Abridged Too Far

I dipped my toe into the audiobook waters, but now I'm thinking of pulling it back out, drying it off and never going in again.

Recently, I bought an audiobook of Black Boy, Richard Wright's 1945 memoir of growing up in the Jim Crow American South. I paid more than $20 USD for it, and I'm disappointed in what I got for the money.

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The news is not all bad. Black Boy was performed back in 1973 by Brock Peters, who is best known for his role as Tom Robinson in the movie version of To Kill A Mockingbird. His reading is mesmerizing and fits perfectly with Richard Wright's powerful prose.

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What's left of the prose, that is. When I was at the bookstore and I saw that the audiobook was abridged, alarm bells should have gone off in the library of my mind, but I sauntered to the cash register without concern. Abridged. So what? A few skillful editorial cuts here and there. No problem, right?

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Wrong. Take away Peters' performance and the audiobook fails on every other level. First of all, the tape starts with Peters reading an anecdote from Richard's early life. The title of the book is not introduced and the author's name goes unmentioned. Second of all, Wright's brilliant and harrowing narrative is spoiled by choppy editing -- it's like they went in there with pruning shears. In addition, not only is the editing choppy, it's clumsy. Later in the audiobook, Richard references something that happens when he was six years old. If I hadn't read an excerpt from Black Boy when I was in college, this reference would have made no sense at all, since the incident was never related in the audiobook, so I imagine that many listeners were puzzled.

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Wright's book is approximately 450 pages long. The 2-tape audiobook clocks in at less than 2 hours and there's almost 3 minutes of dead air at the conclusion. All of this was annoying enough, but to add insult to injury, the audiotape only covers Part 1 of Black Boy, the years that Wright lived in Mississippi. Part 2, "The Horror and the Glory", which details his years in Chicago is completely omitted. That omission isn't mentioned in the packaging; I found it out when I visited Amazon this morning and compared the memoir with what I'd just listened to.

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Black Boy is an amazing work, full of raw anger and power and it deserves better than shoddy treatment. This audiobook needs to be redone by a company who values quality and integrity in all parts of production. Sadly, Brock Peters died in 2005, but there must be a voice actor out there who could do justice to Richard Wright's memoir.

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If it weren't for Brock Peters, I wouldn't waste any time before flinging this audiotape. I'm going to put it aside and do what I should have done in the first place: Find Black Boy in book form, read it properly and steer clear of the audiobook section of the bookstore in the future.

Finally In A Northbound State Of Mind

One of my goals for September was to make some progress on The Canadian Book Challenge 3. Although I'm still a little behind, I read two Canadian books and I'm now headed in the right direction. North. Brrr, where's my parka?

The Paper Bag Princess - Robert Munsch. I enjoyed this small story about Elizabeth, the smart and courageous princess who rescues her clueless and cloddish prince Ronald from becoming royal barbecue, but my favorite Munsch book is still 50 Below Zero.

The Cellist of Sarajevo - Steven Galloway. I'm glad I read this novel because it expanded my consciousness of Sarajevo and the horrifying siege that lasted an incredible 4 years. Because of the title character and the elegic tone of the novel, I wish that I could have listened to the piece that the cellist played for all those days in memory of the 22 people murdered as they lined up to buy bread.

Although I admired the characters for their courage and tenacity, I couldn't really warm up to any of them. There's something about Galloway's beautifully rendered phrases that keeps them at a distance from the reader. Even when killings occur in the novel, everything seems remote. Also, this really feels like more of a long short story -- there's a curious drag, a lack of tension as the book progresses. Readers who enjoyed The Bridge of San Luis Rey would probably like this book as well.

Dreaming In Literature: Hanging With Margaret Mitchell

"Peggy" and I were hanging out in her backyard in Atlanta. Ms. Mitchell was reclining on a chaise longue with a mint julep next to her. I was sitting in a lawn chair and kept jumping up to look at the landscaping. Everything seemed to be what you run across in southern novels.

