I never tire of reading about the lives of artists. So, even when I have not enjoyed actually reading an author’s work, I can often be convinced to have some interest in the author’s life. This fictionalized version of the life of Daphne du Maurier seemed very appealing. There were her literary friendships to learn of, gorgeous locales in Cornwall to imagine, and something sinister simmering just under the surface. The thing that detracted most for me from the book was the uninteresting, albiet now too common intertwining of a “modern day” storyline in which Du Maurier is the subject of research by an academic who coincidentally has a failing relationship just like Daphne. This trope was accomplished with success in the book Posession by AS Byatt, but here just comes off as uninspired copycating. The mental haze Daphne du Maurier operates under throughout the story is what passes for suspense in this book, but in the end it just aggravates as [SPOILER]…Nothing ever comes of it. I cannot recommend this book.

I read Brody’s article “Auteur Wars” in The New Yorker about the relationship between Godard and Truffaut and thought it excellent. I was pleased to see this biography was scheduled to be released soon after the article was published. While waiting for the book to be released, I got the idea to watch or re-watch (as the case may be) all of Godard’s films as I read the book and to blog about my thoughts. I don’t know if I will be able to find a copy of every film to view, or if I will even want to watch all of them or finish the book for that matter: It is 700 plus pages after all. But I’ll keep it up as long as the project’s interesting to me. Basically I want to know: What do the colors red and blue mean to Godard?

I read Brody’s article “Auteur Wars” in The New Yorker about the relationship between Godard and Truffaut and thought it excellent. I was pleased to see this biography was scheduled to be released soon after the article was published. While waiting for the book to be released, I got the idea to watch or re-watch (as the case may be) all of Godard’s films as I read the book and to blog about my thoughts. I don’t know if I will be able to find a copy of every film to view, or if I will even want to watch all of them or finish the book for that matter: It is 700 plus pages after all. But I’ll keep it up as long as the project’s interesting to me. Basically I want to know: What do the colors red and blue mean to Godard?

I read Brody’s article “Auteur Wars” in The New Yorker about the relationship between Godard and Truffaut and thought it excellent. I was pleased to see this biography was scheduled to be released soon after the article was published. While waiting for the book to be released, I got the idea to watch or re-watch (as the case may be) all of Godard’s films as I read the book and to blog about my thoughts. I don’t know if I will be able to find a copy of every film to view, or if I will even want to watch all of them or finish the book for that matter: It is 700 plus pages after all. But I’ll keep it up as long as the project’s interesting to me. Basically I want to know: What do the colors red and blue mean to Godard?

This is not a book that I would ever have purchased. I’m the girl that’s 50 lbs. overweight that STILL gets hit on at the gym after a sweaty session on the elliptical trainer, OK? I order two slices of the cheesiest, most blissful pizza on earth to eat alone in my car and I get hit on by the cashier. I don’t really need help in the sex appeal department (as shocking as that is to admit to myself—hey, I must be doing something right.) But when I learned I was going to be getting an advanced copy of the book, I thought humbly enough in the face of all evidence to the contrary,“Maybe my kung fu could use a tune-up.” THISBOOK IS NOTTHATTUNE-UP. To be fair, maybe this would be helpful to people who walk through the mall without getting verbally assailed. Maybe their derrières could use a little love too. Mine certainly could do with a break!

Aside from the subject matter, I would like to say that the design of the book does absolutely nothing for me. Every page was ridiculously printed in a different color with a different background graphic. Whenever I see books with the funky-scroll-script font (wish I knew it’s name), it is such a turn off! It’s like the publishing world’s equivalent of “WHAT’S UP GIRLFRIEND! PLEASELIKE ME BECAUSE I AM SO DESPERATELYTARGETING A FUNFEARLESSANDFEMALEAUDIENCE!” Additionally, the way that the material is presented (i.e. we are a fly on the wall in the Author’s office as she guides the unfortunately un-sexily named proxy for us all “Sally” through her training sessions) is totally annoying. Instead of just presenting the material to us and letting us glean from it what we will, the authors JUSTKNOW that they have all our concerns covered. In reality they don’t even come close…like how do I turn this Sex Appeal OFF? When someone writes a book about how to get guys you aren’t attracted to to STOP hitting on you in the first place, I’ll be first in line.

