Fairies, fabulous fairies

On the subject of library books, I took my kids to the library yesterday and out of the hundreds of available books, what did my daughter choose?

Katie the Kitten Fairy, Harriet the Hamster Fairy, and Bella the Bunny Fairy.

Honestly, there should be a service where you can hire a teenager to read inane fairy books aloud to your child.

One book-loving vampire dude

This is my friend Carl describing why he loves Kidbooks:

There's this guy there -- skinny guy, glasses -- who describes books and when he's into a book, he's... he's mesmerizing! You should hear him. Sometimes I just stand nearby when he's recommending books to other people, because he's so excited about them.

Well, I'm guessing I know who Carl's talking about.

Who knew brains could change?

I loved this post by Book Aunt about how boys who don't like reading might just be reading the wrong books.

It's true for adult, too. I bought Min The Brain That Changes Itself after reading a rave review on Boing Boing, and Min's loving it. He even read me a passage aloud last night... that's usually my role!

Look where I'm going!

I've been asked to lead the afternoon non-fiction workshop. (Have I mentioned lately that non-fiction rocks?) I'm so excited!

Other people's books are always better

I just returned from a weekend at my sister's house in Parksville where, between trips to the beach, I raided her bookshelf. Sure, I'd brought a couple of my own to read. But those books were known entities, already started, with me indefinitely. There's really nothing more tempting than a whole bookshelf full of someone else's favorites.

Is he psychic?

I didn't even mention Meat-Free Mondays to my husband, the ubercarnivore. What was the point of talking about it? I thought I'd just make a little potato-chickpea curry and pretend I hadn't noticed the lack of animal fat.

That was my plan.

So, with no forewarning of his impending vegetarian meal, what did my husband carry through the front door, like a cro-magnon hunter with his prize?

Kentucky Fried Chicken.

In the middle

I happened upon Middlemarch in the library last week and I grabbed it, wondering how, through four UVic years of enjoyable but realistically useless Victorian literature, did I manage to miss reading Middlemarch?

I'm worried, though, that I'm becoming an impatient reader. Almost all young adult novels deliver constant movement and change, chapter after chapter. Victorian novels move at a slower page. A much slower pace.

Maybe the long weekend and some extra time will get me in the George Eliot flow.

Crazy monkeys

I spent half of last night reading Baboon, the young adult novel by David Jones that I've been wanting to read since... oh, since our shared publisher mentioned a book about a boy whose consciousness is somehow transferred to a baboon during a tragic plane crash.



I know, it sounds wacky. Yet the book somehow completely escapes wackiness.

It's funny, of course, because David Jones has that sort of dry wit that can't help wiggling out between sentences. It's insanely interesting. And it's one of those books that makes me a little tense because I can't begin to imagine how the author is going to fix all the problems he's raised. That's a good thing, though. And I'm sure David will manage to fix the problems, as long as I go back to reading right this minute.

Thanks, Roméo!

Roméo LeBlanc died today, at the age of 81. I didn't actually know the guy or anything, but he did get me a job offer once.

It's like this. I was sitting in an office at UVic, doing a phone interview for a co-op job in Dawson Creek (the one that's mile zero on the Alaskan highway, not the one that used to be on TV, populated entirely by teens).

The editor was asking me all sorts of questions, such as "if someone in town was accused of being a complete pervert, would you want to interview him?"

I was thinking, "um... no. Are you crazy?" And "exactly how cold is it in Dawson Creek in July? Do you still have to wear wool?" And, "do northern towns really have more men?"

What I actually said was that of course I wanted to interview the accused. (That's the kind of stuff journalists are supposed to do and I was pretending to desperately want to be a journalist when really I just desperately wanted a summer job.)

Finally, at the end of the interview, he asked me to name Canada's governor general. Through some fluke which probably involved listening to too much CBC and liking the name Roméo, I happened to know.

Apparently I was the first student to ever answer that question correctly. I was offered the job.

Which I turned down in favor of becoming a staff writer for the Commonwealth Games. That sounded like way more fun than interviewing potential creeps.

(Note to Dawson Creek editor: if you'd like students to move north, try not to mention pervs.)

On second thought, don't answer...

Is it really nerdy that I could spend all day playing with this dictionary?

Happy belated Father's Day

Min asked me recently how I became such a bookworm. And then the classic question: "Did your mom read to you a lot?"

"Yes," I said. "Didn't yours?"

"Yes."

Well, then. That doesn't exactly solve the question of how I became a reader and Min became a gamer. (He's watching UFC as I type this.) There go all those community nurse handouts about the importance of reading to your children.

How did I become a reader? I think it has something to do with (a) the lack of cable television for the Crawford Bay portion of my hick-town childhood and (b) the fact that my parents read ALL the time. My dad has a pocket book with him for every Mom-has-to-stop-at-the-grocery-store-and-it-might-take-an-hour emergency.

With that sort of framing, how can you avoid becoming a reader?

So Happy Father's Day, Dad, and thanks!

Getting the book

I've just finished Getting the Girl by Susan Juby, a book destined to be used in writing classrooms everywhere as an example of strong narrative voice. It's funny stuff.



I've always wanted to read one of Susan's books, partly because I see her name everywhere and partly because one of my friends has the same last name and is convinced she's related. I think she's lucky. If Susan's as witty in person as she is in writing, she'd be a great addition to the family Thanksgiving dinner table.