Anna has a child to Vronsky and gets very sick immediately after, feeling full of remorse on her death bed she tells her husband to come home and forgive her - which he does, overcome himself by her situation and bleiving she'll die.
But Anna doesn't die. Instead, she recovers, Vronsky quits the army and they go travelling abroad together! Shock!
Meanwhile Kitty and Levin have just got married, so much happiness and good will.
I'm loving this book! It's taking me awhile to get through it, but that's what Tolstoy's all about, right? It's a beautiful read anyway, not at all difficult, the transaltors have done an excellent job to make it flow so well.
And Toby's going well, growing fast, getting cuter every minute, almost eight weeks old now. He cries a lot some days and sleeps well other days. Today's a crying day, which is hard for Leash. She feels she's tried every different combination of feed/play/sleep/bath etc and there's no pattern emerging - sometimes he's fine, sometimes he's not - and while I think it's probably normal, the fact that he won't settle into a routine or predictable behaviour stresses us both just a bit. Especially because we did this parenting course that promoted the importance of 'flexible routine', and a lot of the 'routine' part of what they said should happen just hasn't for our little man. At least he's got the 'flexible' part going well!
We just returned from a long weekend in Sydney for my sister's wedding, it was absolutely beautiful - Maggie looked amazing and the whole experience was perfect. They got married in a park on one of Sydney's many waterways, then the reception was at their church hall, all dressed up for the occasion. Even the weather was perfect!
Toby did very well, he cried while we were waiting in the airport and we could see everyone looking at us out of the corners of their eyes thinking "I hope we're not on their flight" but once we were on the plane he was fine. And he slept perfectly well in the hotel too, so overall I was very impressed with him; and while there were enough stressful moments that I wouldn't purposefully travel with a 5-week old, if the requirement came up again I wouldn't hesitate. Love my boy :)
Well, it sort of is still baby land in a roundabout way. On the occasions when Toby's been up at night - which seems to happen about twice a week at the moment - I've been reading Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy. I've found it beautifully written and easy to read, which makes it a fantastic novel to submerse myself in at the moment, where reading is even more piecemeal than normal. It's set in Russian high society, spanning both the city and the country, and while its namesake Anna and her liaison with the soldier Vronsky form the principal storyline there's another narrative told alongside it of the country landowner Levin who loves the beautiful but naive Kitty, daughter of a Prince and Princess. I don't know how their part is going to end, but I really, really hope they get married and live happily ever after. They deserve it: Levin is such a solid, trustworthy, entirely perfect man! At the moment he's mowing grass with his hired men. Tolstoy's descriptions of the country and of Levin's country lifestyle are my favourite parts of the book so far.
I often think that half the joy in reading books like this is the insight into another culture. An author from within that culture writes about what is normal and interesting and noteworthy, writing primarily for other people within the culture, and I think it gives great insight into how other people think and the similarities and differences that exist across different countries and borders. It's like traveling to really foreign places: it broadens your mind. I often think the same thing when reading Italo Calvino or Milan Kundera. The story itself is only half the pleasure, the rest is in being introduced to a knew and exciting world view.
Another thing I find myself thinking, though, is how the original readers responded to the story. Calvino, for instance: I recently re-read Difficult Loves, a series of short stories, each one really a character study of some typical Italian person. To me, reading about a woman drinking coffee, or a man riding his bike to a factory to work, or someone losing their bathers while swimming at the ocean - these are all incredibly interesting because they build in my mind an image of Italy. But if you're Italian, and every day you see women drinking coffee and men riding bikes, or in fact if you are an Italian woman or man who does these things, then the story itself would be all that is left of Calvino. Or Kundera, or Tolstoy. And would the story by itself be enough to keep the interest of a 'native'? I guess in the case of these three it must be, as they have each attained a level of respect and longevity within their own cultures and languages as well as in mine.
Anyway, more thoughts about this later. I still don't know how Anna Karenina ends. Or even, in fact, how it pans out - despite being 200 pages in I've still got three quarters to go. Now that's longevity.
Elicia's pretty much walking again now - although the 500m stroll down the shops tuckers her out and she's sore afterwards. But it makes her (and I both) feel a lot better just because it's proof she's on the mend and that everything will be back to normal soon.