The Dud Avocado is the first book I’ve read in a while that I kept imagining as a movie. Probably because I had just recently seen Bonjour, Tristesse and was always picturing Sally Jay Gorce (the protagonist) as Jean Seberg. Which is lovely, if only slightly regrettable for the fact that I lost the opportunity to imagine a Sally Jay of my own making, which is always a special prerogative of the reader.

I must recommend this book to anyone that needs an little of that ye-ye flavor in their lives. If we can’t be at a seaside villa near Biarritz right at this moment, we probably also aren’t prepared to deal with the career ramifications of sporting a pink hairdo at the office, or ignoring the stares while waltzing down the street at 2pm in evening wear. Or meeting an Italian diplomat for drinks at the bar in the Ritz. Sigh. You go, Sally Jay.

The day I never thought would come is finally here. Today I closed Anna Karenina FOREVER! The force-fed nightmare is over. While there were certainly beautifully written passges (helped by the Pevear-Volokhonsky translation, no doubt) I can’t ever imagine reading this book ever again. I will say the scene at the horse races was lyrical and sparked the imagination. And when Levin went on the hunting trip with Stiva, the natural descriptions made me feel as if I was there. But my brain was so choked by the extended description of Russian provincial politics at approximately page 600, I put the book down for a month and wouldn’t touch it. Way to throw a wrench into whatever plot momentum this thing had, Count Lev. At that point, knowing the fate of the heroine anyway, I couldn’t help wondering what could possibly be so important that we had to delay the climax for still another 200 pages. As I recall the upshot of those provincial elections was that….Levin was so confused by all the political doublespeak that he a) didn’t understand the voting process, and b) forgot who he was supposed to vote for anyway. So I made it through all that for absolutely no pay off whatsoever. Dear Tolstoy, allow me to quote Tim Gunn: I can’t want you to succeed more than you do! If the (secondary) main character can’t be bothered to understand it all—WHYSHOULD I? The only redeeming event in those final infernal pages were the descriptions of Anna’s internal emotional break down. I just kept thinking, “Yes, that’s just like a woman.” But that did not take up 200 pages. I persevered to say I had done it, but I would not recommend it.

Oh please, we all know this isn’t going to be an objective review. A lot would have had to go wrong with this CD for me to dislike it and honey, nothing did. It’s perfect new Kylie. It’s harder-edged than FEVER, the lush, dreamy dance disc that re-ignited our dormant passion for Kylie, but hey, she’s been through some stuff alright? The standout for me is “Like A Drug,” but I have a feeling with further listenings, I will find other faves. I only listened to the album 4 times all the way through today, so…Apparently it’s been out in America for a while and hasn’t done well at all. I get that. Sometimes we Americans are too cool for school. That’s ok. All I know is I have no more excuses not to go back to the gym now. I’ve got the trainer sessions, the shuffle, and the 2nd best (behind Fever) workout CD EVER!

I am really in a slump here people. I am apparently plagued with the ability to pick out books with great premises that are never brought to fruition. This is what, the third book in a row that I made 3/4 of the way through and didn’t finish? I’m starting to think it’s not them, it’s me…nah, it’s them. The plot has a great set up in the beginning: cadet Edgar allen poe is brought in to help solve a twisted murder at the US naval academy crica 1830. What gets in the way is that for the rest of the book, nothing happens. There is no trail of clues to follow, and only one vilain to consider (well, maybe two). Instead we are treated to authorial excercises in character voice. Edgar Allan Poe as written couldn’t be more of a show-off blabber mouth.

This book started out promisingly. It’s abundantly clear that the author has a profound knowledge of Turkish history and culture and a light comic touch when it comes to characterization. Unfortunately, the plot, although interesting enough at first, was hampered by the choice (and I don’t know if it was authorial or editorial) of using very short chapters that always ended with a dramatic cliffhanger, followed by a new chapter that involved different settings and characters. A little of this is usually alright, but used with such consistency here it had the effect of confusing me and making me forget where the action had left off once returned to a scene. It reminded me of reading the Woman in White by Wilkie Collins, which was first serialized in a magazine before being published in book form. There Collins had to use cliffhangers so readers would buy the next issue. Here, the technique just made me feel manipulated. With with 80 pages to go, I realized that I really didn’t care whodunnit or why, which abruptly put an end to this visit to Istanbul.