"Is this cape jasmine? Are those magnolias? Is that a peach tree?" Peggy nodded. I wondered if I was giving it away that I wasn't a southerner. But I wasn't really a Yankee, either. After all, Missouri was terribly conflicted during the Civil War. I didn't like my mint julep. Too sticky. Maybe I was more Yankee than anything.

"I'm reading Toji," I told Margaret Mitchell. "It's the Great Korean Novel. Also written by a woman. Believe it or not, it's way way WAY longer than Gone With The Wind. Sixteen frickin' volumes, can you beat that? The problem is, there's really no one particular character I can warm up to, like Scarlett. Park Kyung-Ni jumps around like a..."

Peggy lit a cigarette. She had the loveliest little lighter, small and slim with a mother-of-pearl overlay. The little click it made was the most satisfying, perfect sound in the world. I vowed to start smoking immediately, just as soon as I found a lighter exactly like that.

"You know," she said. "I'm getting really tired of Nineteen." She pronounced "tired" like "tide". I wished my students could check out her accent.

"What's Nineteen? Is that a book?" A slight nod. "Do you mean Gone With The Wind?" I thought maybe she was talking in code.

She shook her head.

"Is it a new book? Why do you call it Nineteen?"

No answer.

"Is it because it takes place in the 1900s? Is it about Scarlett's family? Oh no...uh, Peggy? I don't think you've heard about Alexandra Ripley; this is really going to piss you off --"

"Everybody better keep their cotton-pickin' hands off Nineteen."

"Where is it? How long is it? Can I read it?" I was trembling. Home from Korea just in time to be part of literary history! Toji would have to take a back seat.

"Get your goddamn feet out of my azaleas," Peggy told me. "No one can read Nineteen. I'm tired of it."

2002-2003: Bookworm Misery

Why don't you dance with me?!! I'm not no Limburger!!!
"Dance This Mess Around" -The B-52s -

I've been living a bookworm's dream for the past few years. The Reading Fairy obviously loves me. Not only do I have book blogging buddies, I have real-life friends who enjoy cracking a book then discussing it. THREE book groups. A library that goes all the way through the 900s! This week, I started tutoring one of the Korean professors. She's the chair of the Korean Language and Literature Department. Thrilled that I've read a few Korean novels, she has promised to be on the lookout for additional translations. Jackpot!

It's raining books, hallelujah...

I'm feeling so good that I can flash back to the 2002-2003 school year. I was teaching ESL at my latest schools, Knob Noster Middle School and Knob Noster High School. The job was all right, but as far as finding bookworm friends and compatriots, it was a low point.

Part of the problem was me. I'd always had a fantasy that once I became an English teacher, the other English teachers, the library staff and I would gather in the library or the teacher's lounge on a daily basis and chat about literature. Things got out of hand -- in my dream, we were wearing tweeds and sipping tea. My simple strand of pearls looked fabulous with my chignon. At one point in my reverie, we were even sporting vaguely English accents...

I was so eager to find a bookworm buddy that I engaged in slightly cringeworthy behavior -- I began photocopying reviews I'd written of books I had read the previous month and placing them strategically around the teacher's lounge. I was sure someone would approach me and shyly say, "I noticed you read [name of book]. Have you read [something else the author wrote]?" And: "I've been thinking of forming a reading group. Would you be interested?" For the most part, my reviews remained untouched. I think one of the counselors used one as a place mat to catch his chocolate cake crumbs.

The middle school librarian and I got off to a wretched start. During 4th hour, I had one student, a 6th grader named Yesenia who was fresh from Mexico. Since it was just the two of us, I had the idea of taking her to the library one day, showing her the picture books and letting her select one. Then I would read and she would repeat. Things went well, so we returned a couple of days later. When the bell rang, the librarian came over, sent Yesenia to lunch and asked to have a word with me. With a gaze as steely as Clint Eastwood's, she informed me that my studentS (!) and I had "an instructional area" and that it was "appropriate" for us to stay there. I spent my lunch break locked in a bathroom stall, crying mostly because the universe seemed especially unfair; that vicious harridan was a librarian and I wasn't.

