Ireland: day 4

Posted on April 18, 2012 by pagesofjulia

(Days 1-3 here) This was a full and busy day with several pictures, so it gets it own post.

Day four: Happy to wake up on Inis Mhor with a big day planned. Hitched a ride into town to rent bicycles and buy picnic lunch ingredients, and headed out of town towards the opposite end of the island for Dún Dúchathair, or the Black Fort, another ancient ruin. Where Dun Aengus has an improved path up to it and signage, and a road nearby, the Black Fort is quite remote; we had to leave our bikes quite far away and hike and clamber over rock walls and rough surfaces to get to it, but it was breathtaking. And I spotted a pair of what turned out to basking sharks – very exciting!

views along the dramatic coastline cliffs


Husband and I, aww



Castle defense at the Black Fort: these rocks provided defense from cavalry or, heck, from any kind of fast approach; they've been stood on end and make picking one's way across very difficult.


could somebody please tell me what makes these rocks take such clean straight lines?


"beehive huts" or rooms at the Black Fort inside the 20-foot-thick walls


Husband and I, riding


Our ride then took us back towards our hotel to visit the Worm Hole, a strange naturally occurring rectangular pool viewable from above where we hiked on the cliffs. Barrett got a flat tire, and it was a comedy of errors, but we got back to turn the bikes in, buy sweaters from the Aran Sweater Market, and settle in for – that’s right – dinner and pints at the American Bar (which is not associated with any Americans). Then a local volunteered to drive us home and gave us a hefty box of crabmeat caught that day, which improved his cab fare considerably. Treasa set us up with a makeshift crab hammer, we bought a box of beer, and the night was filled with revelry.

Handsome Husband: lovely end to a long day.

To be continued.

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Edward Abbey: on opening a beer

Posted on April 17, 2012 by pagesofjulia

The hardcases among us snap the tabs from cans of beer, kept cool like catfish in gunny sacks trailed in the river. Fssst! The others stare. Impossible to muffle that sudden release of CO2 under pressure, the conspicuous pop! Sounds like a grenade attack. Incoming! Nobody here flinches but everyone knows who is drinking the beer. And who’s been hoarding it. Would be helpful if some clever lad invented a more discreet, a more genteel mode of opening beer cans. A soft, susurrant, suspiring sort of … s i g h … might serve nicely. A sound that could pass, let us say, for the relaxed, simple, artless fart of a duchess. Ingenuous. But our technology continues to lag behind genuine human needs.

–“Running the San Juan,” from Down the River

I love this image of Abbey the hardcase, on the morning following some hard drinking, when everyone’s hungover, shocking his fellow river rafters with this beer can and picturing a more private option. And how about that artless fart of a duchess? An image if I ever read one. The sound effects and the concepts tickle me. Who wants a beer?

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Jeeves in the Morning by P.G. Wodehouse

Posted on April 16, 2012 by pagesofjulia

More Jeeves! (See my past readings here, here, here, and here.) At this point I’m recognizing all the Bertie-and-Jeeves patterns. There will be daunting aunts; there will be engagements, future, past and present, and conflicts between them; there will be secrets and hiding places and nighttime sneakings around; there will be old school friends and grouchy nobility who Bertie offended when he was young. Perhaps most importantly (to Husband, especially), there are very funny names. Jeeves will, of course, come to the rescue.

In this installment, Jeeves desires to go fishing in a river in the countryside, but Bertie resists visiting the idyllic town of Steeple Bumpleigh (funny name number one) because of the family residing there (daunting aunt) and the resident nobility (grouchy). Also, he dreads contact with Florence Craye, to whom he was formerly betrothed (check), although he has a few old school chums (check) out there as well. Jeeves joins forces with said grouchy nobility and manages to install Bertie in Steeple Bumpleigh, where he ends up bumblingly trying to help said old school chums pull off a desired engagement. Old acquaintances include Nobby Hopwood, Boko Fittleworth, and by far my personal favorite, Stilton Cheesewright. Stilton recalls another occasional Wodehouse pattern: the bicycling policeman.

