LITERALLY GOOD

The good reads - well. How stupid can I be thinking that I will cover my good reads in one blog post? It's not possible of course, as I've spent fifty-three years reading, but I'm going to concentrate on some of the best ones I read these last one and a half years.

First - back to yesterday's blog post about badly written bestsellers. There's one trilogy that I didn't include there - and it's been the hugest hit ever these past two years AND many critics would say, BAD BAD BAD - in every sense of the word. "Fifty Shades of Grey" by E.L. James. Well, here it is - I didn't think it was all that bad actually. You have to take the trilogy for what it is - novels about sex, power and wealth - no more, no less. It's a sort of fairytale really. And E.L. James doesn't pretend it to be anything else either. Having said that, I found all the explicit sex descriptions terribly boring and not once a turn-on, and after a few hundred pages of them I was thinking Oh no! Not again. Yawn. But I do think some of her other writing is okay, the ordinary love scenes between the two protagonists, the dark sides of Christian Grey. Not great literature, but there was obviously a slot in the world now for this kind of story. For once I can somehow understand the bestselling code.

Julian Barnes won the Man Booker Prize 2011 for "The Sense of an Ending." It's very short, almost a novella. I just couldn't put it down and read it right through, then I gave away as gifts three copies of it, including my own, never doubting that the recipients would be just as delighted as I was. I don't know if they were - I would like them to volunteer that information to me - I don't want to ask. The story is intriguing, fascinating and on the surface a bit ordinary, but oh wow - does it ever build up. A fantastic plot for those who - like me - have lived a lifetime and harbour a huge number of memories in that hard disc we call the brain. But can memories be accurate? Hmmm... Read the book and find out. 

Another British novel - "Swimming Home" by Deborah Levy. Set in France, it's like a chamber piece revolving around a group of holiday makers. I love this type of plot! This kind of subject! The loaded conversations, the interactions, the unexpected turns, the eeriness. And the title suits me fine!

My sister-in-law recommended Jonathan Franzen to me, and "Freedom" was my first encounter with this brilliant American writer. A novel so heavy and emotional in parts that I simply had to have a break from it once in a while. Just to catch my breath. This dysfunctional suburban family is painfully easy to identify with. So threatening, so scary, so you-and-me-and-our-kids. And Jonathan Franzen - your language, your sentences, your symbolism, your images. I'm a fan!

Summer morning happiness on the terrace with Gillian Flynn and homemade Latte

Another American writer - Gillian Flynn, who has written crime novels for years, reached out to a huge public with this novel - "Gone Girl." I read it this summer on holiday in Bulgaria, another "non-putdownable." I shared the above photo on Instagram and Facebook, and my friend Tove replied: "We're reading the same book and it's not the first time." Tove is the one who taught me to bring along your finished books as gifts when you're invited to people's houses - that way they can either read them, regift them or throw them away. Good thinking!

Well, Gillian Flynn - not too sure about your novel - crazy and hateful as it is - but I liked it well enough to regift it to my Irish friends in Bulgaria. 

Talking of Bulgaria - our friend Turi joined us on a trip there in May, and she really made an effort afterwards to find us a book where Bulgaria is the subject - as a thank you gift - "Solo" by Rana Dasgupta. Sometimes there are completely unheard-of authors in store for you! I love this kind of surprise! Oh, what a fabulous writer this young Indian-British guy is. If you have any interest whatsoever in the difficult process and development the Eastern European countries are undergoing - or if you haven't! - this novel is inevitable. Bulgarian and Georgian history in a short version. The story of the old man Ulrich in a longer version. Reality and daydreaming woven into each other.

"The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry" by Rachel Joyce. British again. Oh yes. Very English. Sweet, soothing, enlightening, frightening, upsetting. A journey - literally. A physical journey, an emotional one, a devastating one. Simple and sweet on the surface, dark and troubling underneath. I love the simple, almost naivistic language! I gave this to my friend Tove after I'd read it (good teacher!) - and appropriately enough she read it while spending time in Surrey, England. She loved it!

Just starting "This is How It Ends" now - by Irish writer Kathleen MacMahon. Very excited and can't wait to get into it, but I have to finish another novel first. She's received great reviews too. A bestseller? I'll get back to you with my own reviews - that's a promise.

LITERALLY BAD

I see from this photo of one of my book cases that I really need to get a grip and rid myself of a lot of books before we move next year. But it'll be like getting rid of my babies! However - I've already managed to steel myself a little bit by doing a a trial run, throwing out a number of children's books and paperbacks that I know we'll never reread. I tugged along two or three sackfuls to the nearby school flea market some weeks ago, and I must admit I haven't regretted it.

I have had a good reading year so far, and nothing pleases me more. For as long as I can remember I've had a book next to me, and I was only five years old when I cracked the spelling code. In my time we started school at seven here in Norway, and I was totally bored in class during the first couple of years. I'd already ploughed my way through a number of books, and my class mates were still learning the alphabet!

