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<title>

        &#x27;The Second Plane&#x27; by Martin Amis</title>
<link>http://feeds.latimes.com/~r/calendarlive/books/~3/0WIw-4wxgE8/cl-et-book14apr14,0,4092796.story</link>
<description><![CDATA[September 11: Terror and Boredom
                        
                    
                    
                        IT would be too easy to read Martin Amis' slim book on Sept. 11 in a day and to dismiss it with a politically correct glare. The dozen essays, columns and reviews and two short stories in "The Second Plane: September 11, Terror and Boredom" are more illuminating than that, though deeply, sometimes self-indulgently flawed.

]]></description>
</item>

<item rdf:about="http://feeds.latimes.com/~r/calendarlive/books/~3/7url0d2Chl4/cl-et-book7apr07,0,4512452.story">
<title>

        &#x27;The House of Widows&#x27; by Askold Melnyczuk</title>
<link>http://feeds.latimes.com/~r/calendarlive/books/~3/7url0d2Chl4/cl-et-book7apr07,0,4512452.story</link>
<description><![CDATA[Family secrets lie at the end of a dark and twisted path
                        
                    
                    
                        FROM its puzzling opening line ("The most common grammatical error is the lie"), there's an ominous vibe to Askold Melnyczuk's third novel, "The House of Widows," and the sense of unease lingers until the final sentence. It's a mysterious, masterfully taut story in which dread plays a prominent role.

]]></description>
</item>

<item rdf:about="http://feeds.latimes.com/~r/calendarlive/books/~3/g6gpoYUpkmA/cl-et-book24oct24,0,6255489.story">
<title>

        &#x27;Marco Polo&#x27; by Laurence Bergreen</title>
<link>http://feeds.latimes.com/~r/calendarlive/books/~3/g6gpoYUpkmA/cl-et-book24oct24,0,6255489.story</link>
<description><![CDATA[An account of the adventures of the celebrated 13th century world traveler.
                        
                    
                    
                        MARCO POLO was only 17 when he departed for China in 1271 with his father, Niccolò, and his uncle, Maffeo. Those two merchants of Venice were known to the boy primarily as storytellers of their fabulous exploits, writes award-winning biographer and historian Laurence Bergreen, for they had been absent more than 16 years, Marco's entire childhood. The pair had followed trade routes east, encountered exotic countries and customs and survived many perils; they had even lived for a time at the court of Kublai Khan, the leader of  the Mongol Empire. Eventually they agreed to accompany his emissary west to the pope, vowing to return to Cambulac (Beijing) with several items the Great Khan had requested.

]]></description>
</item>

<item rdf:about="http://feeds.nytimes.com/click.phdo?i=dc085cb4b29c29cc22e3b2a4102a7e63">
<title>Books of The Times: Chinua Achebe&#x2019;s Encounters With Many Hearts of Darkness</title>
<link>http://feeds.nytimes.com/click.phdo?i=dc085cb4b29c29cc22e3b2a4102a7e63</link>
<description><![CDATA[A new collection of essays from the author of “Things Fall Apart,” about Nigerian politics, language, family and racism.


]]></description>
</item>

<item rdf:about="http://feeds.nytimes.com/click.phdo?i=325f9368462a3a412ccecf200790b416">
<title>Authors Guild Fights Back on E-Book Rights</title>
<link>http://feeds.nytimes.com/click.phdo?i=325f9368462a3a412ccecf200790b416</link>
<description><![CDATA[The Authors Guild posted a memo to its Web site on Tuesday disputing efforts by Random House to claim e-book rights on old titles published before 1994.


 ]]></description>
</item>

<item rdf:about="http://feeds.nytimes.com/click.phdo?i=40dfb1b117ab50bcef3a30082c6685ba">
<title>Books of The Times: Fiction Trying for Truth in Novel&#x2019;s View of Dictator</title>
<link>http://feeds.nytimes.com/click.phdo?i=40dfb1b117ab50bcef3a30082c6685ba</link>
<description><![CDATA[Norberto Fuentes’s fascinating new novel, “The Autobiography of Fidel Castro,” purports to tell the longtime Cuban leader’s story in his own words.


]]></description>
</item>

<item rdf:about="http://feeds.nytimes.com/click.phdo?i=6a9bff2530ec71a721da3650378ebb7b">
<title>Top Author Shifts E-Book Rights to Amazon.com</title>
<link>http://feeds.nytimes.com/click.phdo?i=6a9bff2530ec71a721da3650378ebb7b</link>
<description><![CDATA[Amazon will have the exclusive e-book rights to two books from Stephen R. Covey, a move that promises to raise the anxiety level among print publishers.


]]></description>
</item>

<item rdf:about="http://feeds.nytimes.com/click.phdo?i=fb735bee2719d188db62fc81c59ccdc6">
<title>Books of The Times: Still Settling the Score, Even Beyond the Grave</title>
<link>http://feeds.nytimes.com/click.phdo?i=fb735bee2719d188db62fc81c59ccdc6</link>
<description><![CDATA[Dominick Dunne, who died on Aug. 26, left behind one last, stinging roman à clef. And he most assuredly used it to settle scores.


]]></description>
</item>

<item rdf:about="http://feeds.nytimes.com/click.phdo?i=e9e0b73944bbea49aed7778c21e52dfa">
<title>Legal Battles Over E-Book Rights to Older Books</title>
<link>http://feeds.nytimes.com/click.phdo?i=e9e0b73944bbea49aed7778c21e52dfa</link>
<description><![CDATA[The ownership of the e-book rights to older titles is a growing source of conflict in the publishing industry.


]]></description>
</item>

<item rdf:about="http://feeds.nytimes.com/click.phdo?i=36143cffd4fc4a21d872904f6aa3b2a4">
<title>End of Kirkus Reviews Brings Anguish and Relief</title>
<link>http://feeds.nytimes.com/click.phdo?i=36143cffd4fc4a21d872904f6aa3b2a4</link>
<description><![CDATA[Kirkus churned out nearly 5,000 reliably cantankerous reviews a year, which many librarians and booksellers used when deciding how to stock their shelves.


]]></description>
</item>

<item rdf:about="http://feeds.nytimes.com/click.phdo?i=45f5629dcca56ec2dcaa547dd647a238">
<title>The Haunts of Miss Highsmith</title>
<link>http://feeds.nytimes.com/click.phdo?i=45f5629dcca56ec2dcaa547dd647a238</link>
<description><![CDATA[The biographer Joan Schenkar retraces Patricia Highsmith’s footsteps through Greenwich Village, as it figured in her real life and as it appeared in her fiction.


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<item rdf:about="http://feeds.nytimes.com/click.phdo?i=554c5eae8e3e66b89d7f9c616cb9493e">
<title>Books of The Times: Bookish Cowboy Heads Off to the Corral</title>
<link>http://feeds.nytimes.com/click.phdo?i=554c5eae8e3e66b89d7f9c616cb9493e</link>
<description><![CDATA[Larry McMurtry’s second memoir is slack and distracted — but also exactly the kind of slipshod book I enjoy more than many good books.


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<item rdf:about="http://feeds.nytimes.com/click.phdo?i=3d65608cc1ab8845ee2c264b604f8952">
<title>Books of The Times: Personal Take on Public Projects in Two Devastated Lands</title>
<link>http://feeds.nytimes.com/click.phdo?i=3d65608cc1ab8845ee2c264b604f8952</link>
<description><![CDATA[Greg Mortenson’s follow-up to “Three Cups of Tea” further details his efforts to build schools for girls in Afghanistan and Pakistan.


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</item>

<item rdf:about="http://feeds.nytimes.com/click.phdo?i=6470ad50d3628c27644145478afe362e">
<title>The Pop Art Era</title>
<link>http://feeds.nytimes.com/click.phdo?i=6470ad50d3628c27644145478afe362e</link>
<description><![CDATA[James Rosenquist writes about growing up to be a painter, while other authors dissect the Warhol phenomenon afresh.


]]></description>
</item>

<item rdf:about="http://feeds.nytimes.com/click.phdo?i=b5ba00745a6dcc950778cb11a99f49fb">
<title>John Ashbery, Toying With Words</title>
<link>http://feeds.nytimes.com/click.phdo?i=b5ba00745a6dcc950778cb11a99f49fb</link>
<description><![CDATA[The master of sinuous syntax has performed surgery in this collection, often bringing his poems into the wry epigrammatic domain of Dickinson.


]]></description>
</item>

<item rdf:about="http://feeds.nytimes.com/click.phdo?i=73258dd7f7f043f5f11f995e7076c90f">
<title>George Packer, Chronicler of the Age of Terror</title>
<link>http://feeds.nytimes.com/click.phdo?i=73258dd7f7f043f5f11f995e7076c90f</link>
<description><![CDATA[This book of essays from the Bush-era coheres better than most in the genre because of George Packer’s unusually coherent worldview.


]]></description>
</item>

<item rdf:about="http://feeds.nytimes.com/click.phdo?i=942fa76341672675242c11968144751c">
<title>Grigori Perelman&#x2019;s Beautiful Mind</title>
<link>http://feeds.nytimes.com/click.phdo?i=942fa76341672675242c11968144751c</link>
<description><![CDATA[A dogged portrait of an eccentric Russian mathematician who solved a famously unsolved problem, then dropped out.


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</item>

<item rdf:about="http://feeds.nytimes.com/click.phdo?i=ed4097bbd58fb1a6eb2c4a075be76c60">
<title>Twilight of the Ice Bear</title>
<link>http://feeds.nytimes.com/click.phdo?i=ed4097bbd58fb1a6eb2c4a075be76c60</link>
<description><![CDATA[A digest of the history of human-polar bear relations, a pretty shameful record even before global warming.


]]></description>
</item>

<item rdf:about="http://feeds.nytimes.com/click.phdo?i=f2d00f15594d30294010ef3febe4c154">
<title>Intercontinental Drift</title>
<link>http://feeds.nytimes.com/click.phdo?i=f2d00f15594d30294010ef3febe4c154</link>
<description><![CDATA[This Mexican novel attempts to encompass the last 50 years of — well, everything.


