The fruits of 22 labours

It's been some time since I've written any kind of a book report here. Let me amend that lapse now. I know that's what you're all have been clamouring for at the backs of your minds, without really even knowing it. 

I won't go through all the historical books I read last summer - for after checking my reading diary I noticed that there is quite a number of them, most dealing with the Austen/Napoleon period, most appropriately. The memory of most of those, however, has now been blocked by Wolf Hall - which I'm reading now, and which is every bit as fantastic as they say it is. The (perhaps only) problem with a book of that stature is that it tends to overshadow everything else I'm reading at the time, diluting the pleasure of other books by reminding just how good prose can get. 

Fortunately Wolf Hall is facing some fierce competition; one of the books I read about a month ago refuses to be blotted out by another. I'm talking about Stella Tillyard's Aristocrats, a real-life story of four Lennox sisters whose lives spanned the latter part of the 18th century. The book has been made into a TV series, and that's how I first became aware of  the lives  of these quite amazing women some years ago. The splendour of the setting is one thing (after all, Caroline, Emily, Louisa and Sarah Lennox were aristocrats born and bred, and wed into well-connected and wealthy families), but what strikes me most is the sheer tenacity of the Lennox women and their strong mutual affection and loyalty, which must have carried them through some hard times.

I mean, if you've given birth to 22 children (like Emily did), you'll be mighty glad of some family support. 

Tudor times were also an era when family connections paid off; this at least was emphasised in Philippa Gregory's The Other Boleyn Girl.  I really liked the novel, especially Gregory's effortless depiction of Renaissance England and the court of Henry VIII, as well as her frank descriptions of the ribaldries that went on there. Placing Mary Boleyn in the centre of the story (instead of her more illustrious sister) is a good choice, as it gives the plot an element of suspense (after all, we all know what happened to Anne Boleyn). Yet I was somewhat disappointed in the rather straightforward solution of making Anne the scheming shrew and Mary the motherly lady-in-waiting who is all heart and loving tenderness. The Career Woman vs. the Mother debate in a nutshell = one gets her head chopped off, another gets to settle down with a good man of her choice.

Another book which gave me some ambivalent feelings is Mrs Caliban and Other Stories by Rachel Ingalls, which I just finished. I liked the slightly twisted starting points of the stories (including people being kidnapped by grannies in Switzerland, cheating their wives with a lifelike doll, or getting caught in a rain of frogs), but their solutions were depressingly rather similar. Most of the men (boyfriends, husbands, bosses) were portrayed as heartless bastards who only use women for their own gratification and start slapping them around when they show some character. That may work well to illustrate an important point in one novel, but after seven or eight of the same, the reader (or at least I) begins to feel the need of some more life-affirming stuff. 

Perhaps that's why I've been listening to a lot of Monty Python lately.

We are the Draught Beer Preservation Society

People often wonder why I'm so drawn to England. Many times, huddled under a heap of blankets, drinking endless cups of tea in a futile effort to keep warm, I've wondered that myself. Surely there are countries that are more sunny, exotic, and affordable? Of course there are. But there's something about the eclectic charm of the Old Green and Pleasant that keeps me coming back again and again. 

Here are some of the reasons, in no particular order, as prompted by my latest trip: 

* History. For someone hailing from a relatively young country, the sheer amount of old things - both weird and wonderful - is mindboggling. 

* Pubs. The Finnish drinking culture is as sordid as our climate. The Brits, on the other hand, have turned their climate to their benefit, and come up with communal living rooms which tend to be warmer and comfier than their actual living rooms. And of course the beers are varied and tasty and cheap (from the Finnish perspective, at least). 

* Fudge. Although the English sweet culture isn't as vibrant as the Finnish one, there are some things we haven't quite got the hang of yet. One is the gentle art of fudge-making. The best hand-made fudge I've ever had I came across in Arundel, but the one made by the monks of Buckfast Abbey was very delicious as well.

* Creativity. And the encouragement thereof. There's a lot of street art in Britain that would never survive in our northern climes - partly because it wouldn't be permitted in the first place, and partly because it would be destroyed by spraycan-happy teens as soon as it was created. The amazing murals of Stokes Croft in Bristol is only one example of this (for some great examples of what we saw, go here).

