or French) is still on my to-do list!

1995, 1998, 2007 – Dir. Carlos Saura

We played Fados at Reel Pizza Cinerama a few weeks ago, and one of my friends and co-workers watched it three times. I joined her for the second round on the night she watched it twice in a row, and could easily understand her obsession. It is a beautiful movie. In a series of musical numbers Saura explores the origin of Fados, a Portuguese style of singing with African and Brazilian roots. Using mirrors, lighting effects, backdrops, and dancers he weaves a vibrant fusion of song, movement, and history. The effect is mesmerizing.

The style of singing is very crisp – absolutely lovely voices hitting notes with ringing clarity. The singers seemed more than usually like an instrument to me – their entire bodies seemed to be pouring forth song. There were homages to faudistas legends like Maria Severa and Amália Rodrigues, as well as performances by modern stars like Mariza and Camané (none of whom I’d ever heard of before this, but who I will be looking into in the future!) There was also a mixture of other styles such as hip-hop, flamenco, and reggae which pointed out the incredible exchange of ideas and influences that makes music so exciting.

Just talking about Fados makes me want to watch it again. Hopefully it will be released onto DVD in the US soon… Until then there are tons of clips available on uTube!

My friend and I watched Tango about a week before we saw Fados. I thought it was the first in the series, but actually Flamenco was made several years before. It was released on DVD later, however, and Tango is the movie that got a lot of publicity due to Golden Globe and Academy Award nominations. Of the three films it is the only one that has a plot driven format. Set in Buenos Aires, it centers on Mario Suarez, a middle-aged theater director who is still recovering from a bad break-up. He is working on a musical about tango. While he tries to get over his feelings for his ex-girlfriend (who is also his principle dancer…) and enjoy an affair with another beautiful dancer (who has a possessive boyfriend of her own) we get to watch a lot of fabulous tango sequences and enjoy some really creative cinematography. Reality and the story in the musical sometimes blend in intriguing ways. I didn’t particularly care for the plot of the film, but the dancing more than made up for it, and Vittorio Storaro’s camera and lighting work was stunning.

We finally got to watch Flamenco last night. Of the three it was my least favorite, which surprised me because I was SO excited for the dancing, flamenco being one of my favorite forms. The film did and excellent job of showing the variety of flamenco rhythms, and bringing out it’s Indian, Greek, Romany, and even Jewish influences. The entire musical genre was examined – the style of singing, dance, and guitar playing. The dancing was thrilling, no doubt about it, and some of the guitar solos were absolutely amazing. However, I didn’t care for the style of singing. An astonishing degree of passion was portrayed, but the harsh anguish that made every singer’s voice grating and rough and nasally was not to my taste. Still, on a whole the movie was fascinating, and the intense inclusive circles of family and community groups all participating in make the music was wonderful. You really got a sense that this type of music was being passed down with a great deal of respect and joy. My favorite part was when an old man and a young boy were dancing together – the boy lithe and full of energy, the old man slower but still full of light-footed grace.

I definitely recommend all of these films to anyone who loves music and dance, and also interesting cinematic techniques. Carlos Saura has been making films since the 50s, and I guarantee that I’ll be tracking a few more of his down. I’ll keep you posted!

1946 – Dir. Jean Cocteau

I got another library card last week! I am now a patron of COA’s Thorndike Library, and the eclectic movie collection (built partially by a friend) is mine to peruse. The first item I checked out was Jean Cocteau’s Beauty and the Beast. It’s been on my list for awhile, but I specifically wanted the Criterion Collection DVD, which was not available through Netflix and cost rather a lot to buy. Why so picky? Because in addition to the movie it has Philip Glass’ opera version as an alternative soundtrack!

The movie itself is wonderful. Based on Jeanne-Marie Le Prince de Beaumont’s tale, it is a fairly straightforward retelling. The only deviation from the familiar tale is that back at home Belle has a suitor who helps plot with her brother and two sisters the death of the Beast. Disney got the idea for Gaston from Cocteau’s version.

Although black and white, the movie is bursting with eye candy. The costumes are lavish and the sets elaborate, and crafted to resemble the engravings of Gustave Dore the paintings of Jan Vermeer. Josette Day, who played Belle, was indeed beautiful.

There were things that were a little odd to me and therefore mildly distracting, such as the highly dramatic style of acting, but I can’t really complain about that when so many other interesting things were going on. The enchanted castle with it’s floating arms holding candles, and the faces in the fireplace that were alive and watching were fantastic.

