Bookish NYC

Bookish Hiatus

Bookish NYC is going on hiatus until the Wednesday after Labor Day (September 8th for those of you not in the U.S.).  Enjoy these last days of summer, and happy reading!  

Seen on the Subway

Seen this week on the uptown 6 train:

The Lonely Polygamist by Brady Udall, read by a slight woman in her 40s wearing a peasant skirt and flip flops.  I read this myself earlier this year: one man, three houses, four wives, twenty-something children, a failing construction business, heart-rending loneliness, and adulterous longings.  And despite the foregoing, very, very funny.  

Super Sad True Love Story by Gary Shteyngart, read by a guy in his early 30s with what I would describe as a high geek quotient.  From what I can glean on Amazon, this story is set in near-future New York, which has been turned into a police state.  The protagonist is Lenny, a Russian-Jewish immigrant who falls hopelessly in love with Eunice, a 20-year-old Korean girl, as the two are plunged into an "Orwellian nightmare."  

The Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis, read by a man in his 20s wearing a button-down shirt and chinos.  This Christian classic by the author of The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe features the correspondence between a senior demon and his nephew-protege, who he is tutoring to lead believers astray.  

On the Shelf

After the sumptuous traditional libraries I've featured the last two Thursdays, I thought it was time for something a little "funkier."  How about this bookshelf staircase?  

 
 

Hijinks at the Office

Hijinks at the office prevent me from having time to post today.  Suffice it to say that the career has been cutting into my reading time this week, preventing me from finishing the amusing Instances of the Number 3 by Sally Vickers. 

Object of Desire

It's a bit of a misnomer to say that these Ted Muehling mother-of-pearl earrings are objects of desire, because in fact I already own them.  They are, however, among my very favorite pieces of jewelry and I love them as much now as I did when I bought them several years ago.  

 
 

MMA Bookstore

Late Saturday afternoon, I met a friend on at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.  We had a wander in the Greek & Roman Galleries, then stopped in the bar on the balcony overlooking the Great Hall for a drink and to enjoy the live chamber music.  (Friday evenings, jazz is featured; on Saturdays, classical music wafts over the crowds of museum-goers.)  

Before leaving the Museum, we couldn't resist a visit to the gift shop, a large portion of which is devoted to books.  There are Met publications of course, including catalogues of current and past exhibitions, as well as general art history books, reference volumes, biographies of artists, and "lifestyle" books.  They always have a couple of sale tables where there are great bargains to be had.  

I bought A Summer of Hummingbirds: Love, Art and Scandal in the Intersecting Worlds of Emily Dickinson, Mark Twain, Harriet Beecher Stowe, & Martin Johnson Heade.  From the book jacket:  "At the close of the Civil War, the United States took a deep breath to lick wounds and consider the damage done.  A Summer of Hummingbirds reveals how, at that tender moment, the lives of some of our most noted writers, poets and artists . . . intersected to make sense of it all.  Renowned critic Christopher Benfey maps the intricate web of friendships, family, and romance that connects these larger-than-life personalities to one another, and in doing so discovers a unique moment in the development of American character."   Right up my alley, and only $7.99!  You can see why it caught my eye: 

 

Also to be had for a song was Highland Living: Landscape, Style and Traditions of Scotland by Stephane Bern and Franck Ferrand, a lively mix of history, legends, folklore and stunning scenery, focused on the magnificent Cawdor Castle (yes, of MacBeth fame).  Published by Flammarion, the book is lavishly illustrated with photographs by Guillaume de Laubier.  

Then I fled before I was further tempted!   

Sunday Quote

"There is a temperate zone in the mind, between luxurious indolence and exacting work; and it is to this region, just between laziness and labor, that summer reading belongs."

--Henry Ward Beecher

Seen on the Subway

A bearded man in his mid-20s was reading Rewrite: A Step-by-Step Guide to Strengthen Structure, Characters, and Drama in Your Screenplay, by Paul Chitlik.  His girlfriend was seated next to him reading How To Be An American Housewife, by Margaret Dilloway.  

A middle-aged woman with hair dyed an improbable shade of blonde and wearing sky-blue Crocs was reading  Captive Queen: A Novel Of Eleanor of Aquitane, by Alison Weir, which I note has a cover reminiscent of a rather lurid bodice-ripper.  

