A Walk in the Woods, finished

So I'm finished with A Walk in the Woods and I am nearly finished with the flu.  I'm now just at that stage where I'm pronouncing the letter "m" like the letter "b."  I'm easily exhausted, but no longer achey or feverish.

Bill Bryson makes it clear that hiking the Appalachian Trail is brutal and tough.  He leaves it with mixed feelings: "I was weary of the trail, but still strangely in its thrall; found the endless slog tedious but irresistible; grew tired of the boundless woods but admired their boundlessness; enjoyed the escape from civilization and ached for its comforts."  Now I am not tough, not at all.  And yet I found myself texting a friend "Want to hike the Appalachian Trail?"

I can't figure out why reading about something described as an endless slog would prompt that response in me.  Bryson describes the frigid nights when they start in March, the unbearable thirst and sweat in August, the endless breakfasts of raisins and dinners of noodles, the tedium of finally climbing a mountain just to realize there are miles upon miles of similar peaks waiting for you ahead.  Maybe it is the desire, as he puts it, to understand the colossal scale of the world.  Or maybe it is related to the part of me that, as a child, always had my Barbies getting shipwrecked or lost in the wilderness and trying to survive.

When I think about it - to be specific, when I think about having to go to the bathroom outside - I realize I will not attempt to hike the Appalachian Trail.  I still kind of want to, though.

Finished, also sick

I finished my re-read of The Drowning Tree and it was rewarding - there were a ton of things I had forgotten about!  I stand by its eerie similarity to The Swan Thieves but I think there's more to it than that.  Two quick thoughts:

1. Maybe plots featuring artists, crazy people, and psychiatrists are not all that uncommon.  It's a pretty typical move, relating artistic ability with madness, isn't it?  Not that either of the aforementioned books does that, really - but I bet there's a reason each author chose to make the person with the mental health problems an artist and not, say, an accountant.
2. Even though in this case the similarities are pretty big, I've had it happen before that books I read consecutively share certain things with each other.  For example, I read The Adventures of Kavalier and Clay right before I read The Book Thief and both focus a lot on World War 2.  I think this is either because I am subconsciously choosing similar books to follow each other, so as not to break a mood, or because I am more attuned to similarities, and would therefore find something related in any two books I read.  Or perhaps it's magic.

And that's all, because I have a fever and I'm going to bed.  I was going to start reading my newest purchase, Carrion Comfort by Dan Simmons, but the cover alone scares me, and I want nice dreams while I sleep.  So instead I'm re-reading A Walk in the Woods by Bill Bryson.

The Drowning Swan Tree Thieves?

When I said that The Swan Thieves was similar to a Carol Goodman book, I didn't realize how right I was. I'm about a third of the way through The Drowning Tree on this re-read.  Both books feature:

1. Artists who go crazy
2. Letters written by women in the late 1800s that are interwoven with the plot
3. Sketches and letters hidden away somewhere, discovered by the main character
4. The idea of slashing a painting's canvas (as a dream in one, as an attempt in the other)

I'll keep the list updating as I read.  But as I said before, I don't mean it critically, precisely.  And The Drowning Tree mentions a greyhound's silky ears - you can't beat that.

The Drowning Tree

So I'm re-reading The Drowning Tree by Carol Goodman because I haven't gotten to Borders yet to buy a new book.  Also, I was reminded of it by my friend Manasa in a talk about books, when she asked if The Swan Thieves was anything like Carol Goodman's novels.  The answer is a resounding yes.

I like Carol Goodman's books (and The Drowning Tree features two greyhounds, bonus), but they're a little predictable.  You know when you buy one that you're signing on for a story that takes place both in present day and in the past, with elements of art history or literature history woven into the plot.  They're entertaining, but they don't break any new literary ground.  The Swan Thieves is masterfully written, yes.  I'd just expected Elizabeth Kostova, author of The Historian, for God's sake, to write something more.

But I can't complain.  The Drowning Tree is interesting, and I can't really remember the end, and there are greyhounds, so that's satisfaction...

Scarf

I've bound off on my Sleepyhead scarf, and am now adding its layers of ribbons and fabric. Here are a couple of photos of it, as it stands now. I've got a couple more types of fabric to add, and I'm going to add another ribbon to run the length of the scarf on the opposite side.

Swan Thieves, finished.

I liked it, with a few reservations.  I thought the writing was great - some passages were so beautiful I would've underlined them, if I were that sort of person.  But the plot, I have some ... questions? Thoughts?

I want to discuss it with someone.  I feel like there were some themes about relationships that were sort of fleshed out, but not totally clear to me.  I am also not 100% sure about how certain things happened...

Should you read it? Yes.  It's not as epic in scope (or as creepy!) as The Historian, but it's a good story.

Some of my creations

Here are some of the t-shirts I've altered in the past couple months:

It means resistance!

Tony did his, I just helped sew it onto the shirt.  It's the collage "Cut with a Kitchen Knife" printed onto a t-shirt, then cut out with an actual kitchen knife and sewn onto the new shirt.

Art

So I'm now about halfway through The Swan Thieves and I am definitely at a point where I have to stop discussing plot points - too many potential spoilers.  But I can discuss ideas it raises in my own head.

The main character is a psychiatrist, but he is also an artist.  Almost all of the characters I've met so far are artists as well.  I wonder if Elizabeth Kostova paints, because her characters talk about it with convincing passion.  I'm not a visual artist, so there could be inaccuracies that would give her away.  But her words about it are wonderful, regardless.

She talks about the smell of paint quite a few times.  One character walks into his house after time away and notices the smell of oil paint and mineral spirits.  Another character says she loves the way the smell of the paint from art class clings to her hands for the rest of the day.  I love this smell, myself.  There's something healthy about it.  It's an olfactory sign of creation: somewhere nearby, someone is producing art.  It's different than knowing that someone is studying, or cleaning, or reading.  Something new is coming into existence.  That's pretty fantastic.

I'm lucky to be the daughter of an artist and the friend of many artists.  The world Elizabeth Kostova describes is therefore not foreign to me, but something I feel like I am a part of.  I suppose it's similar to how I feel at home in gay dance clubs in Chicago - I'm not a gay man or a painter, but I'm at home and accepted in their world.  And although my drawing talent is pretty average, just good enough to draw cartoons of greyhounds and ferrets, I love visual art.  I love color - my impulse is to wear my mother's pastels as eye makeup, not paint with them, but I love their color all the same.  (Don't wear them as eye makeup, by the way.  I've asked; it's not recommended.  Just buy something gaudy from Mac - it will almost satisfy the itch.)  This book makes me excited about art, about painting, about creation.  It makes me want to shove it in the hands of my friends, artist and non-artist alike, and say "Here! Tell me what you think! About all of it!"

In Shantaram, two characters are discussing how to tell right from wrong.  One man says that a way to tell if an action is good or evil is to judge whether it increases the complexity of the universe or not.  I don't know if I think that's exactly right, but it's not a bad start, at least, at figuring out the question.  Creating art undeniably increases the complexity of the universe.  So, to summarize, it's good stuff.

What about really god-awful ugly art?  Hmm....