Well, except for the very noisy bundle of joy ;)
Someone asked me yesterday how I feel to be a dad, and I had trouble answering. It's strange. Sometimes I'll be at work or watching tele or something else mundane and all of a sudden I feel incredibly fantastic, like everything's right with the world. I think it's hormones. Or love. Whatever, it feels great and I can't wait to come home and see my family and hold out little boy.
But then other times I feel kind of dull and a bit confused. Like I don't know how to feel about it all. Like I'm not very emotionally involved in what's going on. Some of the things that happen aren't situations that normally make me happy, noisy late nights for example. I don't feel sad either, nor regretful, it's more kind of like I don't know how to feel or what to feel - unless it's slightly bewildered.
Besides, there's nothing to be done: we're well and truly committed now! And anyway, he's 3.5 weeks now, which means that with any luck we're halfway to sleeps-through-the-night stage. (Ssssh, I don't want any more horror stories thank you.)
Possibly the most prayed words in history: "Lord, please let him sleep!"
Actually it's all still going pretty well, we've had a few sleepless nights and a few sleep-filled - as much as they can be with a newborn anyway. The midwife who visited on the weekend had some hot tips for good night sleep, which worked wonders on the night after. It's progressively got worse again since then though, so I'm not sure if he's building up an immunity to my Nina Simone CD (not one of the midwife's suggestions as such, but something that we found worked incredibly well) or whether they just stop sleeping as well. Not sure, never done this before...
Anyway, this bleary-eyed Dad is logging off, still very much in love with his noisy son.
Tobias George Crook (Toby) was born at 7:31pm on Monday 3rd March, weighing 4.065 kg (8 lb 15 oz), 50cm long and looking quite spunky.
Elicia’s doing well, she sprained a ligament in her pelvis during the birth process which means she wasn’t able to walk at all for a few days and now has to use an old lady's walking frame. She’s recovering well and we spent our first night back at home last night. The sleep deprivation isn't too bad - Elicia's mum is staying with us for a few days which is absolutely awesome, between the three of us we can alternate shifts a bit which makes life much easier.
And truly, being a parent is awesome, our little guy is the best ever. Even when he's crying in the middle of the night I just look down at him and think 'it doesn't matter how much noise you make, I love you a million'.
Yeah, getting pretty close! We've switched from reading pregnancy books to birth books, also had our first parenting class last week. Elicia's been happy and healthy until just the last week or so when she's started getting sore hips and having trouble sleeping (more than before). It's all very exciting, but it still all seems kind of funny rather than serious. For instance, we went to a wedding on Saturday and it was really funny trying to dance - there's a big ball of stomach between my wife and I!
Elicia finished fulltime work this week. She'll be doing part-time until the end of December and after that a bit here and there as she finds herself able, but for the most part we're down to 1 wage as of next week. And it's our wedding anniversary today. And exactly three months until our son is due (yes, he's going to be a boy!)
Anyway, more about that later. What's really struck me today is how much of a change this really is for us. Work-wise yes, but I think I was expecting that to an extent - it's really the first thing the husband thinks about. And the baby-care role for the wife - that's another big change but again, it's one that you know will happen before you start. But there's other changes - one for us is that we've had to put our apartment at Mount Hotham on the market in order to make the new budget balance nicely. It's a bit sad - and to me it really does signify the end of a part of our lives, the care-free, travelling part. I'm not moping - I'm sure we'll still go on holidays and whatever else, and they'll probably be even more fun with kids - but Hotham was an escape from the real world, a relaxing of the rules and a real icon of our ability to non-conform. And now it's got - we will conform - we will stay in one place - and we will enjoy it!
I know I'm a little late, but I just finished the last Harry Potter. What a thrill! The whole book is action scenes and I must say that after keeping me tense for the duration it had a very satisfying ending. I don't want to give anything away for people who haven't read it - I was lucky enough that nothing had spoiled it for me - but I found it a great read.