An elegant older woman sporting an Hermes scarf was reading The Invisible Bridge by Julie Orringer, about a young Jewish-Hungarian architect who receives his training in 1930s Paris, then returns to Budapest to face the horrors of World War II.  The Amazon reviews (both editorial and customer) on this one are almost uniformly glowing.  

On the Shelf

This room, "le petit salon" in the home of collector/designer/antiquarian Axel Vervoordt, would be the perfect spot for me to pursue "Project Proust," would it not?  

 
 

Celebrity "Bookish" Sighting

On Tuesday night some work colleagues and I ate at Prune, a terrific little restaurant on 1st Street between 1st & 2nd Avenues in the East Village, not far from the Bowery.  We started with cocktails, of course -- I had a "Fresca," a delightful concoction named after my favorite soft drink, but containing not a drop of same; rather, it was a heady mixture of freshly-squeezed grapefruit juice, grapefruit-infused vodka, club soda, and sugar.  (OK, OK, I had two of them...)  I then dined on fresh gazpacho followed by a main course of marrow bones & crusty bread.  Heaven.  About half-way through the meal, one of my companions nudged me and gestured with her eyes towards the next table, occupied by a solo female diner, who was also enjoying an order of the marrow bones, along with a celery-and-blue-cheese salad.  It was Lauren Hutton, clad in khaki capri pants, a jean jacket, and white top-sider sneakers, reading the current issue of the New Yorker, thus giving me an excuse to mention the sighting here.  

Let's see.....we DID discuss books at the dinner.  My partner "LBT" extolled Don DeLillo's novel Underworld, which was brought to mind by the death in the last few days of baseball player Bobby Thomson, who hit the "shot heard round the world" for the New York Giants in a 1951 game against the Brooklyn Dodgers.  (Apparently the opening scene of Underworld features this historic three-run hit.)  My partner "DBS" raved about Love's Executioner, a nonfiction book by Stanford psychiatrist Irvin Yalom featuring case studies of his patients.  I recommended Laura Lippman's latest novel, I'd Know You Anywhere, which I just downloaded onto my Kindle today. But I won't kid you; we spent the vast majority of the meal discussing current office politics, which are treacherous.  

Object of Desire

As I am perusing the tantalizing Fall/Winter concert schedules and trying to pick and choose for which performances I should obtain tickets, I would love to own the Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians.  The full 20-volume hardcover set costs $1,500 on Amazon, but paperbound copies of the full set can be had for as little as $150.  Now, where to put them . . . ?

 

Project Proust

I have finished the first chapter of Swann's Way.  Swann has made his first appearance -- reddish- blond hair, green eyes, an aquiline nose -- Marcel, our narrator, has gone to bed, and the famous madeleine has been dipped in the lime blossom tea.  This took no less than 47 pages.  

Yes, the sentences are long and dense, and sometimes by the time I came upon the verb I'd forgotten the noun.  But it didn't matter, really, because as you no doubt know, this isn't exactly a plot-driven novel.  I'm taking it slow and just trying to immerse myself in the lush descriptions.  It's like floating (drowning?) in words.  

I'm going to wait until I've read another couple of chapters before I dip into the ancillary books I bought to aid this project, as I want to get my own bearings first.  

More in a week or two . . . 

Sunday Quote

"People say conversation is a lost art; how often I have wished it were."

--Edward R. Murrow

Seen on the Subway

Those Who Save Us, by Jenna Blum, read by a stick-thin woman I gauged to be in her late 60s, unsuccessfully trying to look 45.  (Plastic surgery never really makes anyone look younger, does it?  It just makes the person look odd.  Believe me, as a divorce lawyer for "the beautiful people," I've seen my share of surgery/Botox/injectable cosmetic fillers.)  In any event, I can't fault this lady's taste in reading.  Those Who Save Us is a gripping, moving novel that alternates between the stories of a professor at a current-day American university and that of her mother in 1930s Nazi Germany.  

The Rembrandt Affair, by Daniel Silva, read by a guy in his 40s with absolutely no distinguishing features or mannerisms.  I have been told that Mr. Silva knows his way around an espionage thriller, and the stellar reviews of this one on Amazon seem to bear that out.  I am making a mental note to add him to my reading list.  