There was a booklet that came with the DVD which contained something that Cocteau wrote for the American release of the film (and I would quote from it directly if I hadn’t had to already return the movie…). He said something like he wanted to make the Beast so appealing and sympathetic that when he was transformed into the handsome prince, it would be almost disappointing. He did this in his film particularly effectively by making the prince look exactly like a nicer version of Belle’s offish suitor from home (Jean Marais did very well playing the whole trio!). I really responded to this, because I always feel emotionally jerked around when the Beast is transformed into someone who Belle, quite aptly, thinks will take some getting used to…!

The idea behind Philip Glass’ opera is that it is performed live while the movie is projected behind. He painstakingly timed all of the sung lines so that they synced with the filmed actors. I imagine it is very impressive when done live. Even as just an alternative soundtrack to the movie it was enjoyable. I have to add though, that I am not overly awed by Philip Glass. While interesting, his music is just a bit too repetitive for me. I am still exploring his work though, so no official opinions yet.

What I have gained from this whole experience, aside from an appreciation for the film, is a great deal of curiosity about Jean Cocteau, who was also a poet, a playwright, a novelist, and a…boxing manager?? Yes indeed, he needs a little more of my attention.

A passing comment about Tom Robbins brought Richard Brautigan into my life. According to my friend Colin, everything good about Robbins writing had been done first, and better, by Brautigan. This excited me, because while I have generally liked the few books I’ve read by Robbins, his somewhat overblown opinion of his own cleverness has always irked me.

Early this morning (and very late at night) I read the last book in the collection of three that I got through ILL a few weeks ago. The Pill versus the Springhill Mine Disaster is a collection of poems. Being poetical is what Brautigan is good at – even his prose reads like poems in fat paragraphs.

His writing is odd, funny, sad, and full of images that pop out of the page. An especially vivid moment from In Watermelon Sugar keeps floating back into my mind:

He took it out of his pocket and handed it to me. I didn’t know how to hold it. I tried to hold it like you would hold a flower and a rock at the same time.

Phrases such as this give me shivers because they startle and delight me. They send me deeper into the experience while at the same time pulling me a little out of it, and it is the balance of that which thrills me.

The poem that I liked the best so early this morning, while lying in bed wrapped in Bach’s Cello Suits and close to sleep, was The Horse That Had a Flat Tire.

Once upon a valley
there came down
from some goldenblue mountains
a handsome young price
who was riding
a dawncolored horse
named Lordsburg.

(I love you
You’re my breathing castle
Gentle so gentle
We’ll live forever)

In the valley
there was a beautiful maiden
whom the prince
drifted into love with
like a New Mexico made from
apple thunder and long
glass beds.

(I love you
You’re my breathing castle
Gentle so gentle
We’ll live forever)

the prince enchanted
the maiden
and they rode off
on the dawncolored horse
named Lordsburg
toward the goldenblue mountains.

(I love you
You’re my breathing castle
Gentle so gentle
We’ll live forever)

They would have lived
happily ever after
if the horse hadn’t had
a flat tire
in front of a dragon’s
house.

I’ve been to Lordsburg, NM, which amuses me and adds a little something extra to the poem for me. It is the lines about the beautiful maiden whom the prince/ drifted into love with/ like a New Mexico made from/ apple thunder and long/glass beds that I especially like though.

I’ll be looking for more Brautigan for sure, but now I’m late for work so I’ll wrap up this post with the very last line in Trout Fishing in America:

Sorry I forgot to give you the mayonaise. (Mayonnaise spelled Brautigan style!)

Let me try this once again. There have been computer problems at the store and extremely spotty internet at the library recently, which has greatly hampered my blogging. Yesterday I finally got a post written, but when I tried to publish it the internet crashed and I realized too late that a draft of the post had never automatically saved. I have so many things that I want to write about, and the pile is getting overwhelming! Today I am trying to pick up the signal in the Village Green, which didn’t work for me last time I tried. So far so good, cross your fingers, knock on wood, etc.

After an afternoon, yesterday, of trying to briefly sum up the books and movies and adventures that have occupied me recently, I had to resort to extreme abbreviations – micro-blogging. I’ll do the same today, hopefully with more success, because I’ve reached the awkward point where I need to let go of these blog entries and, you know, move on with my life.