* English Breakfast, in moderation. This isn't suitable for vegetarians, obviously, nor a good option for those with high cholesterol, but for a financially challenged backpacker who's bent on walking 10 km a day the bacon-eggs-sausage-and-tomato option is a brilliant one. And, if it's complemented by fresh fruit, Greek yoghurt and muesli, along with some toast and tasty homemade jam (as it was in one of the B&Bs we stayed at), your bowels needn't complain, either.

The title of this post comes from this song by the Kinks. I first heard it when I was 17 or thereabouts, and already in the throes of anglophilia. Needless to say, the song only helped to reinforce my image of the England that Never Was.

Hausfrau-in-Residence

Now and then I'm seized by an urge to do housewifely things  (such as cleaning the windows or mending a sock): a dangerous  occurrence altogether, which usually passes as quickly as it arrived.  Yesterday another such bout came upon me, and I decided to make full use of it. Firstly, I baked a delicious cake (as seen above); then I  hauled my Afghan rug out for a good airing (in which task I was assisted by my landlord's dog, who wanted to give the rug a good shake); and if all this housewifery hadn't been enough, I spent an hour or so wrapping the first Xmas present I'd bought (the results of this endeavour, I guess, cannot be aired in public before the recipient has actually seen them first).

A few years back I picked up an intriguing book at a local fleamarket. It's called Joka naisen niksikirja from 1952. As far as I know, these housewives' manuals have been published since time immemorial, and the Niksikirja something of a institution in Finland (don't know whether any of these editions are still in print). The copy I've got came with extra household tips (cut out from magazines and glued to the covers and empty pages by the previous owner) - and even a letter (remember those?) written in the spring of 1971 by someone called Sylvi. To my disappointment, it doesn't deal with scandal or even the tiniest bit of gossip, but mainly details the various health problems of its writer and her husband.

What fascinates me about this book is (in addition to its dated beauty tips) its emphasis on recycling. Nothing is wasted, be it old socks or leather gloves (the first, among other things, can be used to line a jacket, the latter to make a handy (heh) neckwarmer for winter). Sour milk is still good for cookies, and dried apple peels make refreshing tea.

Nowadays it's harder to make new things from old things. What to do with a burned-up hard drive? How to give a memory stick a new life? Pantyhose, of course, are an inexhaustible source of recycling fun, but surely other clothing items could be recycled as well? I try to mend whatever clothes I can (with my limited skill), but it's just so much easier to throw the old garment away, and buy a new one.

To get you, random reader, into the right spirit of good housekeeping and rejoiceful recycling, here are some miscellaneous vintage tips, gleaned from the treasure trove that is Niksikirja.

• A cup of strong, good coffee makes mutton juicy, and shortens the cooking-time considerably.  I might try this next time I'm cooking mutton.
  
• Velvet can be washed in potato water (1 kg shredded potatoes, 5 litres water).  I'm not sure I'd try this, but sounds intriguing. I wonder who came up with this idea?
• Wet shoes should never be dried with their soles against the floor, but on their sides. Also, filling the shoes with hay or oats dries them quickly.  Sounds like a great idea, but where can I get some oats every time I need to dry a shoe?
• A glass of honey-and-water is wondrously invigorating! Oh, I agree. 
• If you have trouble falling asleep, try eating something. Lingonberries, for example, are very effective against insomnia. What? 
• If you don't have time to wash your hair, you can brush some rye flour into your scalp. Yes, but how do I get it out of my scalp? 
• Walking a sheep on a leash is difficult, but if you rinse its eyes with water, it follows you willingly even for a long distance. Now where can I get a sheep to try this out on?! And what else would you rinse someone's eyes with but water...?
  

British Comedy Season, Pt. 1: Monty Python

I did promise a couple of weeks ago to start a series of posts about my favourite British comedy shows, and in case anyone is wondering whether I've forgotten this promise, I can now confidently answer: no, I haven't.

Although I'd watched loads of British comedy before I was aware of Monty Python - and although there were many brilliant TV comedies before The Flying Circus came along (chronologically speaking), I think no other show has had quite the same influence (on me, or on British comedy) over the years.  Also,  as it's now the 40th anniversary of the first broadcast of the series, so I think Pythons are a very good place to start.

