Friggin' Hornby

Hey All,

I'm miffed at Nick Hornby, or maybe it's his publishers I ought to hate right now.  I'm very careful, always, about having a book with me whenever there is a chance I could read.  Especially when I'm on public transit, which I take (if I'm not driving to work with my girlfriend) for about two hours each day.  Never do I want to be stuck on the dirtly hole that is the TTC without the distraction of a book to take my mind off the filth and stale air that lurks on the trains and buses I have to take.

So when Hornby's Songbook abruptly ended on me, with still about another fifty pages (it seemed) left, while I was on the TTC one morning this past week, well, I was beside myself.

A little explanation is likely in order, as you're probably asking yourself, "How can it end, with fifty pages still to go?"  It's like this: Hornby wrote Songbook as a number of chapters, each chapter about a song (or songs).  That's how the book was originally conceived and written.  The version of the book that I'm reading, however, has an additional five essays about albums.  I knew about the additional chapters before starting the book, as their existence is clearly stated on the cover and in the Table of Contents.  Still, it caught me off guard, as I took it as my right to stop this book after the chapters on the songs were over, since that isn't how he'd originally written the book.  Kind of like skipping the Afterword, if you will, or the notes the publisher (or writer) adds to a later edition of a book: they might be a nice addition to the text you've just read, but not absolutely necessary.  Plus, I feel that once a piece of art is completed and submitted (in this case Hornby submitted his manuscript to his publisher), that ought to be it.  No more additions.  When I wrote my essays in university, once I handed them in, that was the work upon which I would be marked.  So it is that a writer of fiction ought to be judged: on the work they first publish.  Certainly, Songbook doesn't fall under fiction, but it's not exactly the type of work that needs more added to it.

Reading this book just strengthened my opinion that the novel is a great format for reading.  I found Hornby's approach to his book new and interesting at first.  After about halfway through, though, I lost that interest, and just wanted the book to be over, which shouldn't have happened, considering my short attention span and the fairly short chapters that he wrote.  Those two factors, mashed together as they were, ought to have produced in me a quick read, and one that I enjoyed.  I found, instead, that I missed the long narrative, the arc, of a good tale.

I did not complete Songbook in it's entirety.  I was too mad and too bored with it to read the rest of Hornby's blather.  I've since moved on to The Devil in the White City, by Erik Larson, the book recommended to me by Keltie Neville.  It's a work of history, and so far probably the best such piece I've ever read.  Seriously.  This is the stuff I studied, in depth, while at university, and about which I wrote my thesis.  It's good stuff from a reader's perspective.

-Bryan

Grooveshark

Hey All,

Just a short post to follow up on my last one, about Songbook.

I am not (or was not) familiar with many of the songs about which Nick Hornby writes in this book.  Thankfully, about two months ago, my roomie Frank let me in on the secret glory of Grooveshark.  I went to that site and created a playlist of all of the songs in the book (save for those that did not show up in a search), and have been listening to it while writing all the posts about this book.  Quite helpful, and at times enjoyable.  It's a great site to listen to music for free.  Check it out!  You might even be able to find my playlist for Songbook on there somewhere, if you're canny.

-Bryan

Songs, Books

Hey All,

I will not admit to being a fan of Nick Hornby.  I didn't like either of the film adaptations of his books that I've seen (About a Boy and High Fidelity. I don't much care for Hugh Grant, and don't even get me started on that wanker John Cusack).  I have read one of his other books, though, How to be Good, and I enjoyed it.  Not that I think Hornby's a particularly good writer (he's not bad, either), which is why I was initially skeptical when Andrew Eaton had me add Songbook to this list.

I have since relinquished my skepticism.  I read How to be Good at the right time.  I'd needed a light, easy read after a particularly taxing time in my life (or maybe I had just gone through a bout of reading some very heavy reads) and, funnily enough, I found myself in a similar head-space when Songbook presented itself to me.  I finished The Stranger, which was preceded by Helter Skelter, so something uplifting was in order.  I looked to my bookshelf, asked a few people what they might read, and landed on Hornby's ode to his favourite pieces of pop music.  It's been a good choice, as it's definitely an easy read.

Moreover, I was once in a band, with dreams of becoming a popular musician in a group with my good friends (If you watch this clip, and skip to around the 8:10 mark, you can see Green Day playing my band's equipment on live Australian television.  That's me with the shaved head, big sideburns, and wearing a Maple Leafs jersey.  Some of the memories I have from that trip are still my most fond of all time).  I abandoned that dream, but am still very much in love with music of all sorts.