For me reading is an exhilarating experience - well, it should be anyway - and I become genuinely disappointed (and almost physically sick sometimes) when I read something that is badly written. Pompous sentence constructions, awful grammar, trite images, over-explanations, clichés, shallowness. I simply die a little bit. But I've finally taught myself to stop reading a book that doesn't draw me in - I've realised I don't need to expose myself to this kind of masochism.

I remember being excited and a bit proud that a neighbour of mine was having his first book published - a contemporary finance/crime/police-novel, and I really looked forward to reading it. I pictured myself stopping him and saying wow! So cool! Congratulations! I really enjoyed your book! Wow, all right.... Wow, so terrible! I struggled my way through it, practically throwing up all the way - sorry, neighbour! I smiled elusively at him and muttered hi, but basically I shut up. When my daughter Julie gave me the novel "Perfume" to read afterwards - crazy, far-out, gruesome novel, but oh so well written - it was an enormous relief.

Okay. Before I indulge in writing about some of my "good reads" I'll do a quick summary of a couple of the baddies. And most readers out there will disagree - I know - because these are bestsellers. I'm always curious about bestsellers - and more often than not they disappoint me. Who can explain the mystery that some books sell millions upon millions of copies while at the same time they are really not well written AND get negative reviews? Is it the storyline? The plot? The characters? Timing? The originality or maybe the lack of originality of all these? Sympathy for the author for receiving bad reviews?

The above mentioned neighbour has become a bestselling thriller writer. And so has Ken Follett, for instance. I thought he only wrote crime novels. But no. He obviously discovered he's got a good hand at research (or a staff of researchers), so he decided to write about cathedral building. In an extremely boring way. And human relations in a boring way too. YAWN. Then he wrote a follow-up or two! This is how far I made it through the first one (having skipped large cathedral descriptions).

All-time-hyped writer Paolo Coelho - "The Alchemist." Okay - I was warned by a friend: Don't read it! It's awful! Well. Read it and make up your own mind. All thinkable clichés moulded into a short novel. All I did was shout: "Enough now! Finish with the mystics! End this embroidering silly language!" No more Paolo C for me.

For a while everyone talked about "Shantaram" by Gregory David Roberts, the escaped convict who lived in India and went through a lifetime of crazy experiences in just a few years. Well, I don't know. Good when it's good, terrible when it's bad. Some editor or other has not done his job properly - huge passages could have been removed and it would have been a much more tight and exciting novel. I think I spent five months on it and finished it eventually on a plane trip. I chucked it on the floor, and the stewardess reminded me I'd left it there. "Throw it away, please" I said, "or keep it. I never want to see it again."

Another author who had needed some more editorial work done to his books was Stieg Larsson, Swedish writer of the Millennium Trilogy. Actually I know a number of people who agree with me on that one. Phew! But he was dead already when they published his books, so maybe it wasn't an easy thing to do.

I was a student of literature - a literature graduate in fact. It gives me some advantage because I've learnt to analyse texts, which I don't do continually when I read of course, but it does make me a critical reader. Still - I very much respect people's choices in reading - always - and I've often said: "Read. Whatever you read - just read!" So read Paolo Coelho, read Ken Follett, read bestselling Norwegian author Jo Nesbø (oooh, bad), read cartoons for that matter.... READ!

Whatever my own tastes in literature - I will always FORCE them on you! No, of course I won't - I'll just try to INFLUENCE you. That's my prerogative in a blog. And my next blog post will be about the goodies.

I'm ending today's blog post with a photo I took on my Sunday walk in the park. It was shared on Instagram, and I think it's the photo I've published there with the most likes received! Even from Oslo tourist organisations! (Yes, yes. I know I'm being childish. Social-media-childish).

SHOOTING & SIGHTSEEING!

Driving through Bulgaria on the way to the ancient town of Veliko Tarnovo, with the Bratz

Stopping for lunch. Generous waiter. I was not driving.

This summer I spent five weeks in one of my second homelands - Bulgaria. I've written about Bulgaria in earlier blog posts - it's an ancient country with a rich history, but it's been brutally occupied by its surrounding aggressive neighbours for years after unfortunate years.

I've recently read a wonderful and highly recommended book about Bulgaria, written by the British novelist Rana Dasgupta - "Solo". It reminded me of this summer, when we were not just sunbathing tourists on the Black Sea Coast as usual, but actually managed to get out and about and do some serious sightseeing. My daughter Johanne was taking part in a pistol shooting competition in the old town of Veliko Tarnovo, and there were six of us holiday makers - including her children - who rented a small van and set off.