After a few months, I struck back (rather weakly). I noticed Lonesome Dove on the shelves. I handed it to her and asked her if she thought it was "appropriate" that 6-8 graders were reading about prostitutes and murderers. (I'm sorry, Larry McMurtry!) Then I said that I was returning to my instructional area and walked out. I'd like to say forever, but the principal always held staff meetings in her lair, where I sat at a table as far from her as possible.

The high school, where I spent the second part of the day, had a much more welcoming librarian. I brought a class of 8 in once (for research about jobs) and she never turned a hair. During prep time and after school, I took the opportunity to check out what was available for the 9-12 graders. According to my reading journal, I checked out and read the following books during that time:

• Red Sky At Morning - Richard Bradford
• The Yearling - Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings
• Go Tell It On The Mountain - James Baldwin
• A Separate Peace - John Knowles
• Worms Eat My Garbage - Mary Appelhof
• The Worm Book - Loren Nancarrow and Janet Hogan Taylor
• Essential Zen - author???
  

Except for massive state budget cuts and layoffs for 20% of the staff looming around the corner, the job was going great. Still no bookish buddy, though. Sigh. Then one day in April of 2003, it looked as if my chance had come. I was at the high school, and for some reason I can't remember, every English teacher and the librarian was in the teacher's lounge.

Behind the Anne Tyler novel I was reading, (Back When We Were Grownups) my heart was pounding with anticipation. No more beating around the bush! We were going to have a literary discussion right here and now!

I cleared my throat. "Ummm...I was wondering? Since we're all English teachers? What do you enjoy reading?" My voice was going higher and higher from nervousness.

Long silence. Then finally, the 12th grade English teacher said "Well, I read some John Grisham from time to time."

No one else said anything. I held up my book. "I'm reading Anne Tyler. She's really good, and..."

Another teacher interrupted. "She's a little too weird for me."

The 9th grade English teacher took care of the rest of my illusions. "We have to read all day at work," she told me. "I don't know about everyone else, but when I get home, the last thing I want to see is a book." A few nods of agreement.

"Oh." I pretended to read again. The subject was immediately changed.

One of the things I miss is my car. On bad days, I used to have terrific cursing and venting sessions in the 7 miles between Knob Noster and La Monte. That day's session began even before I got the key in the ignition and lasted 10 minutes after I pulled into the driveway at home. I'm sure I paused for breath, but I don't remember. Raging? King Lear out in the storm looked like Grandpa in that old Werther's Originals commercial compared with me.

With The Cranberries blaring at top volume, I throttled the steering wheel and raged at the whole town of Knob Noster for being such an armpit. I raged at the English teachers for not loving books. I raged at myself for having such an unrealistic fantasy life. I raged at myself for wanting to surround myself with people who probably didn't even exist. I raged at myself for being a bookworm and being so obvious about it and feeling that change was unthinkable. Tears and snot flew. I raged and raged and raged. This blog's birth was almost one year away. I'd be living on another continent within 18 months. BOOKLEAVES was four years in the future. So many wonderful things were in front of me, but that afternoon, how could I have known?

A Reading Habit Leads To Habits While Reading

This is a BBAW meme. What a fun week!

Do you snack while you read? Yes, because it seems as if people are always eating something in whatever book I'm reading. It doesn't seem to matter what -- porridge, Snickers bars, whale blubber -- the minute food is mentioned, I'm all about the snack.

Favorite reading snack? Crunchy and salty carries the day.

Do you tend to mark your books as you read, or does the idea of writing in books horrify you? I don't often mark my books, but I like to read copies that total strangers have marked, while squinting and muttering WTF?