Then there was the usual array of "Dragon/Hornet with a Tattoo/Girl on Fire" books.  (Sorry, Mr. Larsson; RIP.)  

On the Shelf

This is the New York City library of society costume jewelry designer extraordinaire Kenneth Jay Lane.  (There's obviously a lot of money to be made in faux pearls and rhinestones!)  

 
 

Venetian Cooking, Brunetti Style

Fans of Donna Leon's Venetian mystery series featuring Commissario Guido Brunetti will understand when I say that some of my favorite scenes in those books are when Brunetti goes home (virtually every day) to a traditional family lunch prepared by his university professor wife, Paola.  There are also wonderful scenes where Brunetti and his colleagues grab a quick (but never careless) meal at a local ristorante.  And don't get me started on the pastries and coffee! 

Leon has now compiled Brunetti's Cookbook with her old friend and co-author Roberta Pianaro, an accomplished Venetian cook.  Together with the delectable recipes (I for one can't wait for somewhat cooler weather to serve the Artichoke and Prosciutto Lasagna to my friends), there are short excerpts from the Brunetti novels, as well as original essays by Leon about food and the role it plays in everyday life in Venice.  

Thoroughly enjoyable, whether as a delighful adjunct to the novels, or as a stand-alone cookbook with literary diversions about Venice, that crumbling but still beautiful city. 

Object of Desire

I adore Anne Taintor's bits of retro-snark featuring vintage advertising images of happy housewives and cheerful secretaries, and would love to have one of everything in her product range.  (Please do click on the link and laugh yourself silly at some of the sayings on memo pads, coffee mugs, magnets, etc.)  This pad of Post-It Notes is one that I enjoy using at the office: 

 
 

And this magnet adorns my refrigerator:

 

Reading Now

I arrived back home late Friday afternoon, with a whole weekend as a buffer between vacation and the office.  (There have been some cataclysmic developments at the office of late -- not BAD developments as far as I am concerned, and the upheaval had been some time in the making, but stressful nonetheless.  So, overall, I would say that I'm looking forward to Monday morning even less than usual....and that's saying something.)  But never mind . . . 

What have I been reading?  Well, in addition to the first chapter of Swann's Way (I will report on Project Proust in a post later in the week), I have been enjoying How To Run Your Home Without Help by Kay Smallshaw, originally published in 1949, and now re-issued by Persephone Books.  This book, addressed to the post-World War II British homemaker who was facing a suddenly servant-less existence, has chapters on "The Weekly Cleaning," "Doing the Washing" (including a discussion on "whether a washing machine is worthwhile" -- !!), "Doing the Mending," "Keeping Household Accounts and Budgeting," and "Adapting the Routine When Baby Comes."  It makes for amusing, if utterly exhausting, reading.  

I've also started reading Fragile, by Lisa Unger.  Psychologist Maggie Cooper and her police detective husband Jones Cooper live in The Hollows, a small town in upstate New York.  Their seventeen-year-old son's girlfriend disappears, bringing up disturbing memories of a twenty-year old murder of another teenaged girl from The Hollows, even as suspicion falls on Maggie and Jones's son.  An absorbing thriller.  

Sunday Quote

"Why waste money on psychotherapy when you can listen to Bach's B Minor Mass?"

     --Michael Torke (American composer, b. 1961)

Seen on the Subway

Well, to be honest, this week's post doesn't feature books "seen on the subway" because I've been on vacation out of New York.  Rather, here's what I've seen out and about:

At the airport:  Diary of a Very Bad Year:  Confessions of an Anonymous Hedge Fund Manager, by . . . well, "Anonymous."  This was being read by a guy in his forties wearing "Dad" jeans and an expensive watch.  

On the plane:  A woman in her 50s who, as Alexander McCall Smith would say, was of "traditional build," reading Insatiable, by Meg Cabot.  Between the title and the rather lurid cover art, I assumed it was a romance, but I looked it up and turns out it's so much more . . . it's a vampire romance.  

At the museum cafe:  The Cookbook Collector by Allegra Goodman, read by a dark-haired woman in her 40s wearing black capri pants, a white blouse with three-quarter length sleeves, a chunky silver bracelet, and red Tory Burch ballet flats.  Oh wait, that was me!  I was reading this on my Kindle and thoroughly enjoying it, although I'm not entirely sure that Ms. Goodman "wears the mantle of Jane Austen," as claimed by Publisher's Weekly.  