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</item>

<item rdf:about="http://feeds.nytimes.com/click.phdo?i=cbbcf9e22272226dec6d5a43de9df7a1">
<title>He Was No Wilsonian</title>
<link>http://feeds.nytimes.com/click.phdo?i=cbbcf9e22272226dec6d5a43de9df7a1</link>
<description><![CDATA[A central aim of this major biography of Woodrow Wilson is to explain why he deserves our national esteem.


]]></description>
</item>

<item rdf:about="http://feeds.nytimes.com/click.phdo?i=fe2ecd008ed991c2d555cdd3d43ae187">
<title>Abigail Adams, Founding Mother</title>
<link>http://feeds.nytimes.com/click.phdo?i=fe2ecd008ed991c2d555cdd3d43ae187</link>
<description><![CDATA[In this account, the self-assertive wife of the second president often emerges as the dominant partner.


]]></description>
</item>

<item rdf:about="http://feeds.nytimes.com/click.phdo?i=13016917218808a51085e8e9d013bfd4">
<title>John Singer Sargent&#x2019;s Model Children</title>
<link>http://feeds.nytimes.com/click.phdo?i=13016917218808a51085e8e9d013bfd4</link>
<description><![CDATA[This “life” of John Singer Sargent’s stirring painting “The Daughters of Edward Darley Boit” wields a novel’s power.


]]></description>
</item>

<item rdf:about="http://feeds.nytimes.com/click.phdo?i=d95f2e3d58ee924bcde796f892e44722">
<title>Shaker of Movers</title>
<link>http://feeds.nytimes.com/click.phdo?i=d95f2e3d58ee924bcde796f892e44722</link>
<description><![CDATA[A collection of Herbert Muschamp’s energetic architectural criticism.


]]></description>
</item>

<item rdf:about="http://feeds.nytimes.com/click.phdo?i=f3b35369f223d2cf6f5497e9eba8c8f2">
<title>In Defense of Truth</title>
<link>http://feeds.nytimes.com/click.phdo?i=f3b35369f223d2cf6f5497e9eba8c8f2</link>
<description><![CDATA[The novelist Louis Begley relates the Dreyfus Affair to our times.


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</item>

<item rdf:about="http://feeds.nytimes.com/click.phdo?i=ec9082b1c3b49665cb35b7cdcc19dc0e">
<title>Nonfiction Chronicle</title>
<link>http://feeds.nytimes.com/click.phdo?i=ec9082b1c3b49665cb35b7cdcc19dc0e</link>
<description><![CDATA[Books by Michael Goldfarb, Mark Mazower, Malalai Joya and Paul Johnson.


]]></description>
</item>

<item rdf:about="http://feeds.nytimes.com/click.phdo?i=1a1a2419120fcb32b275725585e13ad6">
<title>Hardcover Fiction</title>
<link>http://feeds.nytimes.com/click.phdo?i=1a1a2419120fcb32b275725585e13ad6</link>
<description><![CDATA[Top 5 at a Glance1. U IS FOR UNDERTOW, by Sue Grafton2. THE LOST SYMBOL, by Dan Brown3. I, ALEX CROSS, by James Patterson4. UNDER THE DOME, by Stephen King5. THE HELP, by Kathryn Stockett


]]></description>
</item>

<item rdf:about="http://feeds.nytimes.com/click.phdo?i=2844f98759b95e50235bf3a9443d8caf">
<title>Hardcover Nonfiction</title>
<link>http://feeds.nytimes.com/click.phdo?i=2844f98759b95e50235bf3a9443d8caf</link>
<description><![CDATA[Top 5 at a Glance1. GOING ROGUE, by Sarah Palin2. STONES INTO SCHOOLS, by Greg Mortenson3. HAVE A LITTLE FAITH, by Mitch Albom4. OPEN, by Andre Agassi5. TRUE COMPASS, by Edward M. Kennedy


]]></description>
</item>

<item rdf:about="http://feeds.nytimes.com/click.phdo?i=e97945df03f475b99d0472a681c3b91f">
<title>Paperback Trade Fiction</title>
<link>http://feeds.nytimes.com/click.phdo?i=e97945df03f475b99d0472a681c3b91f</link>
<description><![CDATA[Top 5 at a Glance1. PUSH, by Sapphire2. THE SHACK, by William P. Young3. THE GIRL WITH THE DRAGON TATTOO, by Stieg Larsson4. THE PIANO TEACHER, by Janice Y.K. Lee5. THE ART OF RACING IN THE RAIN, by Garth Stein


]]></description>
</item>

<item rdf:about="http://feeds.nytimes.com/click.phdo?i=9fdb361864eee38a87f681b305029b38">
<title>Paperback Mass-Market Fiction</title>
<link>http://feeds.nytimes.com/click.phdo?i=9fdb361864eee38a87f681b305029b38</link>
<description><![CDATA[Top 5 at a Glance1. BORN OF ICE, by Sherrilyn Kenyon2. DEAR JOHN, by Nicholas Sparks3. THE ASSOCIATE, by John Grisham4. ARCTIC DRIFT, by Clive Cussler and Dirk Cussler5. 7TH HEAVEN, by James Patterson and Maxine Paetro


]]></description>
</item>

<item rdf:about="http://feeds.nytimes.com/click.phdo?i=29cd6bcb51a6527b11f619966289af5f">
<title>Paperback Nonfiction</title>
<link>http://feeds.nytimes.com/click.phdo?i=29cd6bcb51a6527b11f619966289af5f</link>
<description><![CDATA[Top 5 at a Glance1. THE BLIND SIDE, by Michael Lewis2. THREE CUPS OF TEA, by Greg Mortenson and David Oliver Relin3. FREAKONOMICS, by Steven D. Levitt and Stephen J. Dubner4. THE GLASS CASTLE, by Jeannette Walls5. GLENN BECK’S ‘COMMON SENSE’, by Glenn Beck


]]></description>
</item>

<item rdf:about="http://feeds.nytimes.com/click.phdo?i=24e26310c30d5fee294c930dcc5de36e">
<title>Word for Word | First Couplets: A History of Odes to the Chief</title>
<link>http://feeds.nytimes.com/click.phdo?i=24e26310c30d5fee294c930dcc5de36e</link>
<description><![CDATA[Lincoln was Whitman’s “captain.” Byron lionized Washington. Even Harding lives on in poetry: “He wasn’t a bad egg, / Just weak. He loved women and Ohio.”


]]></description>
</item>

<item rdf:about="http://feeds.nytimes.com/click.phdo?i=82e9a3525ce24357a034603151846e45">
<title>Essay: H. W. Fowler, the King of English</title>
<link>http://feeds.nytimes.com/click.phdo?i=82e9a3525ce24357a034603151846e45</link>
<description><![CDATA[Some care about getting English right; others don’t. For those who do, there is Fowler’s “Dictionary of Modern English Usage.”


]]></description>
</item>

<item rdf:about="http://feeds.nytimes.com/click.phdo?i=7f291384a9551f6eb40145322c7f45f9">
<title>Crime: Hollywood Knights</title>
<link>http://feeds.nytimes.com/click.phdo?i=7f291384a9551f6eb40145322c7f45f9</link>
<description><![CDATA[Detective novels by Joseph Wambaugh, Charles Finch and Stan Jones, and essays from P. D. James.


]]></description>
</item>

<item rdf:about="http://feeds.nytimes.com/click.phdo?i=1c46cd269ee7e4517bcc6484a87b8dc7">
<title>Books: Revving Up Your Reading for the Off-Season</title>
<link>http://feeds.nytimes.com/click.phdo?i=1c46cd269ee7e4517bcc6484a87b8dc7</link>
<description><![CDATA[Recent automotive books of note focus on Paul Newman’s racing career, every Porsche model ever made and a muscle-car builder on Long Island.


]]></description>
</item>

<item rdf:about="http://feeds.nytimes.com/click.phdo?i=3ed5cf0e4c0fa0b96c8ab4d20e26fa6e">
<title>Op-Ed Contributor: Catch-2009</title>
<link>http://feeds.nytimes.com/click.phdo?i=3ed5cf0e4c0fa0b96c8ab4d20e26fa6e</link>
<description><![CDATA[On the 10th anniversary of Joseph Heller’s death, an old friend remembers the author’s switchblade-sharp mind and fine-tuned fraud-detector.


]]></description>
</item>

<item rdf:about="http://feeds.nytimes.com/click.phdo?i=43e0b5aef30fc8de7218f99356cb5c81">
<title>TBR: Inside the List</title>
<link>http://feeds.nytimes.com/click.phdo?i=43e0b5aef30fc8de7218f99356cb5c81</link>
<description><![CDATA[“The Lego Book,” new at No. 10 on the hardcover how-to and advice list, traces the great moments in Lego history.


]]></description>
</item>

<item rdf:about="http://feeds.nytimes.com/click.phdo?i=b82fe1e0a0e3daf17e5bd732ac3b2515">
<title>Editors&#x2019; Choice</title>
<link>http://feeds.nytimes.com/click.phdo?i=b82fe1e0a0e3daf17e5bd732ac3b2515</link>
<description><![CDATA[Recently reviewed books of particular interest.


]]></description>
</item>

<item rdf:about="http://feeds.nytimes.com/click.phdo?i=ea69b97966a76f46bba705e2a68190ac">
<title>Paperback Row</title>
<link>http://feeds.nytimes.com/click.phdo?i=ea69b97966a76f46bba705e2a68190ac</link>
<description><![CDATA[Paperback books of particular interest.


]]></description>
</item>

<item rdf:about="http://feeds.nytimes.com/click.phdo?i=7c6ea74904bc8740259a8e8451943d06">
<title>Talk to the Newsroom: Book Review Editor Sam Tanenhaus</title>
<link>http://feeds.nytimes.com/click.phdo?i=7c6ea74904bc8740259a8e8451943d06</link>
<description><![CDATA[Sam Tanenhaus has been editor of the Book Review since April 2004.