Perhaps one day I'll pick up a new instrument, as I've threatened to do a few times since quitting the music industry.  Chances are it will be a bass instrument, as I'm always drawn to them, and the sounds they produce.  The first instrument I played was piano, inspired by my grandfather's playing, a self-taught musician who, as my father tells, it, used to torture his family for years while learning the violin, until my grandmother made him take up a new instrument, one that he could listen to through headphones.  So he got an organ.

I think I begged my parents for a piano after sitting on my grandfather's lap while he played that organ, probably playing me Fur Elise, a song that I eventually half-learned, and still brings joy to my heart, no matter how overplayed it might be.  Thus, my family got a piano and my three siblings were also roped into taking lessons.  Poor suckers.  I'm sure they all hated it.  They might tell you differently, but I'm pretty sure they did.  And now the piano my parents bought us sits idly, prettily, in the Andrachuk household, awaiting the days when my newest sister-in-law comes over and regales us all with her tickling of it's ivories.

Following the piano, I took up the bass.  Electric bass, to be precise.  Actually, before that, I started a rap group in the seventh grade with three friends, which morphed into a band.  I was the only one with access to a bass guitar (I borrowed my uncle's beautiful 1972 Fender Jazz Bass), so I became the band's bass player.  In high school music class I played the tuba.  I think it was kind of a gag for me, to be frank, to be able to play an instrument in which no one else expressed interest and, more so, stood out so much.  Either way, I was drawn to it.  Plus, no one really listens to the tuba in a song, anyway, what with all the trumpets and trombones hogging all the spotlight, so I was able to fake my way through a lot of songs.  I sat pretty high up in the class, at the back, and would amuse my friends by blowing as hard as I could and rattling both the ceiling tiles and my teacher at the same time.  The next instrument in my lineup was a didgeridoo I bought while on tour with my band in Australia, but I still cannot perform circular breathing.  Coming full circle, I got my bass back about a year ago from my cousin, who had borrowed it for a couple years, and have only picked it up a handful of times since.

Ever since I first began to understand and play music back, in the eighth grade, the first thing I normally note in any song I hear is the beat, and, more specifically, the rhythm of the song.  The last thing I usually note, or remember, are the lyrics.  I don't know if it's because I played bass that I'm drawn to the rhythmic part of a song, or if I was drawn to bass playing and other bass instruments because I seek the rhythm in songs.  It's more likely that I chose the bass as my instrument, though, out of ease and laziness.  Less strings, fewer notes to remember.  Yet, I can't ignore the fact that I love the sound, even the FEEL of deep, bassy notes.

How did I get so off track?  Enough about music, back to the book.

The chapter in Songbook on Rod Stewart got me thinking about how I find new music through the music I like. It's similar, in some cases, to Hornby: through the record labels on which the bands I like are signed.  My latest amazement is a label called Stones Throw.  Delicious music.  (A quick nod, here, to my friend Marco Buonocore.  Over the years he's recommended more good - often great -  music to me than anyone else.  I won't name those bands here, but the man, in spite of his strange insistence that L'il Wayne is a lyrical and musical genius, has some damn fine taste, and somehow manages to find music before anyone else I know).  Aloe Blacc and Mayer Hawthorne are two musicians I found through the Stones Throw podcast, which I found by searching for other, similar music, online.  I highly recommend both, and most nearly anything Peanut Butter Wolf gets his hands on.

Songbook, I should clarify, is a book made up of thirty-one chapters, each with a single song as a starting point.  Some chapters barely mention the song named in it's title, as Hornby weaves a small story around each one.  It's a really neat idea, kind of like a mix tape (or CD, if you will), of his favourite songs, with the back story for each one included.

Overall, the book has reignited my desire for sonic pleasures, for seeking out both new music and revisiting the music of my past.  Two chapters in Songbook are dedicated to Teenage Fanclub, the band whose song, "Starsign", was the source for the name of my old band (the one with whom I toured Australia).  That in itself has launched me back into those awful, wonderful days of high school, post-high school fame, and band camaraderie.

Okay, that's enough for now.  Not much about the book, I know, but this blog is about my responses to the books I read, not just the content of the books.  I'll end with yet another plea for a recommendation for my next book.  Anyone?