For me, the first encounter with the Python phenomena didn't come through the TV series,  but through the films. When I was around 17, YLE broadcast The Holy Grail and The Life of Brian, and especially the first of those hit me over the head with the proverbial rubber chicken. To this day, it's one of the few films I know by heart, and quote at unsuspecting people (the only other films are A Hard Day's Night and Help!. I suppose I was a bit of a Beatles geek as a teenager).

There are so many brilliant bits in The Holy Grail that it's hard to pick only one. However, the Knights Who Say 'Ni' sequence is one of the highlights of the film, as it includes not only the bewildered King Arthur and his long-suffering entourage, the wonderfully silly Knights, and Roger the Shrubber - but also Brave Sir Robin and his minstrels (who get eaten towards the end of the film. There are just so many random elements around that it's amazing they hang so well together.

After wearing out the VHS tape on which I'd preserved both of the aforementioned films, I finally got to the real thing - the Flying Circus TV series, which of course blew me away (and gave me loads of whole new quoting material). I generally like the more 'literary' stuff (like the sketch in which John Cleese and Graham Chapman - dressed as suburban housewives - get into an argument about existentialism, and sail to France in order to ask Jean-Paul Sartre which one of them is right); the 'Dead Parrot' sketch, for instance, is a bit too shouty and violent to my taste. However, one of my absolute favourites is the 'Cheese Shop' sketch, which works along similar lines, but is much more clever and verbally acrobatic (it also features some lovely dancing).

After watching this, I always get a craving for Venezuelan beaver cheese, for some reason.

As there's so much good stuff to choose from, it's nigh impossible to name my absolute favourite Flying Circus sketch. This court scene one, however, encapsulates many things that I adore about Monty Python. It's got Eric Idle giving a mock-Olivier address to the court, John Cleese hopping about in wig and gown, Graham Chapman both as a voluable lady and a keen-eyed police inspector, and Michael Palin as Cardinal Richelieu (complete with pink robes and a personal microphone). Yet my favourite bit comes at the very end.

A guy in a suit of armour, wielding a rubber chicken. That would come in handy at my Doctoral defence ceremony, as a kind of rhetorical device - in case my carefully prepared argumentation fails to impress the audience and my opponent. 

(In case any of my friends are reading: this is what I'd like for Christmas. One suit of armour, one rubber chicken, and someone willing to act as a rhetorical device in the near future. Please.)

Summer Sounds

I've been meaning to write a post about my favourite summer albums and songs, and isn't it just my luck that when I've finally got the time and inclination to do so, the weather turns foul... But that's no excuse, especially in this country, as good music is good music, regardless of the meteorological circumstances.

Ok, let's start with one of my all-time favourite albums, Gillian Welch's Soul Journey. As a rule, I know very little about bluegrass, and Welch is probably the only artist in my record collection who can be classified under that genre. I'm not sure about this album's summeriness, either, but since I first heard it in early summer (must have been around 2002...), the associations with sunshine and t-shirts have stayed with me. But there is a dusty, drowsy feeling to the songs, which makes Soul Journey a perfect soundtrack for late summer especially, with trees drooping in the sun, a winding dirt track rippling in the heat, and a gentle sound of banjos in the afternoon air.

Although in my case Joni Mitchell has been pretty much a 24/7 occupation for the past few years, some of her music has summery associations for me as well. The Hissing of Summer Lawns is an obvious choice, although it isn't among her best-known work. It also differs from Mitchell's previous albums in both its soundscape and its more socially-aware lyrical content. The title track, which slithers along like the snake depicted on the album cover, is a good example of this.

Very L.A. chic circa '75.

Speaking of which, the next summer album is also in the Californian jazz-rock vein, with some Latin influences thrown in for that irresistible groove. Can't Buy A Thrill by Steely Dan was one of those records I took to immediately, and I rediscovered it a couple of weeks ago.

Then the obligatory Motown feelgood track. In my case it's 'Dancing in the Street' by Martha and the Vandellas. Amazing singing, amazing energy. Not so sure about the lyrics, though... "Every guy, grab a girl / everywhere around the world". Buh.