Yes, my daughter is a Lara Croft-clone, and suddenly you'll see her getting her guns out to clean them. Travelling on airplanes with a person who has guns and ammunition in her luggage - however legal it may be - is a whole other story, which I might spend some time blogging about, but not right now. It's still very much a traumatic experience and one I've done my best to suppress!

Walking down the streets of the old town, we found a lovely restaurant with a piano player in the backyard and great service. The Hadji Nikoli Inn bore little resemblance to the hundreds of deep-fry-smelling tourist joints in Sunny Beach, and the food was excellent.

Bird's nest above the entrance to the Hadji Nikoli Inn

The following day while Johanne was off shooting it was time for sightseeing. We walked around the partly restored medieval part of town, situated on the hill above the city centre - Tsarevets. It used to be a fortress housing the kings and patriarchs during the Second Bulgarian Empire. Even the children thought it was great - especially the Execution Cliff - where traitors were hurled off to their gruesome death and landed way down in the Yantra River.

The castles and church on Tsarevets

 The Execution Cliff

While we had thoroughly enjoyed the sightseeing, our own Lara Croft had had an awful day at the competition. Having been sick all night after food poisoning (at the fantastic restaurant, alas - but none of the others were ill), she had gone off at seven in the morning, determined to try to compete. In two days she was to shoot twenty-four stages (running through a set course and shooting a number of targets), and she had made fourteen on this first day - in her state and in that heat! She had not eaten all day - obviously - but had managed to drink water and Coke AND keep it down. What stamina this girl must have! I honestly don't think she gets it from me.....

She shot the remaining ten stages the following day and we set off back to the coast, not waiting for the prize ceremony. It turned out she came second in her own category and sixth overall. And there are no separate men's and women's classes! I was a proud Big Mama - for sure.

I had an appointment with my hairdresser today and she asked me if I still wanted to keep growing my hair. YES! I said. Having come this far I might as well continue. Something else to be proud of! So she did the usual treatments, added some sun stripes, snipped a bit off the ends and here I am. It cost a fortune but what the heck. I don't indulge in that many luxuries. Do I?

FLYING WITHOUT WINGS

Just starting off at the end of February

Old houses pulled down, time for the trees now. The trees on top of the hill are preserved.

Our flat top left. There will be three more floors over it.

We have been told that our new flat will be ready on September 1st 2014. We bought it one year ago, and just thinking back to that decision and how quickly this year has passed makes the mind boggle. I have a feeling this next year will pass twice as quickly, with all the pressure of clearing out stuff, chucking things away, painting and decorating the old house a little to make it presentable for a sale, then SELLING it! After all we've lived in the same house for thirty years, and it will be very strange to downsize and move.

The area where our building is being erected is where Oslo's old airport used to be. It was closed down in 1998, and since then the old runways have disappeared and the terminals have been removed -replaced by giant office buildings and blocks of flats, and there's continuous construction going on everywhere. But at the same time they've been careful to plan parks and outdoor areas for bikers and walkers, and because it's all very close to the sea and beaches, it makes wonderful recreational grounds for all the new inhabitants.

They've also preserved the heritage of the old airport and made two very interesting restaurants in the neighbourhood - one is the old Sea plane harbour, and one is in the old control tower - well, not in the tower as such, but in the "retro" ground floor part. I had lunch at this restaurant yesterday - Odonata - where the interior is totally intact, except that the walls have been painted.

The linoleum floors are exactly like the ones we had in our hall in the flat where I lived the first half of the sixties. A lot of the furniture is also very retro, reminding me of my childhood. I was absolutely fascinated by it all, also by the art exhibition on show there - photos and paintings by the two artists Teppo Valkama and Arne Samuelsen.

Of course - being a frequent flyer I'm excited by the fact that this old airport with its outdated buildings is being turned into a new district so close to the city centre (Oslo Fornebu Airport used to be one of the most central airports in the world). It's also appropriate, I think, that I - whose motto is "Leaving on a Jet Plane" - should make my home at the site of a former airport. The flatness of the land makes me want to buy a bicycle! I want to fly without wings across the old runways! So maybe a bike will be a housewarming gift to myself when we move next year.

During the last few days there's been a smell of autumn in the air. I don't like it! For the first time this evening I noticed that there were leaves in my garden that bore another colour than green - and I wanted to scream NOOOOO! As I said in an earlier blog post - the charm of the changing seasons is for others to enjoy. The funniest thing - just after I'd written that previous blog post I took two of my daughters to my friend Tove's for dinner, and her two children were there. We were all in agreement - we want summer all year long. So it's not only me!

Beyonce the Cat suddenly prefers indoor life too - cuddling the Mac or trying to attract attention?

