The people of the book

There's something appealing about a story centred on books: hidden books, lost books, books that contain secrets or answers to ancient mysteries, books with the power to change lives.

Recent favourites of mine have included Shadow of the Wind by Carlos Ruiz Zafon and The Book Thief by Markus Zusak.

Geraldine Brooks' latest novel, The people of the book, falls into that category. It is ambitious, well-intentioned and deftly told, and has been on top of best-seller lists almost since its release earlier this year.

Even though Brooks is a Pulitzer Prize winner (for March), her name and literary skill alone are not enough to generate the scale of sales needed to beat mass market pop fiction paperbacks and film tie-ins.

The answer, then, must lie in the story itself.

A synopsis
The people of the book traces the journey of a rare illuminated Hebrew manuscript from fifteenth century Spain, to the Silver Age of Venice and the ruins of a twentieth century war-torn Sarajevo.

It opens in 1996, when Australian rare-book expert Hannah is asked to analyse and conserve the famed Haggadah manuscript, which has been rescued once again from shelling during the Bosnian war. The book is one of the earliest Jewish volumes to be illuminated with figurative paintings.

When Hanna discovers a series of tiny artefacts in its ancient binding—an insect wing fragment, wine stains, salt crystals, a white hair—she becomes determined to unlock the book’s mysteries.

Throughout the story, the ancient book is the only constant character. The narrative is told through a series of vignettes featuring owners of the Haggadah and its artwork throughout history - cleverly provided in reverse chronological order.

In Bosnia during World War II, a Muslim risks his life to protect it from the Nazis. In the hedonistic salons of Vienna in 1894, the book becomes a pawn in an emerging contest between the city’s cultured cosmopolitanism and its rising anti-Semitism. In Venice in 1609, a Catholic priest saves it from Inquisition book burnings. In Tarragona in 1492, the scribe who wrote the text has his family destroyed amid the agonies of enforced exile. And in Seville in 1480, the reason for the Haggadah’s extraordinary illuminations is finally revealed.

Each vignette shows the universality of suffering, how every generation gains power and prestige by finding a group of people to make outcast.

If good intentions were everything, this novel would have the power to heal the rifts in the world created by religion, simply through the power of narrative.

Ultimately, the story highlights how diverse cultures can enrich and influence each other in wonderfully positive ways. Brooks' theme is hardly subtle, and while it is not original, it remains powerful: what unites us is more than what divides us.

(In between each vignette, we return to Hannah and her increasingly engaging personal story involving a strained relationship with her mother and a tense romance with the Serbian Muslim who rescued the Haggadah during the war).

The people of the book is rich in detail. It is full of meticulously researched information on language, art, history, science, book binding and religion. It needs to be read slowly, enjoyed like a fine meal. It has too many flavours to be devoured quickly.

Generally, I get the most out of a novel if I can read it intensively (either in a single sitting, or several long sittings). But I feel I may have robbed myself by doing that with this novel.

(The Haggadah is a real manuscript. In her author's note, Brooks details what parts of her story are based on fact and what parts are the author's imagining.)

Note: The First Tuesday Book Club on ABC is discussing The people of the book this week.

Here's my review of Geraldine Brooks' 2011 release: Caleb's Crossing

Reading: does solitary mean lonely?

Those of us who read regularly are apparently in the minority.

According to Melinda Harvey in the most recent Australian Literary Review our society is looking to learn facts from sound bites and live footage, "not the universal truths found in fiction. Things solitary, slow or private are ceasing to matter."

Is that why people prefer the more communal entertainments of film, television and theatre? Not only can we absorb the story quicker, we can experience it simultaneously with others and instantly deconstruct it over a good espresso.

Is it now only books - which allow you the luxury to experience a story and its truths at your own measured pace - where deeper reflection, contemplation and revelation can truly take hold?

"Solitary, slow, private." Those words struck a chord with me. That's what reading is, isn't it?

When we read the same books as others - even at the same time - the experience remains solitary. How we absorb and inhabit a story is a deeply personal experience.

Does that make reading a lonely experience?