It’s a funny one, and as a bonus, there is a “fancy dress” (costume) ball. Bertie humbles the nobility some, but it takes Jeeves to finish the job. I continue to be a fan of Wodehouse; he makes me giggle. Bertie does indulge in some misogyny here and there but it did not bother me as much as it did that one time. These books are admittedly more silly than anything else, but that doesn’t make them any less valuable; I think Wodehouse is a genius of comedy, both in phrasing (and names!) and in situations. These are classic comedies-of-error. Recommended.

Rating: 6 giggles.

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Darkness All Around by Doug Magee

Posted on April 15, 2012 by pagesofjulia

Darkness All Around is a psychological thriller involving a fractured trio of childhood friends from smalltown Braden, Pennsylvania. Risa was always expected to marry Alan but ended up getting pregnant with Sean, the third in their clique, and marrying him instead. Sean, struggling with his father’s suicide, ends up a raging drunk and leaves Risa and their daughter Kevin; Alan the ambitious politician helps her have him declared dead after many years’ absence and marries her himself, and takes over parenting Kevin as well. When the book opens, Kevin is the newly-minted football star of deeply football-obsessed Braden; Alan is on the campaign trail headed to Washington; and Risa is not sure she feels in control of her life. And then Sean shows back up.

Sean suffered a brain injury and very nearly died, to come back freshly sober and trying to remember his life before drink. He’s back in Braden without any intention of bothering Risa and Kevin, feeling good about his old friend Alan’s ability to take care of them. Rather, he’s concerned about the decade-old murder of Risa’s friend Carol: despite a local simpleton having confessed to the crime, new flashbacks convince Sean that he was involved. He contacts a local reporter who covered Carol’s death to try and help him figure out what happened; but of course it’s unavoidable, in a town like Braden, for Risa to avoid learning about his return. And Alan is not the least bit tolerant of this disruption of his campaign.

Sean is sick, but recovering – both in terms of his alcoholism, and his amnesia. His memory returns over the course of the book and he struggles to make sense of it. Risa is still dealing with the trauma of her first marriage, and Alan simply comes across as a self-centered jerk. Teenaged Kevin is understandably insecure about his supposedly dead father reappearing on the scene, especially considering his new football-related issues. The local reporter, Henry, was brand-new to town when Carol was killed but is now fully a part of the action. And as you might have guessed, nothing is as simple as it seems.

The action and the suspense are well-done; I had trouble putting this book down and while it didn’t keep me up at night, it thought about it. Except for Alan, who I wanted to kick, the characters were sympathetic and fairly real; Kevin was nicely done as a sometimes-loving and sometimes-wall-punching teen. I really felt for Sean. Limited character development and occasionally awkward dialog will allow me to move on from this book more quickly than some, but it was thoroughly satisfying and worth my time.

This book was sent to me by the author in exchange for my honest review.

Rating: 4 matches.

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Ireland: days 1-3

Posted on April 14, 2012 by pagesofjulia

I want to share some of my trip with you here, including pictures, and figure it will take a few installments to do so. If you’re bored and looking for books, bear with me; we’ll be back to books tomorrow. For more Ireland stories, stay tuned over the next week or so.

Day one: Flew into Cork on Friday afternoon because of difficulties getting into Dublin as intended. Luckily, though, our date with Barrett (in Dublin) wasn’t until Saturday noonish; so we flew to Cork on a whim and thought we’d make the best of it! We got a charming little B&B, Killarney House, right near the University College of Cork and visited the recommended (by my neighbor on the airplane, a native of Cork) pub called Mutton Lane Inn.

the UCC's very pretty campus


There we had our first pints of Beamish (started on Guinness at the airport in London) and began a relaxing and fairly uneventful evening. We had dinner at Market Lane (only fair, despite being the “top pick” in my guidebook, which gets it own review) and more pints and settled in with the intention of taking a train into Dublin the next morning to meet Barrett.

Mutton Lane Inn


Day two: Drastically overslept our intended train. Luckily they run all day, and also luckily, it turned out that Barrett (when we finally got a hold of him) had also overslept; but we missed the Saturday morning “English Market” we had intended to visit to get straight on a train. Left Cork feeling like we could happily have spent more time there.

Taking notes on the train for you!


