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Posts Tagged ‘Benedict Cumberbatch’

Despite a shovel-able amount of snow on Thursday we were one of the only educational institutions  around here NOT to have a delay. Still, bingo beckoned, so I kept working on my squares this week. Actually over the past couple of weeks I’ve been working on the “An ebook or an audiobook” square, listening to Paris in Love by Eloisa James, a memoir about her family’s year living on Rue du Conservatoire. At first I didn’t like the format, because the chapters are so brief, but I got used to that. I enjoyed hearing the author read, and what’s not to like about Paris? It was hard not to be a little envious, knowing that a year in Paris would never be possible for my family. But the descriptions of shopping, eating, and exploring the City’s many museums are irresistible. James is the pen name of Shakespeare professor Mary Bly, daughter of Robert Bly. It seems unfair that one person is so successful at two careers — as an academic and a romance writer — and lives variously in New York, Paris, and Florence. Did I mention it was hard not to be envious? But the author’s tone is very down to earth. I enjoyed it.

For “A book with a number in the title, ” I decided to read a Sherlock Holmes novel, The Sign of Four. Besides the mystery at the heart of the plot, this book also tells the story of how John Watson and Mary meet and get engaged. I’m a big fan of Elementary (Best. Watson. Ever.) and have also watched other big and small screen versions of the great detective’s tales, and we visited 221B Baker Street when we went to London.But I’d never actually read any of the Sherlock stories or novels, even though I have a library discard copy of The Complete Sherlock Holmes in two volumes.  I thoroughly enjoyed it and I can really see how well Benedict Cumberbatch and Jonny Lee Miller have incorporated things Sir Arthur Conan Doyle wrote about Sherlock into their portrayals of him.

For “A book about art or artists,” I am still reading Mrs. Jack but decided it’s really more about Isabella Stewart Gardner, so I read The Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum which is the official collection guide. If you’ve never been, the ISGM is different than other museums in many ways, one of which is that there are no placards on the walls explaining what you’re looking at. There are laminated room guides but when we visited last, I decided I wanted to buy and read the guide before our next visit. It’s an interesting read, because it tells a fair bit about the artists and their works but also how ISG came to own each piece and how she decided what to put together in the different rooms. It was really enjoyable and I look forward to going back to ISGM soon, I hope.

For “A book from the Children’s Room,” I chose a New Hampshire Downloadable book version of the highly lauded Last Stop on Market Street by Matt de la Peña, with illustrations by Christian Robinson. It’s a colorful portrayal of a boy and his grandma taking the bus from church to a soup kitchen where they volunteer. Along the way the boy, CJ, asks a LOT of questions, and his grandma gives interesting answers. for example: “How come that man can’t see?” “Boy, what do you know about seeing?” Nana told him. “Some people watch the world with their ears.” CJ and Nana are brown-skinned, and the people in the book are rendered in many shades, ages, sizes, and styles. CJ envies his friends who don’t have to go anywhere after church and don’t ride the bus, and some kids who get on listening to music through a set of shared earbuds. Nana has a reply to assuage each of his longings. It’s a beautiful book, although I was thinking that Nana may find in a few years it’s not so easy to try and explain the world to CJ, who clearly already has a sense of the disparities and disgraces of the world, “How come it’s always so dirty over here?” he asks, as he gets off the bus with Nana. She tells him, “Sometimes when you’re surrounded by dirt, CJ, you’re a better witness for what’s beautiful.” And they head in to serve lunch. A book that could lead to interesting conversations, for sure.

Feeling at loose ends for reading this weekend, at work I checked out a couple of Margaret Drabble novels I haven’t yet read, to choose one for “A book you haven’t read by an author you like,” and I started an audiobook memoir, Wesley the Owl: the Remarkable Story of an Owl and His Girl, for “A biography or memoir” on my commute today. That will leave me with “Any book in a series,” “Re-read an old favorite” and two “Reader’s Choice” squares before the deadline, March 3. Stay tuned!

 

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When our elder child finished his gap year in England we met him there. I’d planned a day in Bath, which I visited during college. It proved to be a wonderful day despite fairly steady rain, and one of the best things we did was visit a small, unassuming and very well done museum: The Herschel Museum of Astronomy. When they were younger, my children were both fascinated by astronomy and we’d learned briefly of brother and sister astronomers William and Caroline Herschel. Their former home on New King Street in Bath is a lovely tribute to their work together and we all enjoyed it.

