Books I liked

Once I get hold of a book that captures my interest, I bury, virtually bury, myself in it and "disappear," I read and read. I get terribly involved every time; search the internet, check out the subject matter, look up what this or that person looked like, compare how truthful a story is. Most of what I read is not fiction — and since my brain is what it is —  sometimes a title, the name of an author slips my mind. And for the longest time I jot down a few words what it was that I liked so much about a specific book; for later reference — but honestly now what "later reference" do I have in mind? I never know exactly what carries me on to pick from the many reviews here and there and what my 'red thread' is for picking up a particular book. It definitely is the time of the Twenties; it definitely is the time before and during and after WWII;  it definitely is dealing with contemporary issues and of course it always is about other countries. This said, here are three books that I was unable to put down this month. I felt guilty that I just continued reading when I should be doing something else. So what. Fortunately I have more time now then I ever had before — no commute/work/troubling about business problems/parents/children and similars!

The Artificial Silk Girl by Irmgard Keun — translated from German, a bestseller in 1932 and  later banned by the Nazis because of anti-German tendencies. Portrait of a young woman in Berlin in the days before the Nazis came to power. Dreams to strike it big of course in Berlin after she arrives from Cologne. She sees the world in pictures, images and perceives the world less in words. The ups and downs, plotting her life towards Hollywood success, the raw realities of life of the lower class in Berlin with the wish to succeed. Below all of it there is the core of a young girl that wants to be good and wants to succeed, but she has her limits. A great picture of Berlin during that time and it fits the world of George Grosz, the painter, and Berlin Alexanderplatz.

Siberia by Ian Frazier — I had read a chapter about his travels in Siberia in the New Yorker and was hooked; maybe this was because of my own father's Siberian story and the many open questions, or is it was just my basic curiosity about such a vast land area practically unknown. The book has hardly any photos, and they are not sufficient anyway, but it holds lots of Frazier's own sketches that underline everything in a subtle way. He also drew a Siberian map,  and once I had finished the book and after constant returns to the map with all these towns with hard to pronounce names, I ended up with  quiet a good understanding about the geography. The country is huge, seven time zones, and he criss-crosses it several times. He talks about summers and  the vicious loads of mosquitoes, the beauty,  and the loneliest and coldest winters imaginable, about the Gulags, about the history and also today's environmental issues. He talks about Russian men and women. My physical therapist Natascha comes from Russia and we discussed her country many times and it always surprised me how strong she was in her opinion to never never go back.

Zeitoun by Dave Eggers — now this refers to my recent trip to New Orleans and the great disaster of Hurricane Katrina. Here is the Kafkaesque story of a man from Syria, Abdulrahman Zeitoun and his wife Kathy, both Moslems, idealistic Americans, hardworking and successful. His wife and four children decide to leave New Orleans for a "few days" to avoid the storm while Zeitoun decides to stay behind to look at their properties since he is a contractor and wants to make sure that things are under control. He paddles around in a canoe, rescues some people, lives on top of his roof in a tent, prays five times a day, and feels quiet good about his decision to stay behind. Until he and a few other are taken into custody under gunpoint, from his own house, on account of looting as he finds out much much later. He disappears from the world, is stowed away in a prison, not allowed a single phone call out ever, not allowed a trial or a lawyer, nor does he know why he is in custody. Denied medical care he is only offered MRE rations that contain mainly pork that he refuses to eat. In short, he is caught between America's two policy disasters, the war on terror and the response to the hurricane. Emphasis of the Government is on the National Guards and they are empowered. It takes months and months until his wife in her trips around the country finds out that he still might be alive. She gets him out on a $75,000 bail! It is a sour story that makes you choke. Is this America? Zeitoun has his doubt also but he continues living here to my surprise.

A walk in the afternoon

This is a long weekend thanks to Martin Luther King. Relatively late in the afternoon Jay and I decided to take a walk and since it was getting dark soon, we parked our car at Exit 2 on the Palisades Parkway. Everything was beautiful and shiny and clear and cold! We walked for about an hour alongside the Hudson which was partially frozen; the many tankers and barges who did not make it into New York before the weekend anchored in the middle of the Hudson. So we went, up and down, up and down along the Palisades. Nobody else was there, it was so quiet and lonesome and refreshing. Jay was cold (and he claimed that his fingers would fall off sooner or later) but I was just happy to march along. I am home now and think I should cook a meal.

an afternoon at the opera

How lucky can you be! Luise's grandchild William needed babysitting and of course it was Luise's preference to stay with him, I ended up with her tickets. Hurrah. I never did hear LA TRAVIATA performed in an opera house, and to top it off, this happened to be a European production by German stage designers and producers (Willy Decker and Wolfgang Gussmann). It felt like being in the Hamburg Staatsoper; the stage was bare and stalk white except for a sofa or maybe two through the whole performance! The chorus wore regular suits and Violetta rushed around in a regular sharp looking short dress and high red heels —  and sometimes she did not even bother, and was just whirling around barefoot in a white slip. How daring, how refreshing! All these beautiful melodies and tunes and voices and drama and light effects produced interesting shadows playing against the white. I was in seventh heaven! We sat in the family circle, on the site with partial view but still enjoyed a great sound. I loved it. But to my amusement, I overheard heard a very very old lady climbing down from the Family Circle complaining to her daughter: "Now dear,  the musicians were fine, the voices good, but nobody, I mean nobody can tell me that they liked the stage with these silly sofas!" I smiled;  she reminded me of Mutti once upon a time.  Later we walked in 

New York around Lincoln Center among the lights, in the cold. This was a great afternoon.