Train into Dublin and found Barrett waiting at the station – whew! Major point scored there. Picked up the rental car (they gave away the one B wanted because we were so late, sigh) and left the city immediately, planning to see it at the end of the week before flying home. Drove into the town of Athlone for the night to drink at Sean’s Bar, purportedly the oldest in Ireland, with a fire in the fireplace – lovely, if cramped, which is a theme of Europe in general in my experience. (When you’re pleased, you call it “cozy.”) Lebanese dinner and more pints and an early bedtime for me, at another very nice B&B called the Bastion; the boys went out late and I shall say no more about that.

Day three: Sunday, yes? It’s already getting hazy. Left Athlone for Clonmacnoise, a monastic site marking the roots of Irish Catholicism. Had a nice walk around in truly perfect weather and intermittent sunshine at this very special place.

Husband (in blue) and Barrett outside Clonmacnoise (those are the ruins of a later church in the background)


inside the monastery grounds themselves


Then on to Connemara airport to board an eight-seat airplane. That flight was really something! We could have taken a ferry, of course, but this was an experience – great views, a wonderful way to approach the unique little world of Inis Mhor, the largest of the Aran Islands.

from the air


This may have been our favorite part of the whole trip. According to Barrett – who has been to Ireland, and Inis Mhor, before, but I have no idea how far to trust him – hi Barrett! – these islands had no soil on them when they were first settled, but only rock. Early islanders created soil by mixing seaweed with crushed seashells, eventually supplemented (I imagine) by plant and animal wastes. This soil, which now supports vegetation across the very green islands, is in danger of blowing away in the wind if not for the stone walls that form a tight network. Settlers had to move rocks to clear space for their fields; conveniently, these rocks now form the walls that keep the soil there.

We checked into our B&B for the night – another dream, called Kilmurvey House, with the lovely Treasa hosting – and headed out for an evening hike to Dun Aengus. This Iron-Age fortress is perched dramatically on a cliff very near our B&B, but at the other end of the island from the little town of Kilronan. The cliffs are dramatic, and I am not so good with heights!

Barrett looking down; me keeping a safe distance

Then into town to Ti Joe Wattys for dinner and pints, courtesy of our B&B host’s shuttle service.

Stay tuned for the rest of the Ireland trip, to come.

Edit: See day 4, days 5-7, and days 7-8 now up.

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book beginnings on Friday: Walking It Off by Doug Peacock

Posted on April 13, 2012 by pagesofjulia


Thanks to Rose City Reader for hosting this meme. To participate, share the first line or two of the book you are currently reading and, if you feel so moved, let us know what your first impressions were based on that first line.

Doug Peacock was a good friend of Edward Abbey’s, and was the inspiration for the Hayduke character in Abbey’s highly regarded The Monkey Wrench Gang – thus, obviously, my interest in this memoir. It begins:

High in the shadow of Dhaulagiri they are bleeding the yaks. Two Tibetans hold the curved horns of the shaggy beast and a third man uses a wooden bowl to catch the bright red blood that pulses and spills out a hole in the yaks’ neck.

So, a little rough in the beginning if you don’t like pulsing blood! I’m okay though. 🙂 What are you reading this weekend?

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The Monkey Wrench Gang by Edward Abbey

Posted on April 12, 2012 by pagesofjulia

I fear this review won’t do this book justice. Maybe I’m just intimidated. But I read it on vacation and sadly took NO notes – nor do I usually, but it took me a little longer after reading to write the review, and those were hectic days. And it’s a significant book: one of Abbey’s two most famous books, that alongside the nonfiction Desert Solitaire really made his career and solidified his celebrity, as well as birthing the Earth First! organization and movement. If ever a book had a cult following, this is it.

The story follows four individuals. Seldom Seen Smith is a Jack Mormon with three wives in three small towns in Utah; they gave him his nickname for being rarely around any of their three households; he guides river raft trips down the Grand Canyon and generally camps out and around in the natural world more than he stays home. Bonnie Abbzug is a Bronx Jewish girl working out in Albuquerque for Dr. A.K. Sarvis, who when he is widowed takes refuge in Bonnie’s desirable arms. She is much younger and beautiful and very capable; she manages his medical practice as well as satiates his considerable sexual urges. As the book opens, Bonnie and Doc amuse themselves by cutting down billboards with a chainsaw. George Hayduke is a young, muscular, angry Green Beret Vietnam veteran who returned from war with nothing on his mind but the beautiful desert country he loved; upon finding it defiled by industry and roads, he wanders around in a murderous mood until happening upon the other three.