For the countless people around the world and throughout history who have escaped into books, the answer is definitely no. Yes, we may sit alone for hours with our nose buried in a book, but we are never alone. We have a narrator to keep us company, characters to mesmerise us, words to take us to another reality (or bring us closer to our own).

I heard a great quote recently (and apologies to its author but I didn't write down their name at the time): "We write books for the same reason builders build houses: for people to live in them."

As a reader, that resonates deeply with me. As a writer, it gives me another level to which to aspire.

The Life of Brian: what makes it a classic?

It's 30 years this year since Brian's mother's declared "He's not the Messiah. He's a very naughty boy".

Three decades since The Life of Brian hit cinema screens, sparking controversy and almost instantly becoming a cult classic.

The story of Brian, an ordinary man mistaken by a group of religious zealots as the Messiah, is now (or soon to be) available in a new DVD package, The Life of Brian: The Immaculate Edition.

The Life of Brian is a film that regularly ranks in the top three of "greatest comedies of all time" lists.

Monty Python fans, of course, revere it with almost religious fervour. Most - my husband included - can pretty much quote the entire film line by line. But it also has plenty of fans who don't necessarily "get" the Python style of humour in other contexts, and yet love this film.

John Cleese (co-writer and co-star as a number of characters) himself admits it's the best and most coherent of all the comedy troupe's film efforts.

The reason it works so well is because all five Pythons (Cleese, Michael Palin, Terry Jones, Terry Gilliam and Eric Idle) had extensive knowledge of biblical and Roman history, and they combined that knowledge with a wonderful sense of the ridiculous.

Like all good comedies, the humour works on a number of levels. On the surface, it's a funny story about mistaken identity; on a deeper level it's a sharp satire about the nature of religion.

The attention to historical and theological detail is such that, the more you know about Roman history and religion (early church history in particular), the funnier the film gets.

In a recent interview by Michael Bodey in The Weekend Australian Review, Cleese says that, after the troupe's first film, Monty Python and the Holy Grail, the team wanted their follow-up effort to spoof religious epics. The initial idea was to lampoon Jesus Christ the way they had lampooned King Arthur in the earlier film.

But, as Bodey notes in his article, they quickly realised they couldn't touch Christ because "there was nothing funny about him".

Cleese says: "Essentially humour is about rigidity and the failure to adapt to circumstances. And the point of Christ's behaviour was of a very enlightened person. It would be like making fun of the Dali Lama; you couldn't do it because there's nothing ridiculous about him".

Instead, the troupe took aim at religion itself, and the herd mentality it has the potential to create.

As such, Jesus' only appears in the periphery of the story, and his appearances are quietly respectful; it's his followers who misunderstand and misrepresent his teachings:
"What was that?"
"I think it was 'Blessed are the cheese-makers'."
"What's so special about the cheese-makers?"
"Well, it's not meant to be taken literally. But it refers to any manufacturer of dairy products."

Naturally, any humour that targets religion walks a very fine line, and there were plenty of critics when the film first appeared (and many since), who believed The Life of Brian crossed the line repeatedly.

For me, it's an exercise in good storytelling; how intellectuals with an offbeat sense of humour and something interesting to say, created a story that still has people laughing, quoting it and talking about it 30 years on.

Even Cleese is still looking for answers the film raises about religion and Christianity: "It's (religion) nothing to do with what the founder of Christianity was talking about. I think what Christ was talking about is so much more difficult and demanding than anything you find in any organised version of his religion."

How many other comedies provoke that sort of thinking? (I mean, I know Scary Movie 4 comes close, but still…)

How do you choose what to read?

With so many books in the world, how do you decide what to pick up next?

For me, it's a combination of recommendations by friends and media reviews (predominantly in The Courier Mail and The Australian), and on the ABC's First Tuesday Book Club (when I remember it's on).

Unfortunately, so much of what's offered up as review simply isn't: it's just a rehash of the plot with a few sweeping statements and/or clichés (of course this isn't limited to book reviews).

I'll choose to read a book based on a review when:
- the plot, genre or subject matter appeals to me;
- the reviewer discusses the themes of the story and the questions it raises (and they appeal to me);
- the reviewer offers a broader context for the narrative that has meaning for me.

