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(books 35 & 36) My reading goals - still behind. And a small rant about yesterday's anniversary.
36) "A Canticle For Leibowitz" - Walter M. Miller, Jr. This book could justify the existance of the entire sci-fi genre all by itself, if the genre needed justifying. I suppose it might be possible for a 'reality based' novel to deal with some of the big ideas, but with what the world is today... let's just say that after reading this book I didn't feel at all as though sci-fi is all escapist fantasy, I feel more as though avoiding sci-fi is like sticking your head in the sand. If you don't look at the future, it can still hit you like a highly 'splodey thing. And now I think I know why I never got that much of a picture of what this book was about from things I've read about it. It's hard to describe and not give away the whole story. It takes place over hundreds of year, perhaps even a thousand, so it doesn't get too attached to any one person, and yet it does give individuals their places in that history. Not the button pushers or the negotiators, they're far away and in the end just tools and expressions of the bigger problems. No, somehow, even though it's a book about the big picture, by the end I felt that Miller gives credit for any good in the world to the little unimportant-seeming people who keep on, and keep doing the work that is given them.
I should probably say something about the book before that, as I never got around to writing something at the point when I finished it.
35) "The Man With The GoldenPenis Gun" - Ian Flemming. Quite enjoyable, and decidedly different from the movie. Although it's been a while since I've seen the movie, somehow I expected to recognize something in the book. It was all unfamiliar. I recalled a sense of lavishness, foreign parts, high living, super baddies. Instead it was more a simple assassination job on a hitman who was trying a sleazy and very flimsy real estate scam, which Bond really screwed around with much more than he should have, being lured by the possibility of getting a little more and a little more info. No gizmos, no glamour. Bond really only survives because of two other much better (imho) agents who had his back and the invaluable assistance of Miss Goodnight, who spends whole days driving around Jamaica for him. Also surprising to me - he never gets any sex. Though he does have a rather vivid daydream, once, and seems possibly a little psychic in it.
Bond is portrayed in a way that seems much more right than in the movies. He's simple, in a way. Very good at what he does, which is paying attention to detail and surviving. He wasn't an overly thinky person, nor angsty. Perhaps it was just me, but it seemed to me that he took a quiet delight in every small detail of being alive and whereever he was at that particular moment. There was a scene not far into the book where he's sitting in the airport in Kingston, Jamaica, reading a newspaper from front to back. It's sticky, grimey, hot, there's nobody else there but a dumpy couple who sit and stare at him. There's nothing else to do. But reading the newspaper seems to make him happy. It's a small-town newspaper, it's the local color, it's where he is at the moment and he's going to soak it all up. And his intensity pays off; he gets handed one of those serendipitous clues that can happen once in a novel (but not twice or we lose our suspension of disbelief).
Anyhow, my conclusion is that it would be really interesting to see faithful movie adaptations of the books, rather than 'interpretations in the spirit of.' Because, seriously, I have no idea what kind of crack one would have to be on to think that this book and that movie had the same 'spirit,' somehow.
And now some completely dull rambling, inspired by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
fozzie33's pictures of Rosehill Cemetary, which he chose picture #P9110285b to showcase.
Yesterday was, as you may or may not know, not only the sixth anniversary of the hijackings, but also, oddly, the fifth anniversary of the day we got done with training and took charge of 'our' checkpoint, 9/11/02 - the numbers which of course my brain noticed, above. It reminded me that I've been Taking Shit Away from travelers for five years.
I was appalled to begin with that I had taken the job and it only got worse when the war started. I felt dirty and sullied by association in working for thisregime administration. I wished, for a while, that I could wear a big sign saying, "I didn't vote for them. I took this job to keep people safe, because I don't condone killing." But now, after five years of feeling like a disposable plastic cog being chewed up inside a badly designed machine, I've nearly lost sight of any such altruistic goal. I've taken a beating, body, mind and soul, and I feel as though I've aged at least ten years in the last five. When we started I had so much energy I would jog in the parking lot on my break, and I wanted to go dancing on weekends. Now I'm usually only up to wandering back to the breakroom and collapsing, and my biggest joy on the weekends is sleep.