The four form a conflict-ridden union of semi-organized, anarchic environmental activists – stress on the “action” part. They destroy heavy machinery and blow up bridges and the like. The group’s greatest ambition is to take out Glen Canyon Dam and free the mighty Colorado River (and liberate Seldom Seen’s hometown, now underwater, of Hite, Utah). They have adventures and do battle with a small-town Search and Rescue team lead by the Church of Latter Day Saints’ Bishop Love, which is really just a posse of renegades angry at Seldom Seen and whose profits are tied up in the industry that the Monkey Wrench Gang is bent on destroying. There is gunplay; there is infighting; there is sex and camping and nature-praise. It’s rather glorious; The Monkey Wrench Gang is funny and doesn’t take itself too seriously, although its values (pro-nature, anti-development) are definitely heartfelt and poignantly expressed. It’s easy to see how this novel, published in 1975, led like-minded young people to try to live it out.

Common critiques are easily spotted. Most glaringly for me, Bonnie is a sex symbol. Doc is her lover despite being “old and bald and fat and impotent” (the first three are true, the forth patently not; there is reference to his “grand erection,” on which more in a minute) but Seldom Seen openly worships her (which is accepted by all) while Hayduke tries to resist his equally obvious desire. This dynamic is not PC, although I fear it is entirely realistic even today. Knowing just a little about Abbey (one biography, check), it is painfully obvious that Doc (and Hayduke, and Seldom Seen) live out various forms of Abbey’s own lust for vastly younger women (their thighs, their buttocks…) – see again Doc’s “grand erection” even when threatening impotence. This is clearly indulgent of the author’s lechery. But somehow I note that and carry on unoffended. To be fair, Doc is rather laughable. Further, the group is not PC in its attitudes towards American Indians (somewhere in here is the often quoted line “drunk as a Navajo”) or Mormons, continue the list from here. And these are not your average environmentalists; they eat a lot of meat and drive big cars and throw beer cans out the windows along the highway (another famous Abbeyism).

But it’s a hell of a story; I was totally involved, and what can I say, I buy into Abbey’s greatness and went right along with his self-indulgent fantasy. I wanted to see the Glen Canyon Dam come down, too. I wish there was more. Oh wait! Hayduke Lives! That’s gotta be next on the list.

Rating: 8 sticks of dynamite.

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River in Ruin by Ray A. March

Posted on April 11, 2012 by pagesofjulia

One American river’s well-researched journey from trickling stream to environmental disaster.


The Carmel River is barely a stream at its source, less than 40 miles long, and likely known only to the residents of its immediate surroundings. But it has a rich and telling history–from early Spanish explorers to its eventual place on the nonprofit environmental organization American Rivers’ top 10 list of Most Endangered Rivers in 1999. But the Carmel is especially important to journalist Ray March because he grew up nearby; with River in Ruin, he makes an excellent case for its story being an archetype of endangered rivers everywhere.

The paradise that is California’s Monterey Peninsula has attracted settlers since 1602, when Sebastian Vizcaino first discovered the Carmel River. Later, railroad magnates adopted the area as a site for profitable tourism, quickly followed by real estate speculators and the development of several small towns. The original Spanish mission and agriculture, followed by the later hotels, golf courses and townships all relied upon the Carmel for water, requiring the construction of dams and reservoirs and the flooding of idyllic valleys. Ecological implications abound: forest fires were exacerbated by a no-burn policy; the local steelhead population is nearly extinct. March details these and more consequences of local development while showing how the growth of the environmental movement nationwide has paralleled local awareness of the plight of the Carmel River and Monterey Peninsula. March’s treatment of the history, the politics and the personalities involved is heartfelt and personal; several times he consults diaries and includes individual stories (including his own), making the Carmel’s story resonate with his readers.

This review originally ran in the April 6, 2012 issue of Shelf Awareness for Readers. To subscribe, click here, and you’ll receive two issues per week of book reviews and other bookish fun!

Rating: 7 salmon.