The details of the plot are almost irrelevant in a review: they should be discovered on reading the book itself. The importance of the review is to tell you what you might expect to think or feel during and after reading the story: will it make you question the political status quo; appreciate the simpler things in life; help you understand a different perspective; or laugh your backside off? Is it pure pop fiction escapism, or a journey of perfectly crafted prose? Is it a good example of either?

You can't trust the cover or the hyperbolic marketing blurb to help you decide whether not you want read something. And that's where the review comes in handy. It's not a sure fire promise of a good read, but you at least have a clue what you're in for.

Clearly, plenty of readers want someone to point them in the right direction. That's why Oprah's Book Club creates instant bestsellers. Life is too short to waste on books you might not like, especially if you're not a voracious reader. (Purists scoff at Oprah's Book Club, but if it's getting people reading and taking the fear out of book selection, then it can't be all bad. And who knows, maybe those readers will one day stray from the bestseller list to more challenging fiction.)

Some of my recent reads, and how I came to choose them:

- The People of the Book by Geraldine Brooks (currently reading) - numerous newspaper reviews
- The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini - desire to read book before seeing the film
- The Tomorrow series by John Marsden (I'm working my way through this series in between other books) - recommendation by family member
- The Year Nick McGowan Came to Stay by Rebecca Sparrow - heard author speak at local library
- The Patron Saint of Eels by Gregory Day - recommendation by friend (on this very blog!)
- The Broken Shore by Peter Temple - newspaper review and comment on First Tuesday Book Club
- Dead Point by Peter Temple - based on my enjoyment of The Broken Shore.

And so the list goes on…

I'd really love to hear how other people decide what to read. Are there particular reviewers you enjoy? What appeals to you in a review? Are you in a book club (if so, how to do you choose your books for the group)?

So many questions…

Random things

OK, here's a deviation from my usual posts.

I've been tagged (a first for me in blogland) by Bec to offer up seven random things about myself.
For those playing along, here are the rules:
1. Link to your tagger and post these rules on your blog.2. Share 7 facts about yourself on your blog, some random, some weird.3. Tag 7 people at the end of your post by leaving their names as well as links to their blogs.4. Let them know they are tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.

Clearly, I have not been venturing far enough into the blogging world, as I only have one blog to tag for my turn. I'll try and do better in future!

My random things….

1. I'm learning Italian.
I'm working my way through a "Learn Italian in your car" series. So far, I've learned how to ask directions to the airport and train station, and to tell someone the shower is broken: La doccia e rotte. Interestingly, that last word is pronounced "roota", which makes me wonder if it was that word, used by Italian immigrants, which led to the great Australian saying that something is "rooted".


2. Russell Crowe caught me helping myself to his afternoon tea.
This was a few years back (pre Oscar nominations), when he was doing the press rounds for Virtuosity. I was waiting in the hotel room for my 15 minutes of one-on-one interview time. Unfortunately, I'd been left alone with a table full of food, and, when he didn't emerge after about 20 minutes, decided he wouldn't notice if I helped myself to one of his tasty snacks. Naturally, he walked in while I was stuffing my face with a pikelet. The funny thing was, he came in wearing jeans, a flannelette shirt and a three-day growth, and looked uncannily like one of my brothers. And that was why - despite knowing his reputation for not liking journos at the best of times - I cracked up laughing at my predicament instead of grovelling at his feet for forgiveness. To his credit, he graciously ignored my faux pax and gave a surprisingly relaxed interview.

3. After nearly 20 decades of city living, I still feel a connection to the land.
As urbanised as I've become, I have these occasional pangs of longing for the Flinders Ranges… wheat dust in the air at the end of a hot summer day, flocks of noisy white cockatoos screeching in gum trees, dry riverbeds running after winter rains, overcast afternoons where the stillness makes everything feel closer…

4. AC/DC riffs still make me smile. So does the sound of chunky V8 in any Ford or Holden pre 1980. Something about my misspent youth…

5. I once jammed a lit cigarette inside my right nostril.
I was covering a three-day leg of a much longer camel trek through the Northern Territory and South Australia. On the last morning, with a large hang-over, I've gone to open a car door while dangling a cigarette from the corner of my mouth. The door was locked, my hand flew up at a rapid rate, catching the edge of the cigarette and jamming it up my nose. I did such a good job, the burning end welded itself to the inside of my nostril, leaving me swearing and slapping myself like an insane Polish folk dancer.