CROSSING PATHS

Sometimes I think of the many people I've met during my life and lost contact with, and I wonder what's become of them and where they are now. Dwelling in the past is not in my nature, but I do believe that those who say they live only in the moment, or those who say they prefer to look to the future are not necessarily telling the truth. Of course you might have had traumatic experiences that you'd rather suppress and forget, and of course we all have memories buried deep in our sub-conscious that we don't dig out all the time. But whether we like it or not the past is a part of us, it has formed us and helped mould us into who we are. And people who have crossed our path have certainly made impressions on us - to a smaller or larger extent.

Kuwait 1975

I'm basically curious. Exceptionally curious some might say. That's why the Internet has been a godsend for me - my curiosity is satisfied immediately, and I don't have to lie awake wondering about where I've seen this or that actor before, where I've heard a particular song, who the singer is, who a certain writer is, what articles he or she has written, what books.... Well, you name it. My restless mind seems to have no limits to its hunger for information.

Joining Facebook was fantastic for me! I found and reconnected with old friends all over the world (ex-boyfriends too), and some found me. Memories were and are still shared - photos, music, old stories. A number of them quite emotional actually. And some reconnections have led to reunions.

But it's a fact that most of the people I've known and liked along the way will never reappear and I will never know how life has treated them. I often think of this. However - yesterday I had unexpected news of an ex-boyfriend from nearly forty years back and learnt that he'd died just a few years ago. He was my brother's teacher at the American School in Kuwait, and it was my sister who rang me yesterday - she'd found out via an alumni Facebook site where she's a member. The strange thing is that I recently wrote about him in an earlier blog post, because he opened my ears and eyes to Joni Mitchell's music.

So I had to go for a walk last night, alone - thinking back, remembering, wondering what had happened and what his life had been like. It was not a long relationship and I can't recall any heartache when it ended, but I can remember having a good time with him. I can remember being excited with the crush I was having - only a teenager still, and he a much older teacher! Well, five years older anyway.... 

Oh yes. The world is truly small these cyberspace-days. The past can catch up with you in many ways, good, bad or bittersweet... It will always be there - living inside you somewhere. 

TREASURE HUNTING

Oh, what mixed emotions I'm experiencing these days, clearing out clothes from my deep and dark walk-in closet. It's been absolutely cluttered - still is in fact, even after I've filled four big plastic sacks. I decided to be totally unsentimental about this clearance, to ignore memories attached to the clothes. Are there memories attached to clothes, you may ask. The answer is YES.

Finding my favourite party dress from the end of the eighties / beginning of the nineties started off the emotional journey. The black-and-gold shiny V-shaped dress with huge shoulder pads used to do me favours again and again, complete with a leaping leopard brooch just below my left shoulder. Seeing it again almost brought tears to my eyes. But those tears were nothing compared to the hyperventilation caused by the claustrophobia and panic I experienced when I tried it on and got completely stuck in it! I simply couldn't get out of it! It reminded me of when I got stuck in a skirt in the Desigual shop in New York - one shoulder over and one shoulder under the waistband. Why do I put on a skirt that way, you may rightly ask. Well, I don't know. I never did learn how to dress properly.

After a hysterical struggle I finally managed to break out of the black-and-gold wonder - feeling much like Houdini I should think - and off it went, sorted into the plastic bag bound for the 2nd hand store. Perhaps someone else will feel comfortable in a tight vintage dress.

More emotional then, to find an old suitcase packed with clothes from the seventies! These were obviously clothes I've been very reluctant to throw away, and WOW! What a reunion I had with these babies! Forcing my daughter Sophie to try on my all-time favourite dress - bought on Kensington High Street in London September 1976 (who said clothes don't carry memories?) - she said: "Yes, Mum, I can see it was probably cool at the time, but I don't know.... it looks a bit like a Japanese style apron..." Ahhh no! - this was the dress I wore when one of my best-looking (and rich) dates whispered to me: "If I make one tug at this bow, will the whole dress come off?"

Can I actually get rid of this dress? I've been taking it out of the "2nd hand"-bag, putting it back, taking it out - oh, really! What did I just say about being unsentimental!?

Then - my lovely flowery Indian jackets, my royal blue raw silk dress from Monsoon in Brighton, worn a hundred times at least, I always felt well dressed in it! Still as beautiful and sober and straight with its high neck collar - I tried it on and it's so perfect.

But there's a time for everything.

I found one stain on the above top. I've only used it twice, so I put some stain remover on it and left it for thirty minutes. Okay, a bit curled up I'll admit. Obviously it didn't absorb the stain remover - or maybe that's exactly what it did - but as my husband said: "If you hadn't told me I'd have thought it was supposed to be like that." A bit batik-like?

I rediscovered some newer stuff hidden away at the back of the closet - this red-and-white jacket, hardly worn. Okay, okay, I might look as if I play for Manchester United (or not? Supporter then?), or as a friend said to me when I bumped into her this afternoon: "You're Danish today!" She's the Danish one actually, but I see her point.

Well. You don't really have to travel far for a treasure hunt. Your own closet will do.