Books and rolling stones

I have just discovered that the American Zen teacher Robert Aitken died a couple of days ago. I was slightly surprised to find that I don't have any of his books, though his name is well known to me. Maybe I should honour the occasion by going out and buying one.

I haven't had time for blogging here for a long while, as Tiny and TinierBookworm have been occupying most of my energies, and we have also had a major house move. I am now living with at least two thirds of my book collection in storage, which would be frustrating if I actually had time to do much reading. As it is, I scarely have a chance to read the ones that I do have on the shelves.

Moving house has also meant moving away from the small Zen sangha to which I had become affiliated. Having returned to my cushion last summer, I am still there (still struggling*). I am now casting around for a Zen group in the area that will tolerate the patchy commitment that my family duties will allow. I have attended one zazenkai (day of silent Zen meditation) with a fairly local group. It was nice, among all the upheavals of changing location, to find something familiar in the zendo; but all zendos are different, and this group doesn't meet often enough for their way of doing things to become quickly comfortable. By the end of the day I was finding it somewhat gruelling, mainly just because the physical discipline eventually gets to my back.

* Zen has been likened to polishing a rock into a mirror: I am still chasing the rock.**

**I know: it is not the rock that is moving.

Books and Food

I really must get the books physically organized, as well as catalogued on LibraryThing. It is all very well having a hugely erudite collection, but it is annoying when attempting to cook dinner to search on the cookery bookshelf for Marvellous Meals with Mince and find only Hymns of St Ephrem the Syrian and the like.

The mince recipe (a cross between shepherd's pie and moussaka with a layer of sliced beetroot which rather failed to harmonize) received a rather mixed reception. However, it gave rise to a more inspired follow-up: Crimson Venison Casserole (TM). Having boiled the beetroot, I was left with almost half a litre of bright purple cooking liquid, and it seemed a pity not to do something with it. The diced venison in the freezer needed using, and the recipe on the back of the box required dried cranberries, of which we did have an ancient packet in the cupboard. No fresh mushrooms, no shallots: no matter. Substituting beetroot for beef stock, I adapted the recipe so heavily as to make it unrecognizable. The result was really rather delicious. For those who would like to try it, here is the procedure:

Crimson Venison Casserole
by Myopic Bookworm

(Optional: beforehand, soak a small sample of dried oyster mushrooms or similar in boiling water.) In a flameproof casserole, brown handfuls of diced venison in some hot olive oil, removing once brown to a handy plate. Chop a medium onion fairly small, mince some garlic, and fry both in the remaining oil for a couple of minutes. Chuck in a tablespoon of wholemeal flour and keep cooking for another minute. Throw in a decent portion of roughly chopped carrot, a handful at a time, stirring into the flour mix. Add around 40-50g dried cranberries, 500ml beetroot stock and 100ml red wine, a pinch of dark brown sugar, and a good sprinkling of dried thyme, and stir again (adding the soaked and drained oyster mushrooms if you've got some). Lay the venison on top, screw on some fresh black pepper, and put in a preheated moderate oven (can't remember temperature; must have been about 180C in our fan oven) for 75 to 90 minutes. Serve with potato (boiled new potatoes or mashed) and a green vegetable (we had purple sprouting broccoli).

The combination of orange carrot and crimson beetroot juice is just stunning.

Existence is Suffering

Sitting in the Chapel of Our Lady by the Martyrdom in Canterbury Cathedral yesterday morning, I was wondering about my present difficulty. Then, looking at the carved crucifix which hangs behind the altar, and wondering what it might mean, I had a thought. Existence is suffering, say the Buddhists. It is no use an atheist protesting at the suffering in the universe: the atheist simply has to accept the world as it is, having no God to protest to. But it is no use a theist protesting either. The world is as it is, whether or not the word "God" has any objective meaning. Just because there is a God, that doesn't mean that the world could have been made in a different way. A universe is a complex thing, and to assert that it could have been done better is a ridiculous pretention. If existence is suffering, then how much more is creation suffering? Even if you attempt to ditch all Paul's theology of atonement, the death of Jesus still stands as a central feature of Jesus's ministry, his most dramatic acted parable. And a parable must have a meaning: the Lamb slain at the foundation of the world. God knows that the world suffers, and in some sense he suffers with it, and in his death Christ shows us that he suffers with it.

Maybe my next heavy book (if I can face any heavy book soon) must be Paul Fiddes's The Creative Suffering of God. For the moment, I shall work my way through Rowan Williams's Tokens of Trust, which I picked up at the Cathedral bookshop. The first chapter is promising: he manages to discuss belief in such a way that the 'existence' of God become almost a non-issue.