When I heard that one of my favorite small presses, Cinnamon Press, had published a novel about Caroline Herschel, Double the StarsI was intrigued. And yesterday, on the last day of my holiday vacation, I sat and read it in its entirety, one of my favorite ways to get lost in a book. It’s a wonderful read by a person well versed in both science and art; Kelley Swain was poet-in-residence at the Whipple Museum of the History of Science at Cambridge while working on this novel. She notes in the afterword that she met with the Herschel’s descendants, one of whom even created the cover art, and from what I could tell from what (albeit little) I know about the Herschels, the novel seems true to history.

And yet, it is still a work of fiction, with certain details rearranged to create a narrative, and I suspect, bits of emotional drama inserted. The Computer Scientist and I went to see The Imitation Game this weekend, the biopic about Alan Turing (the other really interesting place we visited on our trip was Bletchley Park — well worth an outing if you are in London). We enjoyed it but mused on our way home that it seemed unlikely that Turing’s relationships with his superiors at Bletchley were so fraught, and I noted that the information about the burglary and investigation seemed inaccurate from what I could recall. I found an article in Slate when we got home which verified what we’d suspected — conflict was added to the film that didn’t exist in Turing’s actual life, and no detective in Manchester investigated him, he admitted to being gay and that was that. Also, in focusing on Turing, the filmmakers left out some important collaboration that took place in breaking Enigma and in building The Bombe — the computing machine that sped up the code-breakers’ work.

Does that matter? I mused on Facebook that I was disconcerted by the level of extra drama and the portrayal of Turing as a humorless, antisocial narcissist (like Benedict Cumberbatch’s well known portrayal of Sherlock Holmes). My cousin Sheafe noted “the movie biz believes that the story of a movie must have more drama than in anyone’s real life. The movie must have conflict in every scene, however small to be a good movie and not a boring one. Most people’s life story, even the extraordinary ones have some dull, not so cinematic moments that must be creatively altered to serve the plot/story/movie. That’s the moviegoers expectation to be amazed and overwhelmed.”

Sheafe comes from a family of actors and directors and his law practice is dedicated to entertainment law and intellectual property in the arts, including film. So he knows what he’s talking about. And I know I’m the odd one out in believing that novels and films about real people don’t have to have zingers, explosions, betrayals, or drama on every page or frame in order to entertain. But how is it that we’ve reached a point in our culture where we need to be amazed and overwhelmed nearly to a point of artifice? Why aren’t people as incredibly interesting as Caroline Herschel and Alan Turing entertaining enough without the added embellishments? I get that every day of even remarkable people’s lives aren’t interesting, but it seems to me that both of them had lives that are plenty dramatic.

But I digress. Swain’s novelization of Caroline Herschel’s life is delightful and I don’t mean to detract from that. She portrays the enormous obstacles to female intellectual life in the late eighteenth century and the freedom Caroline Herschel enjoyed in large part because she lived with her brother. And the darker side of that freedom, as in this passage, when Caroline realizes her musical career will end when she becomes her brother’s assistant astronomer, a royal posting: ” . . . locked into William’s orbit, his influence overwhelmed the trajectory of her own desires.”

Swain makes clear that Herschel’s peers — including some of the greatest scientific minds of her time — knew and valued her work, and that she herself derived great satisfaction from it. Herschel was the first woman to earn her living as a scientist, and whether the dramatic story-line in the novel about her sacrifice of personal happiness is true or not, there is no doubt that she, and most women of her time, had to sacrifice their own pursuits to the needs and preferences of the men they relied on for support and respectability. Swain does an excellent job of showing how bittersweet Herschel’s successes were; unlike many women she was lauded for her fine mind and its accomplishments, but like so many others, decisions about how and where to live, and what work to pursue, were often not entirely up to her.

Read Double the Stars. Go see The Imitation Game. But ask yourself — isn’t art just as beautiful when it is, like life, leavened with a little ordinariness? Do we really need the adrenaline rush of conflict and drama to be entertained? I’m reminded of Eddie Izzard’s comparison of American and British films. I guess I just like the A Room With A View, “I’d better go, Yes I think you better had” sort of art, myself.

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