Here then are my micro-blog posts:

Recent Books -
- A Curse Dark as Gold by Elizabeth C. Bunce (Retelling of Rumplestiltskin, fairly creative, liked it!)
- The Rabbi’s Cat by Joann Sfar (Graphic novel, awesome snarky cat, definitely will be reading the sequel – check out One Swede Read’s much longer post about the sequel)
- Trout Fishing in America by Richard Brautigan (Super abstract, but with surprising, rich imagery)
- In Watermelon Sugar by Richard Brautigan (More liner than Trout Fishing in America, but equally odd – liked it!)

Recent Movies -
- Vampyr Dir. Carl Theodor Dreyer (1932, Danish, super creepy and cool – thanks to Richard for introducing me to it!)
- Tango Dir. Carlos Saura (Beautiful dancing, weird story, fabulous cinematography)
- Fados Dir. Carlos Saura (Third in a trilogy of which Tango is the first, featuring a Portuguese style of singing – loved it!)
- Blow-Up Dir. Michelangelo Antonioni (Based on a story I read by Julio Cortazar, different but equally interesting)

Recent Adventures -
- Day trip to Deer Isle, ME (Beautiful drive, scary bridge, short hikes – one in an old quarry – and a pretty good dinner at The Cockatoo Portuguese Restaurant)
- Kayaking up Northeast Creek (Great way to spend a hot afternoon, saw turtles and a kingfisher, fell out of my boat – whoops!)

Ahhh, sigh of pleasure – all the various aspects of life have been so great recently, aside from the internet thing, so getting these posts off my chest is a relief. I may upload pictures from Deer Isle later, and I do have more to say about Brautigan, but for now this is enough.

by Vladimir Nabokov (1962)

Until just recently, my only knowledge of Nabokov came through knowing him to be the author of the book that Kubrick’s film Lolita was based on. The May issue of Wired had a 1/2 page article about him and the possible publication of the novel he was working on when he died in 1977 – The Original of Laura. My curiosity was roused by descriptions of chess problems that he embedded in the text of his stories, as well as other interesting quirks, so I trotted over to my library to see what I could find.

From among several choices I picked Pale Fire. What a deliciously strange book! It is presented as the publication of a 999-line poem written by the famous American poet John Shade, with a Forward and extensive Commentary provided by a self-appointed editor named Charles Kinbote.

Within a few pages I was well aware that Kinbote was a most intriguing character. He claimed in his Forward to have been one of Shade’s closest friends, and in the event of Shade’s death felt that he was the only rightful editor of the poem Shade had nearly completed. Swallowing his disappointment over the poem’s content – a loose autobiography of Shade’s life, and not the epic tale of the land of Zembla and it’s exiled king that Kinbote had imagined – Kinbote holed himself up in a backwoods trailer park and composed his commentary.

The 999 lines of the poem are really quite excellent. I loved a lot of Shade’s imagery, and the rhyming couplets had a driving force. I felt the need to read it out loud to myself.

The Commentary, which makes up the majority of the book, is hilarious. Kinbote makes few comments on the actual poem, instead using a word or a phrase as an excuse to launch into the tale of the Zemblian king – his fabulous boyhood, the revolution that made him a prisoner, his daring escape, etc. Details about Kinbote’s life as the neighbor and friend of Shade are also related, and the mystery surrounding Shade’s accidental death is cleared up. Kinbote tries to make the claim that Shade was indeed writing about Zembla and Charles II, referring to a few fragmented drafts and referencing details that only he could imagine describe anything resembling Zembla.

I’m pretty sure Kinbote is full of it, but his tale is entertaining and the book as a whole is so fabulously well done. I finished it yesterday afternoon and immediately flipped to the beginning and read the entire Forward again. Today I was immensely amused to find that an intense argument has been spawned by the book – who in fact wrote it? Obviously Nabokov did, but within the context of the book, did Shade write the whole thing and invent Kinbote, or did Kinbote write it all, including the poem, and invent Shade? I’ll have to find Brian Boyd’s 1997 study of the book, just for kicks and giggles, and see which interpretation I choose to accept.

For now I’ll stick with this: Pale Fire is SO COOL! And I’ll be reading more Nabokov soon.

I had the extreme good fortune the other day of being allowed to borrow books from a very fastidious co-worker. He has a large collection of books, with duplicates of many because he needs a lovely clean copy and one to mark up. We’ve had many discussions about our stances in regards to marking books, caring for books, living with books. Is pencil okay but pen not acceptable when it comes to marking, perhaps highlighters are better, dog-earing corners is the abomination above all, leaving books lying around open is a punishable act, etc. I know at this point to make sure my hands are clean when he hands me one of his favorite magazines to peruse, and if he leaves a book in the ticket booth at Reel Pizza Cinerama I wait until he’s around to ask to look at it.