(Not learning my lesson, a few years later I set a stack of newspapers on fire on the backseat of my car with a cigarette butt, in peak hour traffic in the Brisbane CBD. That incident ended with me throwing burning papers out onto the road and stomping on them, to the sounds of blaring horns and cheering. I've been a non smoker for more than a decade now, and have had far fewer incidents involving burning flesh).

6. I wish my friend Anna was still alive to see my husband and I travelling together. I wish Anna was still alive for so many reasons, but she would especially love to see my previously non-adventurous husband becoming a seasoned traveller in Australia, and planning an overseas trip - something she knew would mean the world to me.

7. I have an amazing circle of friends who have the endless capacity to inspire me. Friends who challenge my spiritual, political and philosophical views; friends who are creative and inventive; friends who work with marginalised communities in Middle Eastern countries; friends who appreciate the simplicity of life and the power of human connections; friends with big hearts and amazing intellects. My world would be a much paler place without them.

My tag:
The Simplest Game

(For regular readers who don't have a blog, feel free to post your seven random things here!)

When great stories lead to research projects

I love the experience of reading a story that sparks my curiosity and drives me to find out more about the world in which I live.

After reading Steve Berry's The Templar Legacy last year, I busied myself learning more about the Gnostic and apocryphal early Christian writings.

About a decade ago, Ken Follet's The Pillars of the Earth set me on a journey to learn more about medieval British history, and Francine Rivers' The Mark of the Lion series sparked an obsession with ancient history (which led to university study and a still unpublished work of historical fiction).

A powerful narrative has a way of opening up the world that non-fiction books can never achieve.

It's one thing to read in history books about the dates, major events and philosophies that shape our thinking.

It's quite another to read about them through the eyes of well-written, empathetic characters. The key is the narrative. It must be authentic. It must be engaging. Shallow characters, wooden dialogue, and melodramatic plots just don't cut it.

I've just read The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini. It had an impact on me on at least two levels.
First and foremost, it was beautifully written human drama.

From Hosseini's website:
Taking us from Afghanistan in the final days of the monarchy to the present, The Kite Runner is the story of the friendship between two boys growing up in Kabul. Raised in the same household and sharing the same wet nurse, Amir and Hassan nonetheless grow up in different worlds: Amir is the son of a prominent and wealthy man, while Hassan, the son of Amir's father's servant, is a Hazara, member of a shunned ethnic minority.

Their intertwined lives, and their fates, reflect the eventual tragedy of the world around them. When the Soviets invade and Amir and his father flee the country for a new life in California, Amir thinks that he has escaped his past. And yet he cannot leave the memory of Hassan behind him.

The Kite Runner is a novel about friendship, betrayal, and the price of loyalty. It is about the bonds between fathers and sons, and the power of their lies.

Secondly, it gave faces and voices to the Afghan people, and heightened my desire to better understand the recent history of that war-torn country.

The real drama is the redemptive journey of Amir, but in taking that journey, the reader gets a glimpse of the impact on Afghanistan after more than three decades of almost continuous conflict: the Soviets against the mujahedin; civil war after the Russian defeat; oppression under Taliban rule, and, almost as a post script, the new era of violence following the events of September 11.

A few years' back I read The Swallows of Kabul, by Yasmina Khadra, which was possibly the bleakest book I've ever read. It captured the horror of life under the Taliban, but it certainly didn't leave me hungry to learn more.

I've been periodically working my way through British war correspondent Robert Fisk's massive tome The great war for civilisation: the conquest of the Middle East, which chronicles the West's relationship with the Arab world, and it's role in the region's ever-shifting geopolitics.