]]></description>
</item>

<item rdf:about="http://www.newyorker.com/fiction/poetry/2009/12/21/091221po_poem_angell">
<title>Roger Angell: &#x22;Greetings, Friends!&#x22;</title>
<link>http://www.newyorker.com/fiction/poetry/2009/12/21/091221po_poem_angell</link>
<description><![CDATA[Good neighbors, hi&#8212;but O.M.G., 
The time&#8217;s at hand again, I see, 
To cobble up these Christmas lieder, 
Fit for friend or distant reader.  
Our deadline&#8217;s near, so off we go, 
Ignoring tweets and vertigo, 
Counting beats and storing linage,  
Melding Keats and major signage&#160;.&#160;.&#160;.]]></description>
</item>

<item rdf:about="http://www.newyorker.com/fiction/poetry/2009/12/21/091221po_poem_aaron">
<title>Jonathan Aaron: &#x26;#8220;Listening to Richter&#x26;#8221;</title>
<link>http://www.newyorker.com/fiction/poetry/2009/12/21/091221po_poem_aaron</link>
<description><![CDATA[I&#8217;m cooking pasta and listening 
to Richter playing Brahms&#8217;s Second Piano Concerto. 
My wife is watching television in the other room. 
It&#8217;s Johnny Depp, she calls out. Did he make a vampire movie?  
Richter&#8217;s piano teacher likened him to an eagle.  
He&#160;.&#160;.&#160;.]]></description>
</item>

<item rdf:about="http://www.newyorker.com/fiction/features/2009/12/21/091221fi_fiction_simpson">
<title>Helen Simpson: &#x26;#8220;Diary of an Interesting Year.&#x26;#8221;</title>
<link>http://www.newyorker.com/fiction/features/2009/12/21/091221fi_fiction_simpson</link>
<description><![CDATA[February 12, 2040. My thirtieth birthday. G. gave me this little spiral-bound notebook and a Biro. It&#8217;s a good present, hardly any rust on the spiral and no water damage to the paper. I&#8217;m going to start a diary. I&#8217;ll keep my handwriting&#160;.&#160;.&#160;.]]></description>
</item>

<item rdf:about="http://www.newyorker.com/fiction/poetry/2009/12/21/091221po_poem_manhire">
<title>Bill Manhire: &#x26;#8220;My Childhood in Ireland&#x26;#8221;</title>
<link>http://www.newyorker.com/fiction/poetry/2009/12/21/091221po_poem_manhire</link>
<description><![CDATA[I never climbed the hill 
or strolled to the end of the pier 
to see what the walkers in rain 
might be finding out there. 
  
Nor did the book fall open 
where Maeve had secretly signed it. 
In fact, it never fell open. 
Not that I minded: the world  
  
streamed&#160;.&#160;.&#160;.]]></description>
</item>

<item rdf:about="http://www.newyorker.com/fiction/poetry/2009/12/14/091214po_poem_armitage">
<title>Simon Armitage:  &#x26;#8220;Last Day on Planet Earth.&#x26;#8221;</title>
<link>http://www.newyorker.com/fiction/poetry/2009/12/14/091214po_poem_armitage</link>
<description><![CDATA[Lippincott takes a photograph with his eye. 
Wittmann paints in the crust of salt with a finger of spit.  
Yoshioka wheels the last piano onto the fire.  
Owens throws stones at a rock.  
The afternoon turns over in its sleep, then sleeps.  
  
Kirszenstein trades her kingfisher skull for a tinned&#160;.&#160;.&#160;.]]></description>
</item>

<item rdf:about="http://www.newyorker.com/fiction/poetry/2009/12/14/091214po_poem_dickman">
<title>Michael Dickman:  &#x26;#8220;From the Lives of My Friends.&#x26;#8221;</title>
<link>http://www.newyorker.com/fiction/poetry/2009/12/14/091214po_poem_dickman</link>
<description><![CDATA[What are the birds called  
in that neighborhood 
The dogs 
  
There were dogs flying  
from branch to  
branch 
  
My friends and I climbed up the telephone poles to sit on the power lines 
    dressed like crows 
  
Their voices sounded like lemons 
  
They were a smooth sheet 
They grew  
  
black feathers&#160;.&#160;.&#160;.]]></description>
</item>

<item rdf:about="http://www.newyorker.com/fiction/poetry/2009/12/14/091214po_poem_wright">
<title>Franz Wright:  &#x26;#8220;I Dreamed I Met William Burroughs.&#x26;#8221;</title>
<link>http://www.newyorker.com/fiction/poetry/2009/12/14/091214po_poem_wright</link>
<description><![CDATA[I met William Burroughs in a dream. 
It was some sort of bohemian farmhouse, 
and he was enthroned, small and skeletal, 
in a truly gigantic red armchair. 
  
When I asked him how he was, he replied 
Well, you know what they say&#8212;for best results,  
always mock and frighten&#160;.&#160;.&#160;.]]></description>
</item>

<item rdf:about="http://www.newyorker.com/fiction/features/2009/12/14/091214fi_fiction_wallace">
<title>David Foster Wallace: &#x26;#8220;All That.&#x26;#8221;</title>
<link>http://www.newyorker.com/fiction/features/2009/12/14/091214fi_fiction_wallace</link>
<description><![CDATA[Once when I was a little boy I received as a gift a toy cement mixer. It was made of wood except for its wheels&#8212;axles&#8212;which, as I remember, were thin metal rods. I&#8217;m ninety per cent sure it was a Christmas gift. I liked&#160;.&#160;.&#160;.]]></description>
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<item rdf:about="http://www.newyorker.com/fiction/poetry/2009/12/07/091207po_poem_merwin">
<title>W. S. Merwin:  &#x26;#8220;Young Man Picking Flowers.&#x26;#8221;</title>
<link>http://www.newyorker.com/fiction/poetry/2009/12/07/091207po_poem_merwin</link>
<description><![CDATA[All at once he is no longer 
young with his handful of flowers 
in the bright morning their fragrance 
rising from them as though they were 
still on the stalk where they opened 
only this morning to the light 
in which somewhere unseen the thrush 
goes on singing its perfect&#160;.&#160;.&#160;.]]></description>
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<item rdf:about="http://www.newyorker.com/fiction/features/2009/12/07/091207fi_fiction_mcewan">
<title>Ian McEwan: &#x26;#8220;The Use of Poetry.&#x26;#8221;</title>
<link>http://www.newyorker.com/fiction/features/2009/12/07/091207fi_fiction_mcewan</link>
<description><![CDATA[It surprised no one to learn that Michael Beard had been an only child, and he would have been the first to concede that he&#8217;d never quite got the hang of brotherly feeling. His mother, Angela, was an angular beauty who doted on him, and the medium of&#160;.&#160;.&#160;.]]></description>
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<item rdf:about="http://www.lrb.co.uk/v31/n24//letters">
<title>John Baxendale, Lorna Salzman, Jan Montefiore, Paul Fryer, Patrick Renshaw, Tim Leggatt, Daisy Bickley, Tony Watson, Steve Lane, Nigel Shardlow</title>
<link>http://www.lrb.co.uk/v31/n24//letters</link>
<description><![CDATA[ ]]></description>
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<item rdf:about="http://www.lrb.co.uk/v31/n24/david-runciman/i-could-fix-that">
<title>David Runciman: The Clinton Tapes</title>
<link>http://www.lrb.co.uk/v31/n24/david-runciman/i-could-fix-that</link>
<description><![CDATA[At moments Clinton rants and rages, at others he becomes tearful, occasionally he gets bored and sometimes he even falls asleep. One memorable exchange, just after he has been trounced in the 1994 midterm elections, begins with Clinton in the White House barber’s chair, exhausted and frequently nodding off mid-sentence, only to rouse himself for a renewed bout of defiance and self-pity before slumping back again. Branch leaves him still talking to himself, and wonders if the president is suffering from narcolepsy, or something worse.]]></description>
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<item rdf:about="http://www.lrb.co.uk/v31/n24/rw-johnson/diary">
<title>R.W. Johnson: The World Cup</title>
<link>http://www.lrb.co.uk/v31/n24/rw-johnson/diary</link>
<description><![CDATA[The new Mbombela stadium in Nelspruit, on the edge of the Kruger National Park, is cheek-by-jowl with a large settlement of shacks. When the Franco-South African consortium arrived to construct this monstrosity, they said they needed one or two modern buildings (i.e. buildings with electricity and air conditioning, for it gets unpleasantly hot in the lowveld in summer) to house their accounts, architecture and surveying departments. The only two such buildings available were the local schools, so these were taken over and the children booted out.]]></description>
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<item rdf:about="http://www.lrb.co.uk/v31/n24/david-kaiser/gremlin-fireworks">
<title>David Kaiser: Atom-Smashing</title>
<link>http://www.lrb.co.uk/v31/n24/david-kaiser/gremlin-fireworks</link>
<description><![CDATA[In October 1993, Congress took its final vote to kill funding for the Superconducting Supercollider. A well-meaning young professor advised me to leave graduate school if the vote went the wrong way. A year or so later he jumped ship to Wall Street, along with many other students and colleagues. With that vote to kill the SSC, Congress cut annual funding for high-energy physics in the United States by half. Support for the field continued to erode, losing ground against inflation, for the rest of the decade.]]></description>
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<item rdf:about="http://www.lrb.co.uk/v31/n24/bill-pearlman/short-cuts">
<title>Bill Pearlman: Hanging with Pynchon</title>
<link>http://www.lrb.co.uk/v31/n24/bill-pearlman/short-cuts</link>
<description><![CDATA[ ]]></description>
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<item rdf:about="http://www.lrb.co.uk/v31/n24/michael-wood/at-the-movies">
<title>Michael Wood: &#x27;A Serious Man&#x27;</title>
<link>http://www.lrb.co.uk/v31/n24/michael-wood/at-the-movies</link>
<description><![CDATA[ ]]></description>
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<item rdf:about="http://www.lrb.co.uk/v31/n24/peter-campbell/at-the-ashmolean">
<title>Peter Campbell: At the Ashmolean</title>
<link>http://www.lrb.co.uk/v31/n24/peter-campbell/at-the-ashmolean</link>
<description><![CDATA[ ]]></description>
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<item rdf:about="http://www.lrb.co.uk/v31/n24/letters">
<title>Letters</title>
<link>http://www.lrb.co.uk/v31/n24/letters</link>
<description><![CDATA[The letters page from London Review of Books Volume 31 issue 24]]></description>
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<item rdf:about="http://www.lrb.co.uk/v31/n24/contents">
<title>Table of contents</title>
<link>http://www.lrb.co.uk/v31/n24/contents</link>
<description><![CDATA[Table of contents from London Review of Books Volume 31 issue 24]]></description>
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<item rdf:about="http://feeds.guardian.co.uk/~r/theguardian/books/rss/~3/-jK88Y_Zj1U/paul-auster-auggie-wren-christmas-story">
<title>Auggie Wren&#x27;s Christmas Story</title>
<link>http://feeds.guardian.co.uk/~r/theguardian/books/rss/~3/-jK88Y_Zj1U/paul-auster-auggie-wren-christmas-story</link>
<description><![CDATA[First appearing in the New York Times, and later the basis for the film Smoke, Paul Auster's Christmas fable has been reinvented in a new edition by illustrator ISOL