Not reading books

Not reading books is a talent I need to cultivate. Especially with non-fiction, I have a tendency to pick up a book that looks as if it might be interesting, and then keep picking it up and reading a bit more, even though I've realized it's not actually that interesting and I could use my time more constructively (or enjoyably) doing something else. I am doing this with "Hating America" at the moment: I guess that, like Winnie-the-Pooh with a jar of honey, I am making quite sure that it is the same all the way to the bottom, and faintly hoping that the last section (on the most modern period) might have a bit more interest. I may find myself doing the same with "Emergence": books about things like complexity and game theory always have that patina of boringness, with the use of small line drawings to illustrate concepts which are either incomprehensible anyway or blindingly obvious. It's partly to do with the nature of the detail: if you're interested in emergence in the evolution of the biosphere, a disquisition on checkers-playing computers is simply an irritation.

Who needs people when you've got books?

The latest plan for the reorganization of the house involves the removal of the guest double bed in favour of a pair of single beds which stack one below the other. One of these is currently under our bed, the other in the study. This will free up the space under our bed for boxes of books, and a whole wall of the study will become available for bookcases full of books. Future guests must reconcile themselves to a slightly less comfortable bed, but a more accessible collection of reading matter. I think that's a fair compromise!

Reading time

Fitting books into my life has never seemed trickier, but I'm managing to get some reading done. A little parental neglect over the past couple of days has enabled me to get through the pleasant if underwhelming Prelude to Foundation by Asimov, and putting The Small World of Fred Hoyle into the loobry enabled me to get through that in less than a week. The latter is one of those few books in which I have made pencil marks in the margin, finding several short passages worthy of noting, but not intending to hang on to the book in the long term. The plan is to type the notable bits into the laptop and then pass the book on. When I will get time for this I can't imagine...

Onwards to Summer, Backwards to Winter

Exmoor in April can be a welcoming place, if the sun shines. Last week, fortunately, it did. We raided the bookshop at Dulverton (mostly for Buchan), walked (briefly) on Dunster Beach, and took a more extended walk through the fields and woods between the ancient clapperbridge at Tarr Steps and the pretty hamlet of Hawkridge. This was the first major outing for the Squirmle in his backpack, an unwieldy rucksack-like frame giving him a splendid vantage point from which to pull his parent's hair, or to challenge his bearer's equilibrium by writhing uncontrollably with delight at the approach of a dog.

My cottage pie was a success, though I had not planned to make so much that it could provide meals for five more people when reheated! So thanks to Delia, even if she has since betrayed us by failing to support cruelty-free poultry farming.

I thought I had better take Lorna Doone as my holiday reading, since I have never read it and it is set in Exmoor. I have not yet got halfway through it: the sheer amount of verbiage is stunning, and I am not surprised that publishers have sought to abridge the book. Almost a whole page simply details the effect of the east wind on a fruit tree in the garden!

Our return home was marked with a fall of snow, which produced a winter wonderland on Sunday morning. Having at last planted my much-anticipated quince tree less than a fortnight ago, I thought that I had better tap it gently to reduce the amount of snow on its freshly opening leaf-buds.

Progress Report

The hexodont has now learned to clap hands, and to heave himself into a standing position while clutching someone's leg or the bars of his den. He has not yet learned that it would be nicer/wiser to eat everything that is presented to him, rather than distractedly catapulting it on to the kitchen floor, but we persevere.

I have now finished reading Diane Duane's Wizardry trilogy [*see comments], and thought it rather good. In fact, it was so enjoyable and thought-provoking that it made some of the Diana Wynne Jones I have also read recently seem a bit trivial. I'm not sure I shall seek to acquire any more of Duane's books, as reading some more Madeleine L'Engle and Russell Hoban is a higher priority (so many authors, so little time...), but I'm very glad to have tried these.

But as next week's family gathering is in Exmoor, I feel I ought to take Lorna Doone as my holiday reading.

Restless nights

Teething and a cold are being blamed for the Squirmle's restlessness, which got me out of bed at least four times last night. Also, he is developing the habit of rocking on hands and knees in the cot, which I did a lot as a child. Tomorrow we see the doctor about eczema ointment, so maybe she can help with the snufflebug as well.

The LibraryThing catalogue has now hit the children's books. No hiding place. Must read some of them!

Dracula

The second tooth (lower incisor) duly made its appearance just before Christmas, followed, unexpectedly, by one of the upper second incisors. The one on the other side looks set to arrive too, so the Squirmle is going to look like a little vampire for New Year.

Finally finished The Fionavar Tapestry: definitely a good read. I don't get much time for LibraryThing now, but I'm plugging doggedly through the fairytale shelf (aka [N3e]). Our position peaked at No. 383, but it will take a mammoth effort to get back up there.

Separation anxiety

Today is the Squirmle's first full day at Day Nursery. As this comes straight after his first two nights sleeping in a cot in his own room (instead of in a crib in our room), he is having a momentous time at the moment: not helped by his failure to shake off an annoying cough (which occasionally precipitates a monumental spew). The Squirmle seemed delighted on arrival at nursery; Mummy's separation anxieties were muted by the discovery that she could go back to bed again!

