Farewell to Shady 'Bloody' Glade

We had dinner up at Dad's last Saturday and Knickers and I were bemoaning the Noodle's recent obsession with a Thomas the Tank Engine book his Godfather Mike, a regular reader, presented him with.
'Hmm, sounds like Shady Bloody Glade,' said Dad.
'Farewell to Shady Glade? I loved that book.'
'Well your mother didn't; "Shady Glade, read Shady Glade again Mum." Was all she heard from the four of you.' Dad used a very unkind voice for his imitation.

Shady Glade is indeed one of my all time, top-five, picture books. Man those bulldozers were scary. Considering my own recent experience it shouldn't suprise me that Mum became heartily sick of it and took to calling it, according to Dad, Shady Bloody Glade. Which would be, to put it in context, like you or I calling it Shady C*nting Glade. Apparently she disappeared it in the end. Still, I have such great memories of her reading to us all every night. She never let on that every nerve fibre was itching to get us off to sleep so she could stagger back to the kitchen and smoke half a pack of darts.

I guess it is the parents' burden to feign delight when the offspring bring home a painted rock they've stuck some string on, or - another recent thing for the Noodle - run at you index finger first shrieking 'I got the boogers. I got the boogers.'

Uber-believer

...there's nothing more distressing or uncomfortable to look at than a philosopher who's thought himself into a corner. And that was the first night I got a good clear look at his corner, his terrible corner, his sad dead-end, where Dad had inoculated himself against ever having anything mystical or religious ever happen to him...I understood he was not just a sceptic who doesn't believe in a sixth sense, but he was an uber-sceptic, who wouldn't trust or believe in the other five either.

A Fraction of the Whole - Steve Toltz

I'm over halfway through this terrifyingly funny book, and finding some of the author's scathing diatribes cut a little close to the bone when he derides religion, parenthood, love and the aspirations of the general population.

It would be great if I could laugh along thinking, 'Hyuk, other folk sure are dumb-stupid,' but mostly I find I am the other folk.

I identify with Martin, the dad, in the above extract, but at the other end of the spectrum; I'm an uber-believer. Not so much in raiki massage, Buddhism or tarot; but in the status quo.

I've always felt bad whenever I've examined traffic rules, the gear ratios on my pushy, the layout of stock at the supermarket, and been unable to fault them. Likewise I've never been able to contribute anything of note to a work suggestion box. I find everything is the perfect system for right now.

Sure things can change and require adjustment. But the fact is that better minds than mine have been looking at all of these things for centuries now, and pretty much cracked it.

Also this doesn't apply to larger issues of social justice. Hell, no-one seems capable of working that shit out.

So does this mean I'm incapable of thinking outside the box? Maybe. Probably. 'Though I reckon the ability to accept that other people, occasionally, may just possibly know what they're talking about, is also an advantage in life.

Anyway. Do yourself a favour. Read the book.

Review of Books What I Haven't Finished

Ulysses - James Joyce
Best book in the world as voted by those who struggled through it and want some goddamn recognition for their suffering. As no-one can finish it without feeling this deep sense of achievement the claim remains untested by impartial observers.

The Iliad - Homer
Achilleus, Atreus and the Achaians are just the A characters introduced in the first friggen paragraph! My brain, knowing when it is beat, disconnected power to my eyeballs at that point.

The Corrections - Jonathan Franzen
Got about fifty pages in and was enjoying it, but then got distracted by several other books and forgot basic premise and the names of all characters. I'm left with the quandary of not wanting to start at the beginning again, but knowing I'll be flying blind if I pick up where I left off.

And De Fun Don't Dun - Robert G Barrett
I love the early Les Norton novels. This was really flogging a high horse in the mouth.

Infinite Jest - David Foster Wallace
This is so named because it is what bookshop staff inflict on you for fun when you walk in and ask them to recommend 'something good'.

Heart of Darkness - Joseph Conrad
The world's shortest book. I've started it eight times and am beginning to believe it contains some trigger for a repressed memory of some considerable suffering I have previously endured (possibly attempting to read Infinite Jest). After each attempt I wake several days later, covered in vomit, in Whitmore Square and decide to rent Apocalypse Now instead. The horror, the horror indeed.

Atonement - Ian McEwan
Lost me early with a seventeen page description of a vase. Knickers has since picked it up and assures me it is only about a paragraph, but I know what I read. Maybe she has an expurgated version. Anyway, it'll be out on dvd shortly.

Going to Meet the Man - James Baldwin
I'm just not as sixties hip as I thought I was.

The Cockatoos - Patrick White
The Cockatoos. Sounds relatively harmless doesn't it? Probably similar to The Magic Pudding or The Muddle-Headed Wombat. I'll give it a whirl.
Aghh!
Can someone please tell me why all Australian literature is mired in misery? It's not like we all live in Elizabeth.

The Unknown Terrorist - Richard Flanagan
The author made the same mistake as Andrew McGhan with Underground; confusing rabid hatred of the government with literary endeavor. I read the later out of respect for previous achievement but felt I owed no such debt to Mr Flanagan.