How do you keep your place while reading a book? Bookmark? Dog-ears? Laying the book flat open? Dog-ear is a cute term for something heinous.

Fiction, Non-fiction, or both? The score so far this year is 40-31, fiction.

Hard copy or audiobooks? I've relaxed my stance against audiobooks.

Are you a person who tends to read to the end of chapters, or are you able to put a book down at any point? I stop when my eyes slam shut and I'm overpowered by that creep, Sleep.

If you come across an unfamiliar word, do you stop to look it up right away? If it's strong enough and strange enough to gum up my optical cruise control.

What are you currently reading? Toji by Park Kyung-Ni, The Log From The Sea of Cortez by John Steinbeck and A Moveable Feast by Ernest Hemingway.

What is the last book you bought? White Tiger by Aravind Adiga.

Are you the type of person that only reads one book at a time or can you read more than one at a time? More than one. I wish my eyes worked independently, and that I had an extra one. I could hide it under my bangs.

Do you have a favorite time of day to read? 10:41 p.m.

Do you have a favorite place to read? Bed, with something like Style Her Famous droning in the background.

Do you prefer series books or stand alone books? Stand alone.

Is there a specific book or author that you find yourself recommending over and over? Don Robertson's Morris Bird III trilogy.

How do you organize your books? (By genre, title, author’s last name, etc.?) I have a few distinct categories: The Pulitzer shelf, the biography shelf, the Canadian shelf, the Korean shelf, the teacher shelf and the graphic novel shelf. The rest is chaos.

BBAW: Who Do You Love?

One of the BBAW questions this week is "What blog that you really enjoy didn't make the shortlist?"
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That's an easy one: I've been reading Book Chase for a couple of years now and I'm stunned that it didn't make it to the show. Sam is a voracious reader and, well, he's the Joyce Carol Oates of blogging. His tastes are eclectic -- I look forward to seeing what he'll post about next. Not only does he satisfy my incessant need to know about books, he and I see eye-to-eye about country music. (I wish I were as knowledgeable about bluegrass as he is.) As if all that wasn't enough, he keeps readers up-to-date with news from the book world. If I didn't love this blog so much, my theme song would definitely be Hey Jealousy.


What? You're still here? Go visit Sam's blog!

20 Years Later: Dipping An Ear Back Into Audiobooks

No one could have been more shocked than I was. When audiobooks first made their appearance at my hometown library (where I was working at the time) around 20 years ago, I was positive that I'd love them. I checked out several and listened to them while I was driving both on short trips and long. No love -- only a mixed feeling of impatience and weariness. The only exception was Thinner. Not enough to keep me in the audiobook game.

I used to enjoy being read to so much. What happened? After years of pondering, I finally have a theory: It's Mrs. Betty Lemmon's fault. We only knew each other for 3 books during the fall of 1972, but her reading was so sublime that she ruined me for any other reader. If Mrs. Lemmon showed up in Korea right this very minute and said, "Sue, sit down and listen to this story," I'd be right there, leaning forward, my elbows resting on my desk. Mrs. Lemmon was perfection. She was everything a bookworm could possibly want in a reader. I just hope subsequent generations have appreciated her talent. I'd hate to make a trip to mid-Missouri just to kick some elementary school ass.

After my initial foray into audiobooks, I had a strong aversion to that format. I finally began to turn around a while back when Isabella mentioned that she was audiobooking Great Expectations, read by Hugh Laurie. I presume that he uses his original accent, not that it matters. Love 'em all. (Speaking of dear darling Hugh, a teacher who lives upstairs from me has an audiobook of Three Men In A Boat read by Mr. Laurie that's making the rounds.) The tide was turning, and yes, I was stopping by the audiobook sections of bookstores everywhere I went, but still no purchase.