-Bryan

Stranger Things I Have Not Seen

Hey All,

I finished The Stranger.  It's a fine book.  I understand why it's such a revered classic, for sure, but is not fully my style.  Which might beg the question, What is your style, Bryan?  Well, my answer to that is that my preferred style of book is fluid.  Which means what I like changes all the time, as I'm sure is the case with most of us (though I do know a few people who only like certain kinds of books, and that will never change).  Actually, I mentioned in an earlier post that I really only like fiction, so I guess that's my style.  But within fiction there are so many styles to choose from.  If I try to pin it down, I suppose I'd say I'm a fan of modern American fiction.  That's broad enough, no?  The authors with whom I am currently enamoured are Michael Chabon, Jonathan Ames, Joseph Boyden (Canadian, I know.  So we'll call what I like modern North American fiction), Jonathan Lethem, John Updike, Philip Roth, and their ilk.  Of course, there are lots of others, but that's where my taste falls right now.  Except maybe Roth; I might be over him, now.


I find that I can connect, in some way, shape, or form, in all of the above authors' books, but I didn't find that in The Stranger.  I'm sure that if I looked hard enough, I could.  But what strikes me about this book is that it, more than any of the previous three books I've read during this project of mine, has elicited thoughts about the world beyond it’s pages.  I have a whole bunch of examples of what I mean, but I've moved on to another book, so I don't want to write about them.  I'll just say that The Stranger is a worthwhile read.  It's short and easy, though challenging if you want it to be.

I will say one thing about The Stranger.  It wasn’t until I read the actual words “I told them I killed an Arab”, that I realized that this book is the source for the lyrics to The Cure’s song, “Killing an Arab”.  As the lyrics go, the narrator is “Standing on the beach / With a gun in my hand / Staring at the sea / Staring at the sand / Staring down the barrel / At the Arab on the ground / I can see his open mouth / But I hear no sound / I’m alive / I’m dead / I’m the stranger / Killing an Arab".  

Cool.  I remember hearing that song played on my older brother's stereo lots when we were kids.

As I said, though, I've moved on from Albert Camus.  He has been replaced by Nick Hornby, and his Songbook, as recommended by Andrew Eaton.  We shall see how they compare...

-Bryan

Stranger than Fiction

Hey All,


There are about six blog posts in me, I swear.  I have four in draft mode in Blogger right now, and I know I have more to come.  I've just been having a hard time trying to find time to write, is all.  So here's the latest.


The Stranger truly is a pocket book; it fits in almost any pants or jacket pocket I have tried it in thus far. A nice change from Helter Skelter, for sure.  Though, I'm glad I read that book before my current one, as it gave me some insight into the law, and courts, that actually helps me understand The Stranger on another level.  Interesting juxtaposition from Helter Skelter, wherein I read about a case strictly from the point of view of the prosecution. This time, though in astonishingly less detail, I am reading from the defendant's viewpoint. Quite different, indeed.

I don't want to turn this blog into anything reselmbling an English course paper; it's supposed to be about my thoughts and reactions to the books I read, not some objective ideas about the notions that arise in the books.  But it's hard to avoid getting into proper criticism with books like The Stranger, for a couple of reasons.  One is that I fear, much as happened with The Alchemist, and my friend Sasha who recommended it to me, that if I don't delve deep enough into the content, I'll be chastised for missing the point.  Secondly, books like The Stranger are simultaneously so straightforward and so complex, that to merely react to the story line can be a little too simplistic and boring.

The main character seems unable to not speak - let alone think - the absolute truth. Even in situations where a little lie might help him out, the thought never occurs to him. I don't want to give a whole lot away about the book, but he ends up killing a man. He seems completely without remorse, and accepts that his fate is to pay for his crime. Yet he isn't appalled with himself (as I would be), nor does he attempt to evade his punishment by, as I mentioned, perhaps telling a few little white lies. Because of this, I don't think he's a great character in the way of reflecting the actions and thoughts of a real human being. That might be what Camus sought to achieve.  But being a student of history, I can't help but this that it also has to do with the period in which the book was written. Compared to today's literature, like, for example, City of Thieves, where the character is very real and has very real flaws, this character is wooden. That's something that happened in literature and film of that era, I think.

So far the book is enjoyable, if frustrating at times (for the reason I mentioned in the paragraph above).  I'm excited to see how it all plays out, though it's pointing towards a pretty gloomy end.  I'm nearly done, and will read Nick Hornby's Songbook next, in the hope that it's a lighter read than these last two books have been.