Such finickiness has paid off! “I’ve got something special for you today,” he said. “Because you’re so good with books, and because you let me borrow Pride and Prejudice and Zombies” (hahaha) “I’ve brought the Proust comic books for you.” I was quite beside myself with pride and excitement !

If you are looking for a quick brush-up on Proust, or want to test the waters before diving in, Stephane Heuet’s adaptation of In Remembrance of Things Past (the older translation of the title In Search of Lost Time) is the way to go. Heuet has been working on the project since 1998, and so far he has produced four volumes.

It was my great pleasure to read the first three – Combray, Within a Budding Grove Part 1, and Within a Budding Grove Part 2. I meant to save and relish them, but I am incapable of reading the comic book, or graphic novel form slowly. I had the books back to my co-worker by the following evening, much to his surprise. He was pretty impressed, and gratified I think that they could return so quickly to his protection!

The books are wonderful. The illustrations are detailed but the characters are drawn simply. Stylistically, I was strongly reminded of The Adventures of Tintin, the comic series created by Belgian artist Hergé, the pen name of Georges Remi (1907–1983). A lot of the text is taken straight out of Proust’s original, with some conversations improvised.

What I loved was how Heuet whittled down the story, including all of my favorite parts but skimming over those 5 page long descriptions of a drawing room, etc. All the episodes and even the passing comments that I made notes on or remember especially appeared in Heuet’s version, so the reading experience was very fulfilling.

The amusing elements of the story seemed to be a little more apparent in this form, which I found delightful. The original often made me laugh, but episodes such as the bizarre visit of Monsieur de Charlus to Marcel’s bedroom, and their conversation on the beach the following day, was enhanced greatly by frames of Marcel’s perplexed face (complete with floating exclamation point).

The newest volume – Swann in Love – came out in 2007 and my friend doesn’t own it so I’ll have to track it down myself. These books definitely need to be added to my bookshelf, and if anyone else is looking for a painless way to read Proust, or would like a refreshingly quick reread, Heuet’s adaptation is spot on.

It took Marcel Proust 14 years to write In Search of Lost Time. It looks like Heuet may beat that record, as he is on his 11th year with the project. I very much hope he is still going strong, as I will definitely be keeping my eye out for new volumes. At least I probably have enough time to get through a couple more volumes of the original…!

Fair weather has arrived here on Mount Desert Island, and I have been out enjoying it when I am not moving house or working. I went out in my little kayak yesterday for the first time, and although the ocean water was still a frigid 45 degrees, protected from the wind in my little cove I paddled around in the hot sun and was thoroughly happy.

I went out again today, and saw a bald eagle and some mergansers and a belted kingfisher, not to mention jellyfish! The water was full of Moon Jelly – Aurelia aurita – one of the more common jellyfish found along the Atlantic Coast. I have never seen jellyfish in the wild before, so I was completely fascinated. I kept my fingers and toes well inside my boat though!

I’m nearly done moving from my house in town out to my boyfriend’s cabin by Northeast Creek. It’s going to be so great to live there this summer! I can paddle up the creek or out to sea every day if I want to, and basking in the sun with a book will be a frequent activity. We have a fire pit out back in the woods, and we will be grilling and gardening and just in general enjoying ourselves.

I finished Night Flight by Antoine de Saint-Exupery while sitting in the sun and drinking a Bloody Mary yesterday morning. It was slightly odd to be so warm and in such brightness, while reading about airplane pilots caught in black storms in the middle of the night. The book was quietly sad, but very beautiful. It told briefly but vividly a tale of the brave men who piloted night mail planes from Patagonia, Chile, and Paraguay to Argentina in the early days of commercial aviation.

Saint-Exupery is so skilled at bringing to life a time and place, and really making you feel like you are right there experiencing it. I was sitting in my lawn chair, but the cockpit of a bi-plane seemed more real to me, and the wind whipping my hair seemed more likely to be that of the storm coming over the mountains than the sea breeze.

I love when a book transports you so well. I want to read Saint-Exupery’s Wind, Sand and Stars next. It relates an actual desert crash and survival adventure that he experienced, which led to the writing of The Little Prince.

So many books to read! I was just browsing through the blogs I read, picking up new recommendations and adding them to my TBR list like there was no tomorrow. Somehow the summery weather makes me feel like that’s true. I have endless sunny days ahead of me, lined up and just waiting to be filled with reading and kayaking and maybe the odd jellyfish!