That ended 2 weeks ago. While I was at Bandi & Luni gathering madly for the Canadian Challenge 3, I found an audiobook of Black Boy, Richard Wright's autobiography. I'd just devoured Native Son the week before. Big decision time. Then I saw that Black Boy was read by Brock Peters, who played Tom Robinson in To Kill A Mockingbird. Peters' voice seemed like a perfect fit for Wright's writing. Sold.

I brought home my first audiobook, but now I'm at a loss about how to listen. I don't want to be reading something else or grading papers or messing around on the computer or anything else that might take a portion of my concentration away from the book. I don't drive over here, so no car. I don't sew, crochet or knit, but I feel as if I should be doing something. What about cleaning? Mrs. Lemmon wanted all of us to sit quietly and concentrate, but it doesn't feel right anymore. Too many years of multitasking, I guess.

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Any ideas? I'm listening.

Book Blogger Appreciation Week

Happy Book Blogger Appreciation Week! I've been nominated in the category listed above. To get this far is really flattering because I've got fierce competition. Thanks so much to Booking Mama for this nifty button. Congratulations and good luck to everyone who made the shortlists.

I wish I could just disappear into my stack of books right now. Work is breathing like Brainy all over my life. I want to Helga it. Do I really love being a native speaker? Well, I do like being a native reader at any rate, and I'll prove it first chance I get -- this weekend, for example. There's a hermit in my future and it's me.

t/doe-suh-gwan

I must be in the building with the books two times a week now; I have a Native English class that meets Thursdays and Fridays from 2:00-2:50 on the 5th floor. Wise people in the office that made my schedule...or are they foolish? Will I be able to concentrate on serving up grammar and vocabulary with the literature stack literally under my feet (4th floor)?

Today was the first day for the English class at the library. I had to run home to do an errand and get back to school fast. No time for the 118 steps, so I called a taxi. The driver wanted to know where I wanted to go. "Tosogwan," I said. Toso = book. Gwan = building. Isn't that great? Don't you just love Korean? Meet my new favorite word. I'm a little puzzled, though. The Romanization of the word spells it with T, but in Hangul, it's spelled with the D sound. I compromised and pronounced the T softly, as if I had a cold and my nose was clogged. It worked -- the driver repeated the word exactly as I had and we were there in 3 minutes. Which means I was 20 minutes early. Which means I had 15 minutes to wander.

I found a biography of Caroline Gordon (1895-1981), an American literary critic and novelist. She was married to Allen Tate. Ford Maddox Ford was one of her mentors. I'm not familiar with her work, but this 1995 biography, The Underground Stream: The Life & Art Of Caroline Gordon by Nancylee Novell Jonza has a lively and vigorous narrative. I was immediately pulled in; I wanted to know Gordon's whole life right away.

This copy hasn't been read too often, if at all -- the cover still has "creak" in it, which is one of those tiny bookworm pleasures that always make me a little funny in the head. I visited the always polite self-checkout machine ("please place the book as shown"), then headed upstairs to meet my class. I think I walked, but it feels more like I floated. It's going to be a great semester.

It's Aboot Time! Complete Canadian Challenge Bookshelf

I've got all my Canadian books now and I'm ready to read. Actually, I got a little too enthusiastic and ended up with 14. Here's the complete list of what I'll be tackling from here to Canada Day:

Moral Disorder - Margaret Atwood

Oryx & Crake - Margaret Atwood

The Tent - Margaret Atwood

Wilderness Tips - Margaret Atwood

A Mixture of Frailties - Robertson Davies

The Cellist of Sarajevo - Steven Galloway

The Diviners - Margaret Laurence

Among The Shadows - L.M. Montgomery

Emily Climbs - L.M. Montgomery

The Paper Bag Princess - Robert Munsch

Coming Through Slaughter - Michael Ondaajte

Divisadero - Michael Ondaajte

The Tenderness of Wolves - Steph Penney

Gone To An Aunt's: Remembering Canada's Homes For Unwed Mothers - Anne Petrie