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back from Ireland

Posted on April 10, 2012 by pagesofjulia

Hello friends & readers! Thanks for sticking with me and thanks for the comments and “likes” while I was away. I’m back now but it will take me a little while to get back on track. The library at work is a mess and needs some TLC; my car has been in the shop and thank goodness should be able to provide me with transportation again soon; and I am trying to get back on the bike! I did read several books while I was gone – fewer than anticipated, which tells you how active and FUN our trip was. Reviews of The Monkey Wrench Gang by Edward Abbey, Jeeves in the Morning by P.G. Wodehouse, and Darkness All Around by Doug Magee will be up in the next few days. Not a dud amongst them, I’m happy to say.

And what of our travels, you ask? That may be the slowest answer of them all to hit this blog. I took very few pictures but Husband was on fire, taking over 500 pictures – which means there are plenty to show you but it will take time to get through them all. Be patient with me, I beg you.

In a nutshell, I will tell you that Husband and I successfully met up with buddy Barrett (no small feat) in Dublin after spending a night in Cork; we visited Athlone and the supposed oldest bar in Ireland, Sean’s; spent two nights on Inis Mor which was probably our favorite part; made an impromptu overnight stop in Westport for some traditional music; visited Coleraine and Belfast in North Ireland, and then hit Dublin for a final whirlwind weekend. Highlights included visiting castle & monastery ruins (Dunluce was my favorite), the pubs of course, hiking and cycling on Inis Mor, a political-murals tour of Belfast, and the sincere friendliness and welcome of the locals. It was a blast. I fully intend to give you a fuller version later complete with pictures, but this will have to do for now.

I couldn’t decide if I should close by giving you an Irish rainbow or a beer shot, so here’s both:

rainbow on the drive from Galway to Westport (click to enlarge, you will see it, I promise)


beer on the patio of our Inis Mor B&B

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“A Christmas Memory” by Truman Capote

Posted on April 9, 2012 by pagesofjulia

This short story comes from my paperback copy of Breakfast at Tiffany’s and Three Stories. (Yes, I promise the cover image at right is of a book that includes stories, too.) It was just too easy to read this short, sweet, sad tale before bed one night, just before leaving on our trip.

Our first-person narrator is a child of seven, and this is the story of his relationship with his best friend, an unnamed distant cousin, aged sixty-something. She calls him Buddy, after an earlier best friend who died when they were children. Buddy and his friend live together, along with other family members who do not view them as favorably as they do one another. Along with the little dog, Queenie, Buddy and friend are one another’s world. They make fruitcakes together every fall for friends far and wide. There is an inevitable sad ending to this story which you can read into the disparate ages of these two friends if you so choose.

It’s brief and simple in terms of plot, but that is so often true of some of the best pieces of writing. And this piece is lovely. I only knew Capote through In Cold Blood, prior to this; and while that is very different kind of work, I get the same simple evocation of place, of sights and smells and feelings. I think I can best share the beauty of this story by giving you a few short passages.

Meet the friend:

A woman with shorn white hair is standing at the kitchen window. She is wearing tennis shoes and a shapeless gray sweater over a summery calico dress. She is small and sprightly, like a bantam hen; but, due to a long youthful illness, her shoulders are pitifully hunched. Her face is remarkable – not unlike Lincoln’s, craggy like that, and tinted by sun and wind; but it is delicate too, finely boned, and her eyes are sherry-colored and timid.

After saving up to buy ingredients to make their fruitcakes:

Silently, wallowing in the pleasures of conspiracy, we take the bead purse from its secret place and spill its contents on the scrap quilt. Dollar bills, tightly rolled and green as May buds. Somber fifty-cent pieces, heavy enough to weight a dead man’s eyes. Lovely dimes, the liveliest coin, the one that really jingles. Nickels and quarters, worn smooth as creek pebbles. But mostly a hateful heap of bitter-odored pennies.

On declining an offer to sell the Christmas tree they have just harvested:

“Goodness, woman, you can get another one.” In answer, my friend gently reflects: “I doubt it. There’s never two of anything.”

And the sad ending comes too soon.

I hope these passages shared with you better than I feel able to do, the quiet, loving, reflective mood. It is somber from the beginning, but also loving and solemnly celebratory of the beloved friend. Does that make sense? This story is a masterpiece in understated, simple evocation of emotion and mood.

Rating: 6 coins.

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