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<item rdf:about="http://feeds.guardian.co.uk/~r/theguardian/books/rss/~3/BC1XDeR_gFc/jeremy-clarkson-digested-read">
<title>The digested read</title>
<link>http://feeds.guardian.co.uk/~r/theguardian/books/rss/~3/BC1XDeR_gFc/jeremy-clarkson-digested-read</link>
<description><![CDATA[Michael Joseph, £20Once again the beardy Guardian-reading marxists in their N-reg Peugeots at the Highways Agency have claimed the slower you drive the faster you arrive at your destination. The facts are this. There is no evidence speed cameras have saved a single life. Which brings me neatly on to the Clio, because that's the name of the eight-year-old girl  I knocked down in the Lambo Gallardo Spyder while pulling 520 bhp outside a school last week. What good did speed cameras do her?Apart from being Rory McGrath or a German, surely the most pointless job  in the world has to be a public relations executive. A PR woman recently questioned whether I actually wrote my own columns. Well, I've news for you. I knock them out in 15 minutes while Richard Hammond is doing his hair. That's why the format is always the same. Feed Mondeo Man with 800 words of any old non-PC crap, and then contrive a non-existent link to a car he can't afford. Which brings me nicely on to the BMW M3 CS.What's the point of Norway? On the night I stood having a cigarette outside Lillehammer's equivalent to Piccadilly Circus, I didn't see a single car. I felt like a lonely fat poof hanging around outside a public lavatory, while my friends George and Michael were inside getting it on with an Eskimo in salmon-pink, reindeer-skin chaps. And talking of which, here's the Mazda MX-5, the gayest car ever built.Fighting my way past the scores of Hungarian paedophiles and Muslims wearing waistcoats packed with explosives whom Tony Bliar and his multicultural cronies have personally invited into this country brings me nicely on  to the Lexus. Here's another piece of  foreign rubbish we could do without.  If we filled every Lexus with Germaine Greer and her bunch of dungaree-wearing lesbians and sent them back to Japan, the country would be a far better place.It's been tipping with rain for the past few days. So much for the droughts the global warming brigade promised us. But then no one is allowed to question whether the world really is about to explode because George Monbiot has got all the gay politicians in his pocket. Well, I've news for you. There are some serious scientists out there, such as Nick Griffin, Lord Monckton and  Melanie Phillips, who have proved climate change is something dreamed up by a sweaty foreigner driving with no insurance. Which brings me neatly on to the Aston Martin DB9 Coupe. Here's a car you can't refuse. It's like having Keira Knightley in your bed and not  giving her a right good seeing to.Tonight on Top Gear we are going to show the footage the PC brigade wanted no one to see. To be honest I felt the same way. But it's not my fault that dwarf Richard Hammond wasn't killed in the crash. Which brings me to the Volkswagen Phaeton. With all the pizzaz of James May with a hard-on, the only thing you're going  to die of in this lump of Nazi steel  is boredom.I was stuck behind some centenarian war-mongering Jap doing 25mph on the A40 in a Nissan Micra as I was driving to the airport. Which brings me neatly to the Audi R8, a car with which I have fallen in love. With its 414bhp 4.2 V8 from the RS4 and priced at just £92,000, the Audi is a steal. And the drive is so smooth, you can knock other cars off the road without noticing. Just ask Mr Kamikaze.Here's a curious thing. The last few pieces in the book haven't been lifted straight from my motoring column. Here's one about me and my mate Adrian, definitely not a poof, going to Iraq. "Are you really this much of a bigot, Jezza?" Adrian asked. "Nah," I replied, setting down my copy of Gay Times. "It's an act. The morons can't get enough of it." "Me, too," Adrian smiled. "Let's kill a baboon. That should add noughts to our Sunday Times contracts." Which brings me nicely to my advance. If Penguin could just slip me a hundred grand for doing nothing, I'll be off.The digested read, digested: Driven all the way to the bank.CelebrityMotoringJohn Craceguardian.co.uk &copy; Guardian News & Media Limited 2009 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds

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<item rdf:about="http://feeds.guardian.co.uk/~r/theguardian/books/rss/~3/HlSdStYsdKg/christmas-books-novels-roundup">
<title>Books for Christmas</title>
<link>http://feeds.guardian.co.uk/~r/theguardian/books/rss/~3/HlSdStYsdKg/christmas-books-novels-roundup</link>
<description><![CDATA[A trio of novels heads the Christmas wish list this year: one for the head, one for the heart and one for the hairs on the back of the neck. Hilary Mantel's brilliant Booker-winning reimagining of Tudor England, Wolf Hall (Fourth Estate, £18.99), Colm Tóibín's tender study of emigration from smalltown Ireland, Brooklyn (Viking, £17.99), and Sarah Waters's enveloping haunted house story, The Little Stranger (Virago, £16.99), would each make Boxing Day complete.But 2009 also saw plenty of other writers on top form. In JM Coetzee's recent work he had almost refined himself out of fiction, but Summertime (Harvill Secker, £17.99), the last in his trilogy of fictionalised memoir, sees a vivid re-engagement with family, belonging and apartheid-era Cape Town refracted through a series of interviews with various baffled lovers and friends of "the late writer John Coetzee". It's fascinating, funny and perceptive. In The Year of the Flood (Bloomsbury, £18.99) Margaret Atwood returns to the world of Oryx and Crake with a rollicking dystopia that combines gentle mockery of human foibles in its eco-religious sect, God's Gardeners, with an urgent warning of environmental apocalypse.On a more domestic scale, but no less nail-biting, Rachel Cusk's The Bradshaw Variations (Faber, £15.99) is a brilliant portrayal of family life, childhood's echoes and the isolating tug of personal ambition. She's a beautiful stylist, and this is her best novel yet. There's a mythic American family narrative in David Vann's Legend of a Suicide (Penguin, £7.99), which spins off from his father's death and childhood misadventures in Alaska in ways that are moving and darkly funny: this is a book to press on all your friends.Armchair globetrotters should be delighted by Geoff Dyer's cunningly observed contrasting novellas, Jeff in Venice, Death in Varanasi (Canongate, £12.99), which set hedonism at the Venice Biennale against a quest for enlightenment in India's holy city. One of my favourites of the year, meanwhile, was poet Tobias Hill's The Hidden (Faber, £12.99), which heads to an archeological dig in Sparta for a bravura exploration of classical mores, modern loneliness and the nature of terrorism. And last month Spanish writer Javier Marías completed his metaphysical trilogy of espionage and inference, Your Face Tomorrow (Poison, Shadow and Farewell, Chatto & Windus, £18.99), a baroque extravaganza which melds Tristram Shandy with James Bond and is surely one of the major achievements of the last decade.2009 has also been the year of the short story. Stand-out collections include the winner of our first book award, Pettina Gappah's An Elegy for Easterly (Faber, £12.99), elegant, unflinching vignettes of lives razed by the Mugabe regime; Wells Tower's Everything Ravaged, Everything Burned (Granta, £10.99), which reinvents the American South we thought we knew; AL Kennedy's weird, wise and wonderful What Becomes (Jonathan Cape, £16.99); and Sana Krasikov's acute tales of immigrants from the former Soviet bloc trying to make it in the US, One More Year (Portobello, £10.99). Divert the Twilight lover in your life, meanwhile, with Kelly Link's Pretty Monsters (Canongate, £12.99), quirky fantastical fables which put a new spin on teenage alienation.There are more youthful hi-jinks in Richard Milward's Ten Storey Love Song (Faber, £10.99), a Day-Glo paean to art, drugs and highrise living in Middlesbrough, and Eleanor Catton's The Rehearsal (Granta, £12.99), the first novel from 2009's most exciting new voice, which examines teenage poses and performance in a fresh way.Three for the fans: Eoin Colfer does an almost uncanny job of channelling Douglas Adams in his Hitchhiker's instalment, And Another Thing . . . (Michael Joseph, £18.99), while Italo Calvino's similarly space-trotting science-fantasy fables, The Complete Cosmicomics, are handsomely presented by Penguin Modern Classics (£20). Meanwhile, with its luxuriously heavy pages and perforated file index card facsimiles to be popped out and rearranged, Vladimir Nabokov's notes towards his unfinished novel The Original of Laura (Penguin Modern Classics, £25) is more gift than book.Thriller-lovers will discover a superior satisfaction in William Boyd's Ordinary Thunderstorms (Bloomsbury, £11.99), in which a brush with a stranger leaves his hero homeless and hunted through the fringes of London, yet finding new versions of himself as he pursues the Big Pharma conspiracy that cost him his middle-class identity. Fifty Grand by Adrian McKinty (Serpent's Tail, £10.99) is a very different rollercoaster of assumed identities: a female Cuban detective sneaks into the US to solve a family mystery.Comics make great Christmas presents: a treat from the past updated for adulthood. One of the year's left-field triumphs was Logicomix by Apostolos Doxiadis and Christos H Papadimitriou (Bloomsbury, £16.99), the illustrated version of Bertrand Russell's life, love and friendships as he searches for a logical foundation for maths. In jaunty Tintin-esque panels the authors guide us through the problems and paradoxes of Russell's quest. But why in...comics?" asks one. "The form is perfect for stories of heroes in search of great goals!" comes the reply – and he's absolutely right. Joe Sacco's Footnotes in Gaza (Jonathan Cape, £20), investigating a Palestinian tragedy of the 50s from the standpoint of today's conflict, is properly war reportage, but framed with a novelist's eye. Finally, sheer comic genius: Gilbert Shelton's cartoons about his stoned, hippy antiheroes the Furry Freak Brothers were footnoted with strips featuring their truculent pet, Fat Freddy's Cat. In this omnibus (Knockabout, £17.99), the least cute cat in cartoon history gets a starring role: clawing Fat Freddy's waterbed, crapping in headphones, using his tail fur to set fire to garbage bags, and generally running rings around his owners. It's a glorious blast from another era that also catches the eternal truths of cat-human relations.Fictionguardian.co.uk &copy; Guardian News & Media Limited 2009 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds

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<item rdf:about="http://feeds.guardian.co.uk/~r/theguardian/books/rss/~3/uUcty85gwyk/win-costa-book-awards-shortlist">
<title>Win every book on the Costa book awards shortlist</title>
<link>http://feeds.guardian.co.uk/~r/theguardian/books/rss/~3/uUcty85gwyk/win-costa-book-awards-shortlist</link>
<description><![CDATA[Your chance to win all 20 books on the Costa book awards shortlist

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<item rdf:about="http://feeds.guardian.co.uk/~r/theguardian/books/rss/~3/-ZY1upgp1kU/diana-athill-memoirs-interview-tim-adams">
<title>A grand old lady of letters</title>
<link>http://feeds.guardian.co.uk/~r/theguardian/books/rss/~3/-ZY1upgp1kU/diana-athill-memoirs-interview-tim-adams</link>
<description><![CDATA[The doyenne of English literature has fascinating tales to tell, not least of her dealings with some of the greatest writers of the century and her own ménage à trois with a playwright and his young lover. Here she talks to Tim Adams with the same piercing candour she brings to her new volume of memoirsDiana Athill, at 91, is widely praised for her honesty, but as with all exacting writers she is as interesting for what she leaves out as what she puts in. "Honesty is really guesswork, isn't it?" she wonders aloud. One of the things she is in denial about is being a writer at all. In her attic flat overlooking Primrose Hill in north London, the evidence is hard to ignore, however. It's on the table in front of us: Life Class, a 650-page volume of memoirs, selected from four of her books. "I hate that fat book," she says, with feeling, quietly scrutinising my reaction. "I'm just an amateur, really I am."Athill's conviction in this assertion has its foundation in the "proper" authors she worked with in 50 years as the senior editor at the literary publisher André Deutsch: Philip Roth, Jean Rhys, VS Naipaul, Brian Moore, John Updike and many others. She remembers how the Irish novelist Moore used to tell her never to marry a writer: if he was not writing it'd be hell and he'd be wanting to shoot himself. And if he was he'd be in so deep he'd forget he had a wife. "I think," she says, brightly, "that is what convinces me that I must be an amateur. Writing is supposed to be torture isn't it? But I absolutely adore doing it."Athill first started writing more than 50 years ago, a collection of stories, and then a memoir of her life up to the age of 42, Instead of a Letter. That book was an act of self-therapy as much as anything. It recounted, in flinty detail, the humiliating stain that had clouded her privileged youth – daughter of an army colonel, large family estate in Norfolk – and that she had been unable to erase. Athill was jilted. She had been hopelessly in love from the age of 15 with an Oxford graduate named Tony Irvine, who came to tutor her brother. By the time she was at Oxford herself, and Irvine was a pilot in the RAF, they were engaged, but the marriage was never to be. The war began, and Irvine, who had so lovingly set out the promises of their future together, abruptly stopped replying to Athill's letters. She heard nothing from him for two years, during which the pain was like "a finger crushed under the door, or a tooth under a drill", and then he wrote briefly, asking to be relieved of their engagement because he was marrying someone else. Soon after that, Irvine was killed in action. Athill subsequently lost a part of herself, for 20 years, in emptiness and disastrous affairs, 20 years in which her "soul shrank to the size of a pea". It was only through writing about it all that she surfaced again properly, found her voice. But then, just as suddenly, she gave it up."If I had something bad happen to me, then I needed to write so it would get better," she says now. "But then when for a while bad things stopped happening, I didn't have anything to write."Her more recent memoirs were begun after she had left André Deutsch – who had never paid her anything much – and was pretty much penniless, living in this flat in a house owned by her cousin. She published her first, Stet, in which she told the story of her working life, nine years ago, and two more volumes – Yesterday Morning, mostly about her parents' unhappy marriage, and Somewhere Towards the End, about approaching 90 – have followed, to great and warranted acclaim. Having spent a career nurturing the careers of other writers, Athill is now in the curious position of literary celebrity herself, which, to her surprise, she hugely enjoys. She is in hot demand on the festival circuit, where people say two things to her. The first, which baffles her, is that she is "such an inspiration". The other, without fail, (and whispered) is, "Do you mind my asking, how do you keep such wonderful skin?"The morning I visit her she is suffering with a cold, and irritated that she has had to abandon plans to fly to Canada where she was due to share a platform with the writer Alice Munro. "This is the first time I have had to cancel anything," she says. "I have been packing myself with antibiotics. But I got up yesterday and I felt so weak I knew I had to say no. So I think it is coming."By "it" she means the end of book events and everything else, but she notes this, like she says everything, evenly and frankly and with an element of curiosity. Her singularity, as the books attest, has been hard won, but she wears it now with some pride. Her memory is her accomplishment; lapses make her anxious. She talks of a recent trip "up north to Wigton with a gang of young people" from her publisher, Granta. "We were all singing silly songs. I tried to remember "The Captain Bold from Halifax". And I couldn't get it right. But then I woke up the next morning and the whole thing was in my head." She sings it now for me in an unfaltering voice:"The Captain bold from Halifax would leave his married quartersTo see a girl, who hanged herself, one morning with her garters.His wicked conscience smited him, he lost his stomach dailyHe took to drinking turpentine and thinking of Miss BaileyOh unfortunate Miss Bailey… "It's funny what stays with us. As she is singing, I can't help feeling that Athill's own life has something of the texture of a barrack-room ballad, though she has avoided the darkest fates. Reading her memoirs in one volume is to have a sense of life as pain mitigated by time. There is a sense of wicked humour in many of her recollections, occasional bright flashes of possibility, an exhilarating sharpness to her voice, but it is the hurt, and her resilience in the face of it, that remains with you.Athill has applied to herself one or two times Graham Greene's observation that all writers need a "chip of ice" at their heart. The question that her books never answer, quite, is whether that ice was something she was born with or learned.She calls it her beady eye. "There was always a watcher somewhere in me," she says. "Before I ever dreamt of being a writer, when I was in my teens, I remember saying to somebody, 'I keep on hoping that something will one day happen to me, that will matter so much that I won't see myself as foreign to everybody.'"The first thing her beady eye fell on was her parents, whose relationship informed all that followed. As well as being a portrait of a life in letters, Athill's writing is a careful unpicking of the emotional strictures of a particular class at a particular time. Her mother had been undone by an affair not long after she married, torn up with guilt, which she buried. She told her daughter about it the day after her husband, Athill's father, died, though Athill had found out long before."The worst of it was my father went on adoring her, and she would be irritated by that all the time and there would be dreadful quarrels. You have no idea how that affects children. When I was a little girl I had poor health, lots of stomach problems; later my grandmother said to me, 'You were a poorly little girl; it all made you so upset.' I had never put those things together but, looking back, she was right. You were always waiting as a child for the next time that things would blow up. Children find that unbearable to cope with."Did the absence of love at home infect her own relationships, does she think?"I think it did, a great deal. My mother was completely innocent when she got married. She was a normal, sexy, healthy girl but when a young man kissed her at a dance she thought she must marry him. But then it pretty quickly became clear I suppose that they weren't in the least compatible sexually. I have a feeling my father was a pretty hopeless lover, a parson's son. Poor thing. It is sad to think about, all those years together."Her father wrote well, an elegant account for the Royal Geographical Society of a journey he took to Abyssinia. Her mother was a wonderful gardener, very good with animals and believed poetry to be a lot of nonsense.Talking to her, reading her books, you get the sense that Athill measured much of her life against that maternal briskness. "You are not the only pebble on the beach," her mother would say. Athill's own candidness did not come easily as a result, and it was always an act of defiance. Her mother was still very much alive when she published Instead of a Letter, a book which catalogued Athill's own promiscuity and an abortion. How did she react?"I did a rather sly thing," Athill recalls. "I had an American publisher who wanted to do it, so I did it there first, so none of her friends would read it. I sent that edition to her. And I heard nothing at all. For ages. We were going to stay together with a godmother of mine, and I planned to ask her what she thought. But I couldn't. And then I was driving her home, so I thought I would do it then. And then it was: after supper I'll ask her. During supper my brother phoned to speak to her. And she put me on the phone and he said, 'Mother was going to tell you never to publish that book, and I told her not to be so damn silly."'And then, she says, a remarkable thing happened. They sat down and talked like two adult women about it all for the first time, the love affairs and the abortion, and Athill thought: "This is marvellous! We have made this tremendous breakthrough!"It didn't quite work out like that. After that brief opening up, the shutters came down once more. Not another word was spoken about Athill's intimate life after that evening.I wonder if she can see any virtues in her mother's sense of propriety, of holding things together?"I suppose there were some but I can't see them," she says. "I always wanted to know everything."One of the things she knows is exactly how easily candidness can shade into callousness: that is some of the shock of her books. Another relationship, with a lodger, the writer Waguih Ghali, continued even after she read his diary entry about her: "I have started to detest her… I find it impossible to live in the same flat as someone whose physical body seems to provoke mine to cringe…" Ghali killed himself subsequently in this flat.Perhaps as a result of such experiences, Athill displays an unnerving sense of the limits of her responsibility to those she has loved. I ask her at one point what the best of times in her life have been and without hesitation she answers that it was "when I first met dear Barry and we had a lovely kind affair that went on for years".The playwright Barry Reckord lived with Athill here for 40 years, punctuated by six years in the late 1970s when he brought his young girlfriend, an aspiring actress called Sally Cary into their home, and the three of them all lived together. If they survived that, how did Athill's relationship with Reckord end, I wonder?"Well, of course he got so ill and so old," she says. "Now his niece is looking after him in Jamaica, thank God. For the last two years when he was here I was coming up to my 90th birthday, and all he wanted to do was lie in bed and watch sport and read thrillers, which he hated. When dear Margaret, his niece, called, it was like a miracle. He didn't want to go, and he still wants to come home. But I have pretty much stopped calling him now."How had their relationship differed from a marriage?"It differed right from the beginning," she says. "Our affair had been a good one and it had gone on well before he had broken up his marriage. As a consequence, by the time he moved in, the passion, so to speak, had gone. He told me right away he wouldn't marry again. I was in my late-ish 40s. Then darling Sally turned up, and we were both so very fond of her. He used to say he loved me and he loved her. I don't know if he did. She was and is one of my favourite people, though. She lived here for six years. It was perfectly easy. When she eventually went off, she met her Henry at agricultural college and got married. I think I was in a way more upset about it than poor old Barry, really."Would she say Reckord was the love of her life?"No, but I trusted Barry's love the most."Even though he moved another woman into their home?"Well, we weren't sleeping together by then. And if I wasn't sleeping with a man, I didn't see why he shouldn't want to sleep with other people. I hate possessiveness. Loathe it."Does she construe her lack of jealousy as an acceptance of the impossibility of constant love?"Well," she says, smiling, "loyalty is a bit overrated, I think. To make it important between men and women seemed to me foolish."I have a sense of just a hint of long-overcome betrayal in her when she says this, but she doesn't acknowledge it herself, and maybe I'm imagining it.As she thinks about her life, Athill is sitting in her favourite chair, surrounded by piles of letters from her past, which an American scholar has dug out of the André Deutsch archive held at a university in Tulsa. There is the prospect of a book of her correspondence with Jean Rhys, author of Wide Sargasso Sea, to whom she was editor, confidante and "nanny". She is loving going through the letters again, missives from another life. As she shows me little extracts, I hear the cadences of her abiding sternness of will, taking on all-comers, and living to tell the tales.Athill faces the future in this spirit. Beside the manuscripts she gestures at a letter offering her a place in a "sheltered house" in Highgate, which she is planning to take up. "It's time, I think," she says. "I had a friend there called Rose Hacker, who was the oldest newspaper columnist in London. She said I must come. I asked her about the waiting list, and she said well don't worry about that, someone's always dying…"If she were to draw a trajectory of her life, I say, how would it go?"Well," she says, "a goodish beginning and then it went right down, and since then it has been rising steadily." She traces her finger in the air between us. And she seems determined not to let the upward curve come to a stop.Diana AthillTim Adamsguardian.co.uk &copy; Guardian News & Media Limited 2009 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds

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<item rdf:about="http://feeds.guardian.co.uk/~r/theguardian/books/rss/~3/dOErA8tPu9Y/jg-ballard-bea-ballard-obituary">
<title>&#x27;To us he was simply a father&#x27;</title>
<link>http://feeds.guardian.co.uk/~r/theguardian/books/rss/~3/dOErA8tPu9Y/jg-ballard-bea-ballard-obituary</link>
<description><![CDATA[The novelist, who died of prostate cancer on 19 April aged 78, is remembered by his daughter, whom he raised as a single parentIn 2009 the world lost one of its most original and brilliant authors, JG Ballard. But my siblings and I lost our father, our dearest Daddy. To the world he was this unique writer, with a huge international following, but to us he was simply a father, and the best you could ever hope for.He had raised three of us single-handedly following my mother's premature death when we were five, seven and nine. It was the 60s, when single fathers didn't do that sort of thing. Most of his friends were sceptical. But he did raise us, as father, mother and much more besides. Fortunately for him, and for us, his work as a writer meant he could work from home and juggle writing with the care of us. So in between school runs, ironing school ties and cooking sausages and mashed potato, he wrote his novels and short stories – one minute conjuring up wild dystopias, the next watching Blue Peter.It was a very liberating childhood – we were allowed to make many of the decisions, and my father let us run with our passions and our imaginations. There weren't many rules, except get homework done, eat well, stay warm, and go to bed at a decent time. The watching of television was not rationed (unlike most of my friends) and was welcomed as an interesting vehicle of information and popular culture. So in the school holidays I became a connoisseur of daytime TV. My father was an avid TV watcher, too, and we gathered round the set together in the evenings, after supper and homework, to watch a whole mass of TV, from US crime dramas like Hawaii Five-O to comedies like Steptoe and Son, Dad's Army, Monty Python. My father retained a lifelong passion for US crime dramas – he was a big fan of CSI. Meanwhile, I retained my passion for television and went on to make it my career.My father wrote in his memoir, Miracles  of Life, a book he dedicated to us: "The years  I spent as the parent of my young children were the richest and happiest I have ever known."Well, for us those years were supremely happy and laid the foundations for us to lead happy lives as adults. When we left for university it created a huge vacuum for my father, and one that was never really filled, but he took enormous pride in seeing us go into the world to forge successful careers and futures. Indeed, he was a devoted and adoring grandfather, often visiting my children, Pandora and Alice, and those of my sister Fay – Matthew and Isabella. By now he knew only too well how the minds of young children work and would always come laden with sweets. He even brought treats for our golden retriever – usually a large pork pie, which was demolished on the spot in one gulp.When my husband died unexpectedly and suddenly five years ago, leaving me with two small children (in the same way my father had been left), I knew that with Daddy as my inspiration I could summon the courage to forge on alone and to give my children a happy and stable upbringing despite their tragic loss. Like a closely knit team we would make it together, just as he had done with me, my sister and  my brother.My father once said to me that seeing his grandchildren happily growing up was a huge satisfaction to him – he felt that his work was done. I like to think of him rather like Prospero – he had ruled over his kingdom with great benevolence and kindly paternalism, and had created the most brilliant art with his magic. But now that his work was done, it was time to break his staff and drown his magic book. His mission completed, it was time for him to leave his magic kingdom.Dear Daddy, to the world you are JG Ballard, celebrated and legendary author. But to us, your children, you are simply our own very dearest father, our best friend and our inspiration.  We miss you so much.★JG Ballardguardian.co.uk &copy; Guardian News & Media Limited 2009 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds

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<item rdf:about="http://feeds.guardian.co.uk/~r/theguardian/books/rss/~3/HFLR-yMP7zY/robert-mcrum-edwardian-fiction">
<title>Now that was a decade like no other</title>
<link>http://feeds.guardian.co.uk/~r/theguardian/books/rss/~3/HFLR-yMP7zY/robert-mcrum-edwardian-fiction</link>
<description><![CDATA[The output of the geniuses at work at the turn of the last century is still part of the literary canonThere's been some self-satisfaction in the end-of-the-year literary press about the achievements of 2000 to 2009. But before we get too smug about the inaugural crop of 21st-century fiction, it might be advisable to make three concessions to posterity.First, never forget the ghost of Herman Melville, whose work was virtually unobtainable within 10 years of his death in 1891. It's a fair bet that these pre-Christmas lists will have neglected a number of writers who, 100 years hence, will be on every university syllabus. Second – a corollary – it's safe to assume that quite a few of the names and titles now being traded as literary bulls will almost certainly turn bearish.Finally, before we get too carried away by our own age of wonder, I'd like to contrast it with the extraordinary decade 1900 to 1910, aka Edwardian England. This tends to get overshadowed by the cataclysm of the First World War, but when you consider the catalogue of books that came out in this decade, it's hard not to be impressed by its originality, innovation and sheer mastery of narrative and dramatic prose. Its notable deaths – Oscar Wilde (1900), Anton Chekhov (1904) and Henrik Ibsen (1906) – also distinguish it as an age of literary greatness.The Edwardians, poised between the Victorian and the modern world,  present two faces. Theirs was an age of electricity and psychoanalysis (Freud's The Interpretation of Dreams appeared in 1900), but it was also the era of gaslights and jingoism (Erskine Childers's masterpiece The Riddle of the Sands was published in 1903).The novels of the age have the same duality and Conrad and James capture this perfectly. There are characters in The Secret Agent (1907), for example "the Professor", who could have stepped from the pages of any major 20th-century thriller. The Wings of a Dove (1902) meditates on passion, money and media in a way that is, of course, Jamesian but utterly contemporary. This is also the decade that launched that great English novelist EM Forster. Where Angels Fear to Tread, A Room With a View and The Longest Journey were all published by 1910. For me, Conrad's Nostromo (1904) is the towering novel of this strange decade, more radical in construction, thought and imagination than any of its contemporaries.So much for the high end. Almost as interesting is that clutch of works for younger readers (Peter Pan, The Railway Children and The Wind in the Willows) that would shape the imaginative landscape of the British child throughout the coming century. By the by, it's the bizarre, even tragic, lives of Kenneth Grahame, JM Barrie and E Nesbit that provide a starting point for AS Byatt's 2009 novel, The Children's Book. The hybrid marriage of the Victorian and the pre-modern has certainly produced some very strange fruit.Moving to the now equally remote world of boys' adventure stories, this is the decade of Conan Doyle's colossal bestseller The Hound of the Baskervilles (1902), Kipling's Kim, the ur-spy novel (1901) and Jack London's The Call of the Wild (1903) and White Fang (1906), raw narratives of visceral appeal whose&nbsp;cinematic energy cry out for film&nbsp;adaptation.So much of Edwardian England seems spookily evocative of our times: rampant capitalism, technological innovation, global commerce and a general neurasthenic anxiety about the future. In a lyric reflection of this mood, Thomas Hardy turned, in one of the most remarkable genre shifts in English literature, from fiction to the consolations of poetry to produce perhaps the most influential body of work in 20th-century English verse.Hardy is a one-off and a Victorian. But there are many other Edwardians whose individual masterpieces should never be forgotten: Frederick Rolfe (Hadrian the Seventh); GK Chesterton (The Napoleon of Notting Hill); Hilaire Belloc (Cautionary Tales); and Edmund Gosse (Father and Son). In 1910, no survey of the previous decade could have guessed that the author of Love Among the Chickens (1906) would turn out to be that comic master, PG Wodehouse.Nor, of course, could anyone have foreseen the profound and lasting influence of that disparate bunch of awkward boys: Evelyn Waugh and Eric Blair (born 1903); Graham Greene and Christopher Isherwood (1904); Samuel Beckett (1906); and WH Auden, who shares 1907 with Daphne du Maurier. To say nothing of Ian Fleming, who has just passed his 101st birthday.Playing it for l'oeufs this Christmas My quest for the Christmas gift book of 2009 has thrown up some pretty curious titles, but few could be curiouser, and possibly more addictive, than Mot d'Heures: Gousses, Rames "edited and annotated" by one Luis d'Antin van Rooten (I'm not making this up), a one-time Broadway actor and Disney cartoon voice who devoted his mature years to creating homonymic approximations of English nursery rhymes. Read aloud in the accents of Molière and Sarkozy, the making of the world's most famous omelette is a good example of van Rooten's art:Un petit d'un petitS'etonne aux HallesUn petit d'un petitAh! Degres te fallent...Only Patrick Janson-Smith of Blue Door books could be brave enough to reissue this eccentric little volume. At £9.99, it could be the stocking filler we've been looking for.Helen Mirren rides to Tolstoy's rescueThe poet and critic Jay Parini published The Last Station, his remarkable novel about Leo Tolstoy's final days, in 1990. Almost immediately, there was movie interest from the late Anthony Quinn, who wanted to play the tyrannical old count. Now, almost 20 years on, after many vicissitudes, The Last Station is about to reach the screen, starring&nbsp;Christopher Plummer, James McAvoy  and Helen Mirren, whose queenly presence (and Russian instincts) has transformed the project into a winner – with many early whispers in America about Oscar nominations in 2010. Christmas seems to have come early for Parini, who is happily watching Canongate issue a film tie-in edition of the original novel. "At this rate," he&nbsp;joked before a screening in London last week, "they'll soon be publishing my poems&nbsp;as well."Robert McCrumguardian.co.uk &copy; Guardian News & Media Limited 2009 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds

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<item rdf:about="http://feeds.guardian.co.uk/~r/theguardian/books/rss/~3/49M6kN8e6_g/nativity-bible-christmas-jeanette-winterson">
<title>Bible tales are retold for the secular age</title>
<link>http://feeds.guardian.co.uk/~r/theguardian/books/rss/~3/49M6kN8e6_g/nativity-bible-christmas-jeanette-winterson</link>
<description><![CDATA[Authors reimagine the nativity story for children to read and enjoyAsk any four-year-old why the shepherds followed that star and the answer is likely to be entertaining. "They brought Jesus food after a fairy came down and said to Mary, 'You are going to have a baby'," said one this weekend. "No, I think they took him the gold he wanted," corrected his six-year-old brother.Details of the events celebrated at Christmas can be rather blurred for young children, many of whom now spend as much school time studying Hindu, Muslim and Jewish customs and beliefs as they do the tenets of the Christian faith.But does it matter if the nativity story is passed down the generations? Some parents without strong religious beliefs often welcome the mixed-faith basis of their local primary schools, but are less pleased to find their children are missing out on stories that are still the most influential in western culture: the tales from the Old and New Testaments. Now there is a solution for troubled agnostic and atheist mothers and fathers. They can read their favourite parables to their children at bedtime, alongside Winnie the Pooh and Peter Pan.A growing number of children's publishers are bringing out books that re-tell the stories of the Bible so that children can read them at home, away from an overtly religious context. This Christmas, acclaimed author Jeanette Winterson has taken up the crusade by bringing out her own, unorthodox account of the nativity story told from the point of view of the donkey in the stable. Christian publishing company, Zonderkidz, based in the US, has also produced a series of children's picture books based on Bible stories, such as Jonah and the Big Fish and The Lost Son. One book tells the tale of two shepherds, Jed and Roy, who make their way to the manger. While these colourful publications could be used in conventional Sunday school classes, they also fulfil an important cultural function for many parents."It is a really important to me that they know these stories," said Diane Reilly, an atheist and mother of two from Sussex. "It is as much a part of the culture in this country as any other story. Rather like Aesop's fables, they are just traditional touchstones."Winterson, whose Christmas book, The Lion, the Unicorn and Me, was published at the end of last month, was inspired by the same conviction that children should have access to stories that are central to the western literary canon. Many common English phrases, such as "to kill the fatted calf" and to "play the good Samaritan", rely on a knowledge of the Bible, as do many of the moral assumptions echoed in British society.In Winterson's nativity story, her donkey hero wins the chance to carry the pregnant Mary to Bethlehem by answering a tie-breaker question correctly. It is a book full of humour, but with an evident sense of wonder, too. At the birth of Jesus in the stable, trumpets sound and the donkey joins in. "I tipped back my head, and I brayed and brayed to join the trumpets. My nose was so high and the roof so low, that the angel's foot brushed me as I sang," recounts the donkey.The book, which has been described by critics as "a cross between the nativity and one of Rudyard Kipling's Just So stories", was prompted by Winterson's love of Christmas traditions and the telling of old stories, according to her publishers, Scholastic, and the author began to write it at a time of some personal grief, at the end of a six-year relationship. "I had split up with [former partner] Deborah Warner, and was feeling absolutely wretched," Winterson has explained. "It cheered me up."The author of Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit does not call herself Christian, but is "one of the faithful". Brought up in a strictly religious household, she has rejected the formality of the church. "I believe in God as highest value, and I believe in a connection between all living things – humans, animals, and the land. We cannot know if God exists, but we can know what it is to want more than materialism and pragmatism," she has said.Winterson is not alone in her take on the nativity this Christmas. Another author, Janet Duggan, a mother from Hertfordshire, has also written an account of events in the stable from the point of view of the donkey. Duggan originally wrote The Christmas Story as Told by Assellus the Christmas Donkey for her son when he was a child. Now, 20 years later, it has been published for other children."The nativity story is a lovely story, but it is getting a bit lost these days," said Duggan last week. "Children love the story and children love animals."ChristianityChristmasJeanette WintersonPublishingVanessa Thorpeguardian.co.uk &copy; Guardian News & Media Limited 2009 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds

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<item rdf:about="http://feeds.guardian.co.uk/~r/theguardian/books/rss/~3/q9mP7IKUh18/derek-walcott-professor-of-poetry-essex">
<title>Derek Walcott appointed professor of poetry - at Essex</title>
<link>http://feeds.guardian.co.uk/~r/theguardian/books/rss/~3/q9mP7IKUh18/derek-walcott-professor-of-poetry-essex</link>
<description><![CDATA[Nobel laureate Derek Walcott turns his back on Oxford University to take up a poetry professorship at the University of EssexFollowing the most ferocious scandal the poetry world has experienced for years, during which favourite Derek Walcott withdrew from the race for the Oxford poetry professorship, he is next year to be made professor of poetry after all: but at the University of Essex, rather than Oxford.The university announced today that Walcott, who won the Nobel prize for literature in  1992, would be visiting the Colchester campus in April 2010 for the first of two visits, during which he will deliver student workshops and a public reading. He last visited the university in 2008, when he was awarded an honorary degree.Walcott had been considered the front runner for the Oxford professorship – British poetry's most prestigious appointment, with a lineage dating back to the 18th century and including the likes of Matthew Arnold, WH Auden and Seamus Heaney – when an anonymous campaign saw some 200 Oxford academics sent photocopied pages from a book detailing a sexual harassment claim made against Walcott by a student at Harvard in 1982.The Nobel laureate resigned from the race on 12 May, and his chief rival Ruth Padel was appointed to the role – but she resigned nine days later, after it emerged that she had alerted two journalists to the allegations, and as yet it remains unfilled.In a statement issued today, the University of Essex said: "We are aware of the allegations made against Professor Walcott in the 1980s which were revived in the media during the election for Oxford University's professor of poetry position earlier in the year, causing him to withdraw his candidacy. However, the university is focused on giving its students and the literary community the rare opportunity to benefit from working with an internationally acclaimed writer."Senior lecturer Dr Maria Cristina Fumagalli, an expert on Walcott's work who had been very keen to persuade him to return to the university, said she had no concerns whatsoever about appointing him to a teaching role: "Not at all. I met Walcott for the first time as a graduate student. He was very inspiring and I wanted that kind of inspiration for my students."The idea for the appointment –  which revives a tradition of appointing poetry professors at Essex that had included the likes of Robert Lowell before it was discontinued at the end of the 1970s – had nothing to do with the summer's row in Oxford, Dr Fumagalli insisted. "The idea dates back to his visit to the university in 2008. When he was here, he was very generous with his time talking to students and it was a huge boost for them, and we were very keen to persuade him to return."This is an incredible opportunity, not only for our students but  for the general public. Very rarely do people get the chance to learn directly from a writer of this calibre."Walcott, who is due to publish a new collection of poems, White Egrets, in 2010,  said: "I am delighted to be professor of poetry at the University of Essex. When I was awarded my honorary doctorate last year I was impressed by the warm atmosphere and intellectual drive of the department of literature, film, and theatre studies which is home to formidable scholars and committed Caribbeanists. While I was there I also had the opportunity to meet talented and enthusiastic students and I am really looking forward to working with this cohort of emerging writers."Author and critic Marina Warner, who is also a professor at the university, added: "It is a marvellous and exciting boon ... The university is approaching its 50th anniversary, and since its foundation under the poet Donald Davie, the Department of Literature, Film, and Theatre Studies has hosted international writers and poets. Our strong tradition of research and teaching in creative writing as well as in the literature of the Caribbean is growing vigorously, and  Walcott's presence will be an added inspiration."Derek WalcottPoetryOxford professor of poetryLindesay Irvineguardian.co.uk &copy; Guardian News & Media Limited 2009 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds

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<item rdf:about="http://feeds.guardian.co.uk/~r/theguardian/books/rss/~3/qToYInRE0bY/theo-walcott-random-house-children-books">
<title>Theo Walcott sold to Random House Children&#x27;s Books</title>
<link>http://feeds.guardian.co.uk/~r/theguardian/books/rss/~3/qToYInRE0bY/theo-walcott-random-house-children-books</link>
<description><![CDATA[England winger signs four-book deal to write footballing adventures based on his own experiences as a schoolboyRandom House has jumped the gun on the January transfer window, signing the Arsenal and England winger Theo Walcott for an undisclosed fee on a four-book deal. According to the publisher, the footballer is due to be "working with a writer" to produce a series of novels for children based on his career so far, though the identity of the author involved is a closely-guarded secret.The 20-year-old striker, who made his debut for the national side at the record-breaking age of 17 and earlier this year signed a four-year contract at Arsenal reported to be worth £60,000 a week, said he was "really excited to be working on the series.""Books played an important part in our family life as I was growing up," he said.The series is due to launch in April 2010, and follows hot on the heels of a series from Walcott's predecessor on England's right wing, David Beckham, which kicked off earlier this year. The first two titles in Walcott's story are due to chart the arrival of a boy who shares Walcott's childhood nickname, TJ, at a new school. Even though he's never played a proper football match before in his life, TJ falls in with a group of children who love football."Many of my experiences as a young footballer will be relived by TJ in the series," Walcott explained.The 128-page books, with black-and-white illustrations throughout, are aimed at readers aged 9-11 – an age when many boys lose the reading habit.The children's author Mal Peet, whose retelling of Othello as the story of a South American football star won this year's Guardian children's fiction prize, confessed that he was unworried by the prospect of a new player in children's fiction."The scowly part of me thinks, 'Oh yeah, another celebrity publishing deal, taking the bread from the mouths of proper writers like me'," he said. "But the cheerier part of me thinks it might be quite a good thing. If you can turn young people's enthusiasm for football into an enthusiasm for books then everyone's a winner."The relentlessly positive upswing of Theo Walcott's life so far might prove a challenge, he continued, but "it's all down to the ghostwriter. "They didn't offer me the gig - if they had I'd have probably turned them into ghost stories or something. It's very hard to write about football and make it exciting and appealing to both boys and girls. We're not short of crap."In terms of plotting it lacks a little something, in terms of harrowing setbacks and so on. I can't see these having much of a dark side. The fact that Walcott is a great player doesn't mean anything about the quality of a book with his name on the front cover." Publishers have a responsibility to "do this well", he added. "If all you read is two Theo Walcott books and they're both rubbish, like the David Beckham Academy books, it's not going to encourage you to become an avid reader."But as an Arsenal fan, Peet said that he would "wish him luck".The managing director of Random House Children's Books, Philppa Dickinson welcomed the new signing. "Theo is an incredibly talented player and electrifying to watch in the field," she said. "We are thrilled to be publishing his books."Children and teenagersSport and leisureTheo WalcottRichard Leaguardian.co.uk &copy; Guardian News & Media Limited 2009 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds

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<item rdf:about="http://feeds.guardian.co.uk/~r/theguardian/books/rss/~3/NrFCy_3cHP4/bbc-british-library-digital-archives">
<title>BBC and British Library to take joint approach to building digital archive</title>
<link>http://feeds.guardian.co.uk/~r/theguardian/books/rss/~3/NrFCy_3cHP4/bbc-british-library-digital-archives</link>
<description><![CDATA[Venture to digitise British Library's archive of more than 150m items plus nearly 1m hours of BBC outputThe BBC and the British Library are collaborating on a digital technology project to open up the institutions' archives, with the aim of giving the public greater online access to a vast cultural treasure trove.Under a memorandum of understanding to be signed  by the two organisations today, they will collaborate on the task of provising greater digital access to the British Library's archive of more than 150m items collected over the past 250 years, as well as nearly 1m hours of TV and radio output from the BBC, which has been broadcasting since 1922.The BBC and the British Library will establish a joint steering committee to develop a uniform approach across the two organisations on issues including rights management, distribution of archive content, and technical issues of digitisation and storage. "Unlocking the wealth of content in the British Library and BBC archives is a great opportunity as well as an immense challenge," said the BBC director general, Mark Thompson, who will sign the agreement with the British Library chief executive, Dame Lynne Brindley. "It is vital we partner, harnessing the power of digital technology to give the public the access they deserve."Brindley said: "Through this memorandum of understanding we aim to create a model of best practice which will allow the library to develop similar opportunities with other public institutions. This partnership not only demonstrates that we are keen to share content for the benefit of today's researchers and the knowledge economy, but also expresses our continued commitment to supporting the government's vision of building a digital Britain."• To contact the MediaGuardian news desk email editor@mediaguardian.co.uk or phone 020 3353 3857. For all other inquiries please call the main Guardian switchboard on 020 3353 2000.• If you are writing a comment for publication, please mark clearly "for publication".BBCDigital mediaBritish LibraryDigital BritainMercedes Bunzguardian.co.uk &copy; Guardian News & Media Limited 2009 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds

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<item rdf:about="http://feeds.guardian.co.uk/~r/theguardian/books/rss/~3/HCN9MQQsHqc/manhood-rise-fall-penis-driel">
<title>Manhood: the Rise and Fall of the Penis by Mels van Driel</title>
<link>http://feeds.guardian.co.uk/~r/theguardian/books/rss/~3/HCN9MQQsHqc/manhood-rise-fall-penis-driel</link>
<description><![CDATA[A paean to the penis offers much unintentional hilarity, says Leo BenedictusAfter more than 25 years as a consultant urologist in Holland, Mels van Driel's passion for his work remains undiminished. As does his taste for making bawdy quibbles about it. "In the last few decades," he sniggers on page one, "tens of thousands of penises and testicles have been through my hands." Which makes him just the man to write this lighthearted gambol through the uses and abuses of the penis and its unjustly overlooked companion organs.And yet, even when one has finished the task of absolving him and his translator from their many sins of style and punctuation, Van Driel's book remains, by any normal measure, a botched job. "I lay absolutely no claim to completeness or scholarly rigour," he announces at the outset, though most readers could have worked this out for themselves. Where, for instance, is the section on venereal disease? Why is there almost nothing on the penis's most frequent function, as a conduit of urine?And as for rigour, well I am no urologist, but I do doubt whether researchers really found that the "average diameter of the fully erect penis was approximately 121mm". That is nearly five inches or about the same size, in cross section, as a compact disc. A simple mistake, I'm sure, substituting diameter for circumference, but such things ought to matter in this book.As should the author's credibility. Yet Van Driel undermines himself badly by straying into the kind of breezy generalising that ought to be beneath the dignity of a scientist. "Urologists have the reputation of being the most intelligent of all surgical specialists," he tells us with a straight face. (Do they really? I hear the rest of the profession asking.) But worse than these deficiencies is the fact that Manhood has no discernible purpose, no thrust. The cover's (rather funny) promise of a tale of "Rise and Fall" is misleading; the penis, as depicted here, is quite without an arc. Every chapter seems unconnected with its neighbour, as do many of the paragraphs. In the middle of a discussion on eunuchs, say, Van Driel invariably stops to tell us something fascinating that he's just remembered – a Greek legend about castration, perhaps – and then never returns to his original point.But then what was the point? If there is no argument or story, why is all this information here? "Because it relates to testicles" is not a reason and yet "because it relates to testicles", I suspect, is the only reason that Van Driel ever needs. Instead of carrying us with him – as a cultural history, a medical primer or an extended anecdote might – his study simply reads like three books shuffled. Which is why it is actually such a marvellous read. Though Van Driel surely did not write the book as a shambolic introduction to his own obsession, read this way, it is a joy. I defy anyone, for instance, on encountering a section titled "The smell of the scrotum", "Legal action against men without balls", "Misunderstandings about the glans" not to read on.And what fun there is when we do. For all the laughs that our guide courts deliberately, it is the many more that happen accidentally that make him such good company. Such as when he remarks, with every appearance of surprise, that "relatively little attention has been paid to the glans in poetry". Or later, on "the smell and taste of sperm": "According to reliable sources, it is not unusual for young women today in a get-together in the pub to admit whether they 'swallow' or not. They're not talking about E, amphetamines or suchlike," he adds, with choice redundancy, "but whether or not they swallow sperm."I do sometimes doubt the veracity of Van Driel's facts or, at least, his assiduity in checking them. And yes, the book contains some lulls – the chapter on vasectomies and infertility, for one, felt very long indeed. But provided you have the sense to take some breaks and skips bits, Manhood is an eccentric delight. And more than that: a monument, though rickety, to science and its driving force, obsession.Health, mind and bodyLeo Benedictusguardian.co.uk &copy; Guardian News & Media Limited 2009 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds

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<item rdf:about="http://feeds.guardian.co.uk/~r/theguardian/books/rss/~3/4wDhlMVt8f0/cookery-books-william-skidelsky">
<title>Read the book and then get cooking</title>
<link>http://feeds.guardian.co.uk/~r/theguardian/books/rss/~3/4wDhlMVt8f0/cookery-books-william-skidelsky</link>
<description><![CDATA[From the exalted River Café to the still essential Delia Smith, via the best of Italy and France, William Skidelsky savours the best recent cookery booksWhat are cookbooks for? That may sound like a thunderingly stupid question (er, to cook from?), but in fact it's more complicated than that. Precisely because their ostensible function is so easily determined, there has long been an assumption that cookbooks (and recipes generally) must contain all manner of hidden agendas, which can only be unearthed by those who possess the right code-breaking tools.In a celebrated 1950s essay, for example, the structuralist philosopher Roland Barthes analysed the recipes in Elle magazine and concluded that, far from being of practical use, they were "totally magical", designed to present to working-class housewives a "dream of smartness". More recently, Adam Gopnik wrote a long essay about cookbooks in the New Yorker in which he claimed, among other things, that one of the functions of recipes is to accustom us to "the anticlimax of the actual, the perpetual disappointment of the thing achieved".Scanning the offerings of recent times, it's hard not to conclude that, far from being about "perpetual disappointment", cookbooks are more about perpetual self-congratulation. Having the "right" cookbooks on one's shelves has become a marker of a certain kind of sophistication, a surefire way of indicating that you are in the know about food. One of the changes that has helped make this possible is the growing tendency for cookbooks to be based on specific restaurants. It all began with the first River Café Cook Book, which came out in 1995 and quickly became the "must-have" book for clued-up foodies.A few years ago, an alternative came