I hugely enjoyed reading G. G. Kay's The Summer Tree, and will try to review it on Library Thing before I have got too far through The Wandering Fire.

Recent LT position peaked at No. 393 (3,102 books).

Spurts of growth and action

I got through a whole shelf of SF and fantasy last night, and we're up to No. 423 (2,922 books).

TinyBookworm seems to be having a "growth spurt": grumpy much of the time, refusing to nap (no change there), very unsettled last night, and today feeding like a sumo wrestler in training. Next week at the in-laws is not going to be a time of unalloyed joy and relaxation!

Many Dimensions

Finished Charles Williams's Many Dimensions last night. A most curious book, in which echoes of Chesterton struck me strongly, as well as what seems to me the clear influence of Williams's conversations with Owen Barfield on his character of Lord Arglay (who is interested in the parallels of law and poetic diction!). But Arglay is also, in his bizarre intimate yet non-sexual relationship with his much younger secretary, also very much Williams himself: aloof, hieratic, paternal to the point of patronizing like Ransom in That Hideous Strength. Lewis is surely also in debt to Williams's Sir Giles Tumulty for many aspects of the suavely villainous Devine.

Rating on the Zeitgeist peaked at No. 443 (2,880 books), but will now slip until I get a chance to finish the bookcases in the back room. Last weekend was given over mostly to gardening: took out the less successful forsythia (too shaded) and moved the unhappy mahonia (not shaded enough) into its place, adding a stinking hellebore for good measure. Also stuck in some crocus and allium bulbs: fingers crossed for the spring.

...and counting!

No. 476 (2,717)

Bought two books this lunchtime at the Oxfam shop, and added them immediately!

Breaking the barrier

At some point in the last couple of weeks, my steady trickle of additions to LibraryThing has pushed us into the Top 500 libraries! This is less of a milestone than it would have been a couple of months ago, as the Zeitgeist page now lists the Top 1000 libraries; but it's gratifying, nevertheless, to know that we are as outstandingly book-mad as we thought we were! Our top ranking so far has been No. 483, though we may slip as others extend their catalogues. There are still five and a half bookcases to go, so our slow rise will continue whenever the relentless round of work, meals, and nappy changes lets me back to the computer for more than a couple of minutes.

Autumn I

A dappled grey overcast sky, hints of gold in the leaves, and a misty haze lying close over the city as you approach it from the hills to the west. Today was definitely the first day of autumn in these parts. Thoughts in the garden turn to tucking all the plants up in bed for the winter, even though the roses and the gladioli are still putting on a show. The summer's unusual weather has confused the blueberry though: the leaves have turned scarlet, but flowers have begun to appear. Plans for planting must include at least one tree, and some more gladioli, as the ones already in the ground have proved an unexpected success, and appear to be unpalatable to the slugs which feast so irresistibly on the delphiniums and the black hellebore.

The Squirmle (alias Tiny Bookworm) has had some more jabs today. He now weighs 13 lb 5 oz, holding his own between the 9th and 25th centiles, and is 65 cm long, which is above the 75th centile. I have visions of a basketball scholarship!

LibraryThing has updated the Zeitgeist, and others have been as busy as me, or busier: 2,607 books, but only up to No. 506.

Greenbelt I

Found the book tent. Enough said?

I couldn't possibly carry away all the interesting things I found there, but I came out with a list of ISBNs scrawled in the back of my schedule. More book-buying is now imminent, and the almost interminable list of Books I Must Read will become even longer, no thanks to Keith Ward, John Henson, Pete Rollins, et al.

...and counting!

No. 550 (2,430)

The borrowed book

For the first time since joining LibraryThing, I have read a book that I do not own, and am confronted with the decision about whether to add to my catalog/ue a book that I have never owned. The reasons for doing so would be (a) to remind me that I have read it and (b) to record any comment or review. In principle, I have an 'association' with the book sufficient to qualify it for addition. But I am a hoarder, a jackdaw, a book-collector, dammit, and I love the idea of having a list of all the books actually on my shelves (all mine, my preciousss). Of course, I have already compromised this by listing books, reviewing them, and then putting on the 'out' pile and tagging them "export"; but at least I did once own them. Maybe I could start a new LibraryThing catalog for books I do not own, and copy the details across...; but then, the reviews would not count towards my total, and my narcissistic aim of getting on to the Reviewers Zeitgeist page would be set back. Aargh!

The book in question is The Fencing Master, which I found in a bookcase while on holiday in Somerset and read over the course of the week. It was very enjoyable. Maybe I'll add it and tag it "unowned" or "borrowed" or something. I'm going to run into the same problem with Riddley Walker...