Yesterday the Assistant Director urged us to renew our commitment, and almost unbelievably, I found that I could, to some extent. I'm basically a fool who still wants to do the right thing and be a part of protecting people. But I'm tired. I've cared to much and gotten distracted by too many details, wasting my energies. Details are important if you want to do well in a job like this. Unfortunately the management focuses on the wrong details - there are a lot of details, and you have to know which are the important ones. They don't, and it's dragging everything down. It's true that some of the most recent changes in our procedures have been good, but those aren't getting highlighted and encouraged. I would like to be like the monks in the Leibowitzian order, keeping on with the work which is given to me, but I'm afraid it's only a matter of time until either I'm caught up on some one of the myriad idiot details that the management is so enamoured with, or my body gives out entirely.
Certainly I need to find another job, and soon, but day to day I get very little done toward that, because I'm so worn out. Instead I spend my time griping, like this.
Well, off to do something, now. If not looking for another job, then poking at the changes Eor suggested for Chapter Six. Yes, that was last month, and the changes are small (I think), but I suppose I'll do them, eventually. And think about Chapter Eight.
ETA: Fozzie's photos are lovely!
I should probably say something about the book before that, as I never got around to writing something at the point when I finished it.
35) "The Man With The Golden
Bond is portrayed in a way that seems much more right than in the movies. He's simple, in a way. Very good at what he does, which is paying attention to detail and surviving. He wasn't an overly thinky person, nor angsty. Perhaps it was just me, but it seemed to me that he took a quiet delight in every small detail of being alive and whereever he was at that particular moment. There was a scene not far into the book where he's sitting in the airport in Kingston, Jamaica, reading a newspaper from front to back. It's sticky, grimey, hot, there's nobody else there but a dumpy couple who sit and stare at him. There's nothing else to do. But reading the newspaper seems to make him happy. It's a small-town newspaper, it's the local color, it's where he is at the moment and he's going to soak it all up. And his intensity pays off; he gets handed one of those serendipitous clues that can happen once in a novel (but not twice or we lose our suspension of disbelief).
Anyhow, my conclusion is that it would be really interesting to see faithful movie adaptations of the books, rather than 'interpretations in the spirit of.' Because, seriously, I have no idea what kind of crack one would have to be on to think that this book and that movie had the same 'spirit,' somehow.
And now some completely dull rambling, inspired by
fozzie33's pictures of Rosehill Cemetary, which he chose picture #P9110285b to showcase.Yesterday was, as you may or may not know, not only the sixth anniversary of the hijackings, but also, oddly, the fifth anniversary of the day we got done with training and took charge of 'our' checkpoint, 9/11/02 - the numbers which of course my brain noticed, above. It reminded me that I've been Taking Shit Away from travelers for five years.
I was appalled to begin with that I had taken the job and it only got worse when the war started. I felt dirty and sullied by association in working for this
Yesterday the Assistant Director urged us to renew our commitment, and almost unbelievably, I found that I could, to some extent. I'm basically a fool who still wants to do the right thing and be a part of protecting people. But I'm tired. I've cared to much and gotten distracted by too many details, wasting my energies. Details are important if you want to do well in a job like this. Unfortunately the management focuses on the wrong details - there are a lot of details, and you have to know which are the important ones. They don't, and it's dragging everything down. It's true that some of the most recent changes in our procedures have been good, but those aren't getting highlighted and encouraged. I would like to be like the monks in the Leibowitzian order, keeping on with the work which is given to me, but I'm afraid it's only a matter of time until either I'm caught up on some one of the myriad idiot details that the management is so enamoured with, or my body gives out entirely.
Certainly I need to find another job, and soon, but day to day I get very little done toward that, because I'm so worn out. Instead I spend my time griping, like this.
Well, off to do something, now. If not looking for another job, then poking at the changes Eor suggested for Chapter Six. Yes, that was last month, and the changes are small (I think), but I suppose I'll do them, eventually. And think about Chapter Eight.
ETA: Fozzie's photos are lovely!
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