the rain before it falls

By Jonathan Coe

this book is one of the loveliest i have come across in a good long while. i mean this not only in the sense that it contains a moving sweet and poignant story, but in the physical manifestation of of its book-ness. i went on about this at length last week when i first picked it up, at random, in the library. so, my sometimes spastic decision making process for book selection, in this case, bore fruit.

i was intoxicated by the premise of this novel. being vaguely obsessed, as i am, with the seeing of things. i have proper vision in only one eye, and so stories about how we see the world other than with our eyes are always resonate for me. in this case the bulk of this story is conveyed through the lens of hearing a memoir recorded to audio tape. this is done because the intended listener would not be able to read a written account, for she is blind. more, the format of this recollection is guided by the teller of the tale describing her life through a series of photographs.

the way this weaves left me breathless. photographs hold a special fascination for me, though i am incapable of taking a decent one… it is an art form for which i have the highest respect. my friend lyza has created some of the most breathtaking images i have ever seen in my life and it is in many ways, the only medium through which i am truly able to see things in their fullest reality, frozen in a discrete moment. i believe there is something inherently magical about photography and its ability to capture a singular moment in time and translate it into an enduring thing.

and this is at the core of this book. capturing a moment, holding it just so, and then attempting to translate the image into words that are also images for someone who has no eyesight,, but can still be made to see; to be transported to a place in and of time in picture and word, by image paired with sound.

the story itself was engaging enough, and well written, but i’ll admit to being so swept away by the very notion of this way of storytelling that i’m not sure it would have mattered. i’ll need to read other works by this author to really decide how i feel about his writing.

recommended

 

it doesn’t really have to make sense

Once again, explodingdog has me. i swear, i want this guy to do the cover art for my next album…

i’ll tell myself it did not mean a thing until at last i might believe its true a million times i listen to the story of how i never fell in love with you

 

but i am le tired

i have been noticing lately that i have a strange reflexive reaction to say, like a litany, certain phrases that i’ve picked up over the course of my life.

they’re embedded in my consciousness. there are a bunch of em. they are lines from movies, commercials, things my friends or lovers have said to me, generally the verbal detritus of life. and they slip past my lips with virtually no active effort or awareness.

par example:

from The End of the World: “but i am le tired”

i say this all the damn time. most net savvy people get it and snicker. my child, on the other hand, just assumes this is how one announces one is done in. when she’s ready to crash, she is always “le tired.” ha.

from Natural Born Killers: “holy shitfire Leroy!”

this is an all purpose expletive. this one comes into play when i am feeling particularly incredulous. i find it comes in handy in an array of situations.

from my former spouse “fuckow my cigarettes”

this one may make less sense, overall. basically, whenever anything went wrong, my ex would say “fuckow my cigarettes.” and for some reason this seemed to sum things up pretty succinctly in most cases. i generally adapt the phrase for more specific purposes; “fuckow my tattoo,” or “fuckow my uterus,” occasionally “fuckow the black toenail of doom”

from The Amazing Cosmic Awareness of Duffy Moon “you can do it Duffy Moon!!”

when i was in middle school we were forced to watch this bizarre after-school special style commentary on self-esteem. our hero Duffy Moon is confronted with no end of difficulty in his daily life, and he suffers the concomitant self-doubt. every time he begins to question himself a chorus of high-pitched celestial voices chime in and say: “you can do it Duffy Moon!” and he is thus reassured. so, more than a decade later, i relentlessly hear this same chorus of voices whenever self-doubt rears its head. but knowing Duffy Moon can do it doesn’t really tend to make me feel better about myself, somehow…

from Super Troopers: “(holy) mother-of-god”

ok, to be fair, i kinda got this from my friend steph, who said it way before, but as i suspect people may be more culturally aware of super troopers than of, well, steph, i’ll give them the credit. as a fairly irreligious person it always seems to stun people when they hear this one come out. however, as a person who customarily curses like a drunken belligerent sailor with an angry rash, i find sometimes it behooves me to express my consternation/anger/shock/pain/etc in some way that is unlikely to cause mothers to cast foul glances in my direction. the “holy” is optional, when added emphasis seems appropriate. it often does.

i know for a certainty there are more of these rattling around in my head, but i can’t bring any more to mind at this moment. this one is likely to turn into a series… as they come up, i’ll be adding them to the roster.

and you? what’s snuck into your vernacular?

 

its been a plunky plunky day

First Willie Nelson all morning. Soulful, lovely, winsome. I forget how deeply vintage country touches me. Now on OPB I’m watching Pete Seeger and he’s so wise and intelligent and political and gifted. It really does make me want to learn the banjo and sing heartwrenching songs about something light and true.