Although I do note that some of JKR's plot explanations get a little befuddled. That's not just in the last book either, but nearly every one of the others. There's a scene right at the end of each, usually where Harry talks to Dumbledore, where everything is explained - and while the odd happenings and strange events are always explained away, sometimes the explanations are so far beyond what you would expect that they become implausible, even though they have very obviously been carefully thought out.
In my opinion, the revelation at the end of a novel should draw together the seemingly incongruous and make you go "Ah, now I see! Wow, how clever", and leave you with the feeling htat you should ahve thought of that connection yourself. Whereas Harry Potter is a bit more like "Righty-oh then, well I guess that does explain things" but I've never really found the explanations entirely satisfactory, like they depend too much on random 'magic' laws or spells that aren't understood or explained throughout the rest of the book.
But having said that, they are definitely all great reads and some of my favourite light-reading books of all time.
I don't really follow football that much, but it's been impossible to live in Geelong and not get caught up in the excitement over the last couple of weeks. And after the Grand Final win by the largest margin in history on Saturday night, Geelong went crazy! It's been 44 years since the last time they won, and i think that pent-up excitement was released in one giant splurge on Saturday night. Here's some footage on YouTube:
(everthoughtfuljames, September 24, 2007, 7:30 am)
I know I don't write here much any more, but I often promise myself that I will - so who knows, when I find time maybe I'll get back into it again. Life is busy, I'm teaching a couple of days a week at the local TAFE and trying my best to take my own small business bit more seriously - gosh sales can be scary though. I was saying to my wife the other day that this year my role is changing quite a lot: I feel like I'm only about 70% designer - the other 30% I'm secretary, marketer, customer service, salesman and accountant. But I kind of like it that way!
Anyway, we've got some very exciting news: my wife is pregnant! The baby is due to arrive early March.
:)
So I don't know if that means I'll have more or less time in the future for blogging, but impending fatherhood certainly has a way of forcing calculated introspection.
No, it's not the sound Bond's gun makes. The interrobang has to be the coolest punctuation mark I've ever come across: it's a question mark combined with an exclamation mark.
It's legitimate and perfect for those situations where you want to exclaim questions, rather than just ask them. For example: "HOW much did those new shoes cost?!", "Where is a conductor when you need one?!", or "When did it become acceptable to do that sort of thing on a public bus?!"
So next time you're out shopping, using public transport, or ranting to your mates down the pub, try using an interrobang. Pointed questions become even more pointed. And you gain punctuation respect from your peers.
Janet Frame is a New Zealand writer that we studied briefly at high school. I don't remember reading any of her books, but instead I do remember watching Angel at my Table, her biography. It's pretty shocking, she grew up in a dodgy family and was later diagnosed with schizophrenia and endured shock treatment.
Anyway, this book was an interesting one to read, I was intrigued but also regularly confused. I'm still not sure, even a few weeks after finishing it, whether the author is brilliant or just a bit strange. It flows all over the place, reality within the book bends as the main character (who is an author) starts writing part of the novel you are reading and imagining her own life narrative different to what it is. It has a sort of country grittiness too, lent by the rugged New Zealand setting, which sets it apart from others in the post-modern magical realism (slash confusing) genre.
This monologue takes place when guests are chatting at the main character's newly-inherited house (it's a bit complicated), delivered by another character who has moved from New Zealand to the US.
I tell you I grew cunning beneath my rosy milk maid mask. The change from farm to city was worse than any I have since known. The change of colour, too, from green and drought-brown and grass-brown to drab grey, and the dark green of the Wellington hill-bush, a resentment, a mourning green. Nevertheless, there were distractions for us children - the wind blew often in Wellington, frolicking everyone about in the streets, and the clothes on the clothes lines and and the smoke from the chimneys, tearing apart shapes and shadows, placing and misplacing every unanchored thing, while only great stones and mountains stayed unmoved. The wind blew through people and came out the other side with shreds of them and their thoughts flowing like ribbons in its path; and seeds alighted in their hair - one o'clocks, dockseed, sycamore windmills; while the wind coming around the street corner had a special fury, whipping flowerheads and dust. The Wellington wind was a kind that seemed to have escaped from supervision of weather whereas our Canerbury Nor'Wester was part of the weather and kept its place, before rain.
Dances with Words 
1
Permalink
