Thérèse Neelands

mmmm...creatures of some sort or other....

‘Nuff said.

White Teeth, by Zadie Smith

Oh, dear. Another “Best Book Ever, If Ever There Was One”, post. Honest to God, I either have a knack for grabbing great books off the shelf or there are a hell of a lot of good books.

I picked this up last week. It is not only hilarious, but superbly well written. It’s definitely a book to be read aloud. It shows  Smith’s witty brain, and her acute powers of observation - of people from all walks of life - kids, parents, immigrant parents struggling with their kids. Racists, crazy street people, Roman Catholics, Methodists, Muslims, Hindus, different cultures, different families, different ages, different histories.

Here is an excerpt - pg. 168

Mr J.P. Hamilton, confronted on his doorstep by three dark-skinned children clutching a myriad of projectiles, was duly surprised. As old as they had imagined but far taller and cleaner, he opened the door only slightly, keeping his hand, with its mountain range of blue veins, upon the knob, while his head curled around the frame. To Irie he was reminiscent of some genteel elderly eagle; tufts of feather-like hair protruded from ear drums, shirt cuffs and the neck, with one white spray falling over his forehead, his fingers lay in a permanent tight spasm like talons, and he was well dressed, as one might expect of an elderly English bird in Wonderland - a suede waistcoat and a tweed jacket, and a watch on a gold chain.

And twinkling like a magpie, from the blue scattering in his eyes undimmed by the white and red surround, to the gleam of a signet ring, four argent medals perched just above his heart, and the silver rim of a Senior Service packet peeping over the breast pocket.

‘Please,’ came the voice from the bird-man, a voice that even the children sensed was from a different class, a different era. ‘I must ask that you remove yourselves from my doorstep. I have no money whatsoever; so be your intention robbing or selling I’m afraid you will be disapointed’.

Magid stepped forward, trying to place himself in the old man’s eyeline, for the left eye, blue as Rayleigh scattering, had looked beyond them, while the right was so compacted beneath wrinkles it hardly opened. ‘Mr. Hamilton, don’t you remember, the school sent us, these are - ‘

He said, ‘Goodbye, now,’ as if he were bidding farewell to an elderly aunt embarking on a train journey, then once more ‘Goodbye’, and through two panels of cheap stained-glass on the closed door the children watched the lengthy figure of Mr. Hamilton, blurred as if by heat, walking slowly away from them down a corridor until the brown flecks of him merged with the brown flecks of the household furnishings and the former all but disappeared.

In a way, the book is somewhat Dickensian for me - in the way that her characters are all just slightly absurd, which somehow makes them all the more real, in the way she highlights class distinction and in her very detailed descriptions of personal particulars.

Scrumdidliumptious.

Lunch.

My paintbrush isn’t cooperating today, but I certainly had a good lunch. A good friend of mine thought I could do with a treat and showed up at my work yesterday with a bagful of goodies…i.e…..a selection of delicious cheeses, a loaf of chewy, crusty bread, and a wedge of fig and almond cake.

Thanks ‘bro!

Cappucino by Ella's Uncle, where the proprietress bakes delicious things right in front of you, and makes delicious designs on the surface of your cup of joe. Book by new fav. author Nino Ricci

Yesterday morning I woke up early in preparation. To plan my day for The Word on the Street Festival, I pour over the schedule on their website. Steph calls me at 10:00AM to advise on what not to miss etc. Margaret Atwood at 3:00. Nino Ricci at 1:30, Anthony De Sa, and so on. ) I rely on Steph for book advice. You can ask her about any random author, and without missing a beat, she’ll tell you every book he’s written, where you can get it on sale, and any random minutiae about his life).

Barnacle Love, Anthony De Sa

I caught Anthony De Sa at 12:15 (winner 2009 Giller for Barnacle Love) and totally fell in love. (he wears Blundstones and swears by his Mac). I haven’t read Barnacle Love yet, but when it first came out, immediately wanted to covet it because of the gorgeous cover. (I can totally judge a book by its cover, by the way). Definitely my next read.

The Origin of Species, Nino Ricci

I heard Nino Ricci read from his latest book The Origin of Species (Govener General Literary Awards) for the second time. I first heard him when Steph and I went to this Literary Author Reading Book Bonanza at Hart House last spring. Ricci is smart. And has big black eyebrows that frame his face, which I also like. Hearing him speak, I knew his book would be a good influence for my painting, and I picked up a beautiful copy on my way home at a second hand book store (She Said Boom, on College St.) for $10.00. I am now half way through and can’t stop. I even woke up at 6:30AM on my day off and tucked myself in for a good few hours of reading while the wind and the rain howled outside. Mmmm. (Along with peppermint ginger tea, I’m getting a cold).

Margaret Atwood was brilliant, as usual. Sprightly, energetic, hilarious, impish, and ridiculous in her giant, red sketchers. Elenor Wachtel from CBCs Writer’s In Company was the host, and the whole thing went cross-Canada with Halifax and Vancouver connected on screens flanking the stage. She read a short excerpt from her latest novel The Year In The Flood (not a sequel or prequel to Oryx and Crake, but a simultaneous one, experienced from a girl’s perspective, as opposed to Jimmy’s.) I must admit, I got a little bit emotional when she trotted on stage - her dedication to a writing life, the arts, and politics makes me overwhelmed with gratitude. Atwood has been, for many, many years, my most favourite author and person.

The View From Out Here was a panel discussion between Dionne Brand, Camilla Gibb, Nino Ricci (sigh!) and Jane Urquhart. Urquhart was totally on fire and kept interrupting everyone, but since what she had to say was pretty intelligent, I didn’t mind, although Ricci looked a little irked at one point.

I arrived home pretty exhausted and overwhelmed and inspired. And also a little delirious from not having eaten all day.

Work in Progress

Above is a work in progress, an experiment. I’m sketching some things, sticking them under my projector, blowing things up, scaling things down, and sort of collaging as I go along. I like the process which is freeing in that I never know what’s going to happen next, but restrictive in that I’m staying within specific perimeters which gives me a lot less to worry about.

P.S. Seems I can’t create a link in a caption for an image, so check out Ella’s Uncle on Dundas St.