1. I Love Dick by Chris Kraus
This is a book written in the mid 90s which has had a resurgence in interest in the last couple of years and has recently been made into a tv series. I picked it up out of curiosity when I saw it in the library; it has some hyperbolic praise on its cover to the tune of its importance in feminist discourse, and in the discussion of heterosexual relationships. It does not live up to this. The “plot” is made up of a series of letters and diary entries the author, a struggling filmmaker, and her academic husband wrote to a fellow academic named Dick, after she becomes romantically obsessed with him, following a single meeting. Her writings soon transcend the limits of her desire for, ahem, Dick, and becomes more general philosophising on the nature of relationships, the limits placed upon women by patriarchal structures in both public and personal spheres, and, more interestingly, the treatment and standing of women in the world of art and academia. This is where there is some insightful writing and a chime of recognition but for the most part it feels like a draft; an exploration of ideas, but one that has not actually transmuted into anything truly artistic. Also there is the weirdness that “Dick” is a real person who, it appears, did not much want to be made the subject of a book, which makes the whole thing uncomfortable. A lot rests on the concept of its being an original form of writing, but I don’t feel it was as powerful as a feminist text as others I’ve read that were written in the 20 years prior, and that perhaps had more obvious artistic merit.
2. The Bees by Carol Ann Duffy
A collection from the poet laureate which dwells on the natural world, the British landscape, history, and personal history. Across the text there were many lovely lines, (though quite a heavy reliance on alliteration which is not my favourite thing in poetry), but only a few individual poems that really stood out to me and moved me. I felt she was most effective in her writing about war and its impact on people, on poets, and also in what seemed to be more personal poems about her mother’s illness and death (I know none of the biography). Poetry is my first love really and I’ve had a break from it for a while so this provided a nice return to it. Thank you scribblygum for quoting from it on another thread, I really enjoyed it.
I am about 3/4 through the first Game of Thrones on the Kindle, and I’m going to hopefully start This Thing of Darkness in paperback tomorrow, children permitting. Only one at school so rely very much on evenings and bedtime if not too tired, and little snatches during the day where possible.