-Bryan

Marque-Pages

Hey All,

This post is not directly related to any book I'm reading, but pertains to all of them.  It's about bookmarks.

What do you use for a bookmark?  I remember when I was a kid, I used to always have those bookmarks with the cotton string on the top that hung out of the book.  In the years since, I've used everything from pictures to postcards, coffeeshop stamp cards to leather straps.  I even went through a phase when, in an effort to improve my memory I didn't use a bookmark at all, and had to remember where I left off every time I reopened the book I was reading (I have a notoriously bad memory; ask anyone who has had to spend any amount of time with me).  I can't say that little experiment worked, but it lasted at least a year, and likely made my reading progress a little slower, as I know that I read passages more than once quite frequently.

My favourite bookmark I have ever used, however, is one that I made.  One Christmas, in a fit of inspiration, I designed, with a good friend of mine, bookmarks for all of my family members.  These weren't just any bookmarks, they were bookMarks.  As in, Mark, my little brother.  He's quite the colourful character when he wants to be, and there are a number of amusing pictures in my family's possession of him doing strange and funny things.  So I created six (there are six members in my immediate family) bookmarks with him on them.  I've no idea what the other members of my family have done with them over the years, but I get a chuckle out of mine every time I see it (yes, I made myself a little Christmas present that year).

Currently, though, and for the past two and a half years, I've used my business card as my bookmark.  I started using it because I had nothing else at one point, and then it just seemed to work well for me.  They are pretty dispensable, and readily available (I order them in packages of 250), so if I lose one, it's easy to replace.  And if ever I'm out somewhere and need to give someone my card, I can always count on having that one there as a backup, since I rarely go anywhere without a book.

For this little project I'm doing, though, this blog, my goal is to use only one bookmark for the entire thirty two books I will read.  So far so good, as I've used the same one for the three books I've checked off the list.  If I can keep that same one for the rest of the books, it would be quite the achievement for me, as I tend to lose these business cards fairly easily, precisely because they are so easy to replace.

Thus, I have come up with something that I think will help me keep this one bookmark, and also keep me honest (by that I mean, since the business cards are so easy to replace, I might very easily replace one if I lose it without even realizing it; if you don't follow what I'm saying, see my point above about my short, crappy memory): I gave Jenny, my girlfriend, the card I've been using, and asked her to write something, anything, on it.  It's in her handwriting, so I can't duplicate it.  If I lose that one, I'll know I've failed.

If ever we cross paths, ask to see the bookmark, and you can read what she wrote.  It's pretty cute.

Wish me luck.

-Bryan

Gone and On

Hey All,

I finally finished Helter Skelter last week.  I'll be honest, there was some skimming going on at the end.  I learned, over the 650-odd pages of the book, to discern where the author would make points that were critical to understanding the content of the book.  In the latter third of the book that amounts to about one paragraph per page that has any value to the reader.  That's not enough, if my opinion counts for anything.  The book was interesting, for sure, but I think if a better writer had managed to get their hands on it, Helter Skelter could have been a much better read.  

One aspect of Manson's whole story that irks me a little is the fact that he's still alive.  I am not advocating here for capital punishment; I have no opinion one way or the other on that matter, and I trust the legal profession and those who run our courts and governments to decide whether an eye for an eye is a suitable punishment when murder is the crime.

What creases me so is that Manson and his accomplices were convicted of murder in the first degree, and sentenced to die in January of 1971.  In 1972, however, all were spared their lives when the State of California abolished the death penalty.  I'm not so naive as to not understand the law (and even if I were, Vincent Bugliosi hammered the point home so often in his friggin' book, that anyone could understand it), but that such a sick individual as Manson, who did everything within his power to subvert the legal system and those who sought to penalize him appropriately for his crimes, did not receive the punishment for which he was convicted, is pretty sick.

That's about all I have to say about that one.  Done and done. Charles Manson, you're outta here!

I've selected (and already started) my next book: The Stranger, by Albert Camus.  I selected it in part because it is super short (120 pages), and in part because my cousin Danny is coming back from a tour of Europe, and he recommended the book to me.  If you're interested in reading about an independent musician's musings on the ups and downs of touring, check out Danny's blog.

My first impression of The Stranger: darker than I'd hoped for.  I wanted to read a nice, light book after all that death in Helter Skelter, but The Stranger starts off with a funeral.  Nice.  Great choice, Bry.

-Bryan