Fisk's opening chapters focus on Afghanistan, starting with the rise of the mujahedin against the Soviet invaders. The book is based on his first-hand experiences in the Middle East, which give it a considerable edge over purely theoretical books. But it wasn't until I read The Kite Runner (written by an Afghani), that the significance of the events he documents hit home; the impact was emotional, not just intellectual.

Hosseini creates a powerful narrative unhindered by sentimentality and populated with complex and deeply flawed characters. It's the human story that stays with the reader (and yes, I'm keen to see the film adaptation), but the backdrop is just as compelling.

And again, I find myself reaching for Fisk, wanting to understand more.

I'm interested to learn about other stories (books, films, whatever) that have had similar impacts.

A confession...

This is a blog about great stories, right? And great stories come in all kinds of formats, right?. So, with that in mind, I'm coming out of the closet to make a confession: I'm comic book fan.

Granted, it's only a select collection of titles feeding my obsession at this point in time, but it's an obsession nonetheless.

It's fair to say I'm probably not your typical comic fan (does such a thing still exist?). I doubt I'd like every comic I pick up, just as I don't like every book I read or every TV show I watch. But I've discovered comics are goldmine of great stories, and clever storytelling: a medium that offers something different again from film, television, books and theatre.

This new interest inadvertently came about as a result of my other closet obsession: stories written by Joss Whedon.

Whedon (for the uninitiated) is the creator of Buffy, Angel and Firefly, three of the best written, best character-driven and most misunderstood shows to air on television. So many reasons to love this guy's work: the use of metaphor, cleverly crafted story arcs, original mythologies, witty dialogue - but I digress…

When all three shows disappeared from screens in Australia within about 18 months of each other, I assumed my enjoyment of the Whedon-verse was over. Until I stumbled upon a reference to a pending new Buffy comic series titled Season Eight, written by Joss and picking up where the onscreen Season Seven finale finished. That was last year, and I'm a little sheepish to admit just how excited I was by this news. (Turns out Buffy comics have been around for a while, Whedon just wasn't involved with them).

Having not read a comic since my older brothers bought The Phantom in the 70s, I had no idea how to get my hands on one (and felt ridiculously conspicuous, at my age, going into a newsagent to ask about a Buffy comic). Anyway, good old Google delivered me the answer: Impact Comics in Canberra. Not only did Mal (owner and now my chief comic advisor), know about Buffy, Season Eight, he was taking pre-orders and could send me each new copy every month.

I was hooked on the new format instantly. What was there not to like, with outstanding continuity of characters and plot, stunning artwork, and the promise of a new issue each month (11 issues in, and it's fair to say the format suits Whedon's style even better than the small screen).

I then discovered Whedon had created a three-part comic series bridging the story between Firefly (which was cancelled before the season was finished) and Serenity (the feature film made to give fans some closure). So that was added to my next month's Buffy order

By this point Mal twigged I was a Whedon fan and suggested I might like to try Runaways, a sleeper hit from Marvel comics that Whedon was about to start writing for. Of course, I didn’t want to start in the middle of the story, and had to get the rest of the series, so I knew what was going on.

I loved the series pretty much by the end of Issue 1: a group of teenagers in LA discover their parents are really super villains, and set out to thwart their plans for world domination. In the process, they discover they have powers and skills of their own, and decide to try and do good to undo their parents' evil. With their hormones, hang-ups and guilt trips, they have as many failures as triumphs, and are at odds with pretty much every other superhero in the Marvel universe.

After seven trade paperbacks (collections of past series), I'm now finally up the latest series, written by Wheond and it hasn't disappointed.

And now there's Angel: After the Fall, again written by Whedon, and picking up where the TV series ended. It's much darker than the Buffy series (hard not to be when LA has now literally gone to hell), and the 'old school' style graphics have a completely different look and feel to Buffy and Runaways.

It took to the second issue to hit its stride, but is definitely taking the characters in interesting - and unexpected - directions.

Comics bring the added dimension of sensational artwork. The covers are usually stunning, and I'm fast becoming a manga art fan. And, of course, with the only restriction being imagination (as opposed to special effects budgets), storytellers can do so much more in this medium, making it perfect for fantasy narratives.

Now, I have to go because I think my next delivery is due from Impact Comics ...