Next week:  back to the Big Apple.  

On the Shelf

A book loft in Paris -- an innovative use of otherwise wasted space in a very high-ceilinged apartment:  

 
 

 

New Bookish Acquisitions

The Hare With Amber Eyes: A Hidden Inheritance, by Edmund de Waal.  This is the true story of the Ephrussi family, Jewish bankers in pre-war Vienna and Paris.  Owners of a precious collection of 264 wood and ivory Japanese netsuke (including the hare of the title), they are forced to flee the imposition of Nazi rule, leaving the collection behind.  Alternately hailed as a "masterpiece" (the Times of London), a "Proustian confession" (The Independent), and "a marvelously absorbing synthesis of art history, detective story, and memoir" (Kirkus Reviews), I haven't been able to put this down.  A fantastic read.  

The Betrayal, by Helen Dunmore.  This is set in Leningrad in early 1950s Stalinist Russia, where Anna, a teacher, and Andrei, a doctor, try to keep their heads down and forge a life together without coming to the attention of the authorities.  Then Andrei has to treat the seriously ill child of a senior party official, and the couple's private happiness, and their very lives, are put in danger. A terrific thriller.  (I think if you liked Child 44 by Tom Rob Smith, you will probably like this.)  

Inheritance, by Nicholas Shakespeare.  Andy Larkham toils away at a dead end corporate job, is chronically short of money and is about to be dumped by his fiancee.  One day he is late for the funeral of a favorite schoolteacher, and in his haste ends up in the wrong chapel at the funeral home.  He signs the guest registry, too embarrassed to admit that he didn't know the deceased, as a result of which he comes into a huge fortune.  This one looked like a good light read, and I expect I won't be disappointed.  

Object of Desire

While I love to shop as much as any red-blooded American woman, I have a phobia of conspicuous labels, logos, etc.  (I'm the sort that shudders as I pass the Louis Vuitton display at Bloomingdales.)  HOWEVER, these shoes, from Burberry's Fall collection, may just walk their way into my closet, despite sporting the Burberry check.  In mitigation, I point out that it's the black-white-and-grey version of the check, and not the original orange-navy-tan combo.  Aren't they breathtaking?

 

 

Two recommendations

I have bookish recommendations from two fellow readers, who also happen to be dear friends.  

STOP PRESS:  My friend Eleanor, enthusiastic reader of the book described below, has just emailed me and said that it's actually entitled simply Inheritance, and that Knight of the Burning Pestle is a play she also happens to be reading and she mixed up the titles.  LOL!  (We bookish sorts tend to be confused when we have ten books going at once . . . )

Eleanor is deep into The Knight of the Burning Pestle, by Robert Sackville-West, which is about Knole, the magnificent estate in Kent that has been in his family for 400+ years.  Knole is a "calendar house," with 365 rooms, 52 staircases, 7 courtyards, spread over 4 acres.   One of the most amusing vignettes in the book is about Vita Sackville-West (one of the more famous of the denizens of the family), who was barred from inheriting Knole by virtue of her gender, and ended up the doyenne of Sissinghurst, where she created its magnificent gardens.  She informed her husband, Harold Nicolson, that she planned to be buried at Knole, and when he innocently enough remarked that he would be there with her in death, she rather indignantly informed him that he would most certainly NOT be, as he was "not a Sackville."  Well!  Eleanor reports that this is a fascinating and beautifully-written book.  

My mathematician friend Ranie is reading The Story of a Number by Eli Maor, about the magical number "e," otherwise known as 2.71828..... (like pi, it goes into infinity . . . )  The magical number "e" is a so-called "irrational" number discovered by the ancient Greeks and used in some manner inexplicable (despite Ranie's best efforts) to BookishNYC to calculate compound interest.  The book takes one on a journey from ancient Greece through the middle ages to Descartes to Fermat's Theorem to 17th-century Scotland and mathematician/clergyman John Napier, who spent thousands of hours developing logarithms that were in use until the late 20th century when they were rendered obsolete by the rise of the pocket calculator.  

Sunday Quote

"Short words are best and the old words when short are best of all."  

-- Winston Churchill