One for the hope chest...

So, "the hope chest" is the list I have on here of awesome children's books I want to make sure I have for my children and grandchildren (and nieces and nephews and "godchildren"). And one that I don't think is on there yet, but absolutely must be, is Gentleman Bear by William Pène du Bois.

Last night I was talking to M(2) about old Olympics, and track and field - that is to say, he was talking about track and field at past Olympics, and I waited semi-patiently for him to wrap up what he was saying and then said "I had a book when I was a kid about a teddy bear that went to the Olympics and Hitler shook his hand and he was NOT HAPPY." And then was off and running on the fantasticness of this sweet, whimsical book about an upper class English boy (or, as I pointed out, the only kind of person where you have the money and history to tolerate whimsical weirdness) who is never separated from his teddy bear, who is always dressed in matching outfits. They go off to boarding school, and university, the Berlin Olympics, and fly in the R.A.F. in World War II. They get married (not to each other, obviously), and raise a family. And it's so cute! And the pictures suit it perfectly.

I was dismayed to see, when I pulled up the GoodReads entry on my blackberry at the bar last night, that it's apparently no longer in print, and crappy old copies are being sold for next to nothing. Gentleman Bear is such a great book, it should be in higher demand - although I suppose I can see how it has virtually no relevance to virtually any child today. But relevance is not always the point. In this case, it's just a nice, funny book with good pictures.

Honestly, I am pretty sure that the book stayed on my bookcase at least through grad school (hey - it's skinny, it doesn't take up much room, and it was on a bottom shelf - with all the old National Geographics I couldn't bear to throw away), which means it's in one of the more recently packed boxes in my dad's house, just waiting to be put back on the shelves once I get around to repainting the walls. So I probably don't even really need to put it on the Hope Chest list, but then again - out of sight is out of mind, and I don't want to forget this one.

Not too much going on...

...in my reading life - or real life, for that matter!  Quiet week, which I think I needed, so that was good.  Didn't get all that much reading done, though, since I mostly just curled up with my overstuffed DVR and old episodes of The Wire (new life goal: to be able to say "sheeeeeeeee-it" convincingly).

Library is making me return The Ideological Origins of the British Empire, by David Armitage, which is a bummer, since it's wicked interesting.  It also, at the same time, totally puts me to sleep, which is weird.  So I've been enjoying reading it for 20 minutes or so before bed - it's thought-provoking and fascinating, and then suddenly I'm out like a light.  Perfect-o!  Plus, I think Armitage is married to Joyce Chaplin, who is my academic girl-crush, so that's just kinda cool.

But I guess someone else at Harvard must be having trouble sleeping, and doesn't want to rely on melatonin, because it's been recalled.  Oh, well - more time to plow through Season 4!





Finished Shirley Jackson's The Haunting of Hill House, which I've been meaning to read for a year or two (two, I think?), since it was listed in a "great books for Halloween" piece in Real Simple.  Finally got around to it, and I guess it was fine, but I really didn't find it very compelling.  The introductory notes said that it's been made into a movie twice (The Haunting and then House on Haunted Hill - although the author of the introduction said not to bother with the 1999 version, but I'm looking now, and it's got Taye Diggs, so, can you go wrong?) and that kind of makes sense - it seemed like a very visual book, but I just wasn't feeling the atmosphere, and was having a hard time picturing the setting.  But a haunted house is definitely appropriate for Halloween, so it was a good book for cuddling under my down comforter, heating pad at my feet, and reading with the faint sounds of little kids shrieking coming through the windows...
I also hadn't realized that Shirley Jackson is the same person who wrote that short story "The Lottery" which I read in middle school or high school (high school, maybe?) - AND which was a tv movie or something with Keri Russell, who I kinda loved because when I first saw her in something it was some God-awful teen soap (it was basically the O.C. before the O.C. was created, I think), but she had gorgeous, crazy curls.

So, yeah - that was Sunday, Monday I drank and thought about fun books, and on Tuesday or Wednesday I actually "sold" some paperbacks to the Harvard Bookstore, earning me a whopping $9 and change in store credit.  Totally worth it, even if it wasn't super lucrative: I'm sure to use the credit sooner rather than later (like on the days when I end up buying books because I'm waiting for Hong Kong to cook my take-out spicy green beans), and it got a stack of "never going to read again" books off my floor).  And now it's Friday, and I'm about two-thirds of the way through my other "scary" book that I started in the week before Halloween, The Prayer of the Night Shepherd.  I don't know exactly why I keep reading these Merrily Watkins books by Phil Rickman.  The mysteries aren't that mysterious, the literature ain't exactly great, and each time I finish one I think "huh, well, hmm" or something along those totally damned with faint praise lines.  They're really pretty much microwave popcorn.  Fills you up and kills some time, and at least it's not total junk, but it's not really great for you either.  But I am rather fond of the characters - and in this one we're dealing with Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and a group calling itself The White Company, so that's fun.  Except the real White Company is so much better!