However, when it comes to feelgood let-the-summer-begin songs, I need to say only three words:

Small Budget Charity

Now here's an amusing thing you can do if you've got time on your hands and zero motivation to do any real work. Check out this website. (I found it through her.)

While I don't think that the English language is getting impoverished, or that all these newfangled words are ruining its ages-old beauty, it's nevertheless a nice idea to hang onto some of the older words and expressions - especially if they're useful or poignant or just downright silly.

Here are five words I picked, and have pledged to use as much as I can. I tried to choose words that are genuinely useful (there are lots of words that are very specific, and thus not all that practical for everyday activities like blogging).

Blateration. "blabber, chatter". As in "I couldn't get a word in the edgewise for all the blateration at the meeting."

Foppotee. "a simple-minded person". This is my favourite - mainly because it's meaning is so self-evident. "He's a great foppotee, but I like him nevertheless."

Incabinate. "to enclose or imprison in a cabin." A word of great usefulness in the Finnish summer. "They're planning to incabinate me for two months."

Welmish. "of a pale or sickly colour." While obviously handy when referring to people, somehow I think this word applies very well to animals as well - especially dogs. "The new puppy was cute, but of a strange, welmish colour."

Yelve. "a dung fork." This word has a deliciously Ye Olde Worlde ring to it - and I can't believe that fantasy writers haven't rallied to its defense. "Gandalf was greatly annoyed when the Balrog prodded him in the backside with his yelve."

The Best of 2008...vol. 2

While winter has never been my favourite season, at least it can't be blamed for being a boring one. A week ago I traipsed in the woods, taking pictures of snowy trees and then trying to warm up the camera in my mitten, as it was nearly -20 C. Today, the ground is nearly black again and rain is pouring down. They say it's going to get cold again at the end of the week.

Nothing like this would have happened in my childhood. We had proper cold, snowy winters then, and equally long, warm, sunny summers.

Naturally dogs were bigger back then, too.

Anyroad, continuing the cultural round-up of 2008, here comes a list of the best music I heard last year. This is not to say new music released last year, for, as anyone who knows me knows, I'm mostly interested in old music; however, during the recent years I've begun to expand my taste to cover contemporary artists as well. This also shows in the forthcoming list.

As mentioned earlier, lately I've become less and less dependent on music magazines when it comes to finding interesting artists and albums, and perhaps have also begun to trust my own ears more. Although I wouldn't have believed it five years ago, it's now the Internet that gives me the most useful tips - and especially net radios (such as last.fm) which have familiarised me with loads of (relatively) new stuff - and all of these albums listed below.

Kehitys kehittyy.

1. Martha Wainwright: Martha Wainwright.
After rotating this album in my mp3 player for 6 months I still can't get over the sheer brilliance of "Bloody Motherfucking Asshole". Lots of other good songs, too, but it's probably the overall sound of Wainwright's that makes the album stand out in my mind.

I wish I knew what "Dis, quand reviendras-tu?" is all about.

2. Regina Spektor: Begin to Hope
I head "Samson" almost two years ago, and the song haunted me so much I finally had to buy it, along with the rest of this awesome album. Despite Spektor's Russian-American background, there's something profoundly European about her music, especially on tracks like "Aprés Moi" and "20 Years of Snow". Although it was the brittleness of "Samson" that first attracted me to her music, I find myself particularly enjoying the upbeat tunes, especially "Better".






3. Aimee Mann: Bachelor No. 2
It's got both "Save Me" and "Just Like Anyone" on it. Nothing more need to be said.

4. Anna Ternheim: Separation Road
I haven't been paying much attention to the Swedish music scene - for some reason I've presumed that after ABBA, nothing interesting's been going on over there. And how wrong I was. It seems that there are loads of good singer-songwriters there, and Ternheim is the first to really grab my attention. There is such heartbreaking desolation to her music and lyrics that if it wasn't for her crystal-clear voice, it would be too much to bear. The exquisite "No Subtle Men" is still my favourite, and "Such a Lonely Soul" is quickly becoming another.

5. Steeleye Span: The Lark in the Morning.
This is cheating a bit: The Lark is actually a collection of three albums. If push comes to shove, Fairport Convention is my favourite Brit folk-rock group (no one can beat Sandy Denny), but there's something very serious about the band that makes it a bit hard on the ear sometimes. Steeleye, on the other hand, can get remarkably silly, and that is in my view one of their greatest strengths. Of course there's the formidable skill of the group's various members, and the repertoire which ranges from the aforementioned silly ("Four Nights Drunk") to the near-sublime ("When I Was on Horseback", "The Dark-Eyed Sailor").that also endears them to me. Although Maddy Prior's voice doesn't hold a candle to Denny's, it's also a less easily imitated instrument, and as such, quite peerless.

Here's "Lovely on the Water". The arrangement (especially the guitar solo) sounds curiously Finnish to me - as if the band's been listening to 60s rautalanka music before the recording of this track.





Bonus:

Maddy Prior & the Carnival Band: Carols at Christmas
Christmas music - just like the season itself - normally annoys me. Hearing schmaltzy versions of the same old tunes tends to put me off my gingerbread. This record, however, is something completely different. Firstly, because for a Finnish person like myself, most of these tunes are at best vaguely familiar. Secondly because of the insanely talented musicians (including Ms. Prior), and thirdly because of their their odd instruments (Breughel bagpipes, anyone?) and the amazingly diverse arrangements they're capable of (I can't think of anyone whose heart wouldn't melt at the sound of medieval jazz). The opening track alone (the a cappella rendition of "This Is The Truth / Sing Sing All Earth") is enough to start Xmas for me.

Looking back, or, The Best of 2008

Last year was a good one in many respects. It was a productive mixture of work and play, of solitude and socialising in perfect balance. Yet, this post isn't going to log all the highs and lows of 2008 - I thought I'd rather write about the books that made an impression on me last year.

So, in chronological order, the best literary bits of 2008.

1. Eeva Kilpi: Häätanhu.
I'd always thought of Kilpi first and foremost as a poet, not a novelist - until I got my hands on this book. Although it's probably aimed at a slightly older audience, I couldn't help but be mesmerised by Kilpi's magnificent language and her loving portrayal of the Finnish summer through the senses of a middle-aged woman. On the surface nothing much happens - in an isolated cottage there's even no one to talk to, apart from the dog - but underneath the semi-autobiographical narrator goes through her past with all its joys and disappointments, preparing herself for a new life in another country.

2. Bobbie Ann Mason: Feather Crowns.
Quintuplets were a rare occurrence in the 19th century. In her fictitious tale Mason also turns them into a media event powerful enough to stop trains. She has managed to weave into one narrative the tragic story of a Midwestern couple whose household gets turned upside down by the simultaneous arrival of five babies (and a horde of curious novelty-seekers) ,the effects of industrialisation on the American way of life, as well as the psychological journey of one woman through doubt and fear to serene self-knowledge.

3. Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie: Purple Hibiscus.
I very rarely follow book reviews because I find most of my books through trial and error, walking around in a library, browsing through the shelves, picking up interesting-sounding works and scanning them (and of course sometimes the cover is enough to convince me). This method gives me enormous satisfaction, and many times rewards me with true gems. Purple Hibiscus is one of those. Again, on the surface, it looks like a story a hundred times told: the struggles of a teenage girl to escape her oppressive home through self-discovery and first love. Yet, all the characters and the world they live in are depicted in such a lifelike way that one cannot help but be moved (and shocked).

4. Anne Enright: The Wig My Father Wore.
What is it with the Irish soil that it produces writers with such twisted views of the world? At first, Enright reminded me of Flann O'Brien, but the more I read of The Wig, the more impressed I became of her own, eccentric sense of language. To recount the plot would be missing the point; what sticks with me is the sheer brilliance of her acrobatic narration.

5. Iris Murdoch: The Philosopher's Pupil.

Murdoch has caused me some confusion in the past. The first book of hers I read was The Unicorn - a meandering work which almost put me off her for good. Fortunately, I became interested in Murdoch's life (through her husband's biographies), and experimentally picked up The Sea, The Sea which I enjoyed a lot. The Philosopher's Pupil is, in my view, a stronger work still, exploring the dark moralistic underbelly of a fictitious spa town, throwing in all kinds of weird and fascinating sub-plots (including the tortuous story of a half-Irish countertenor). As always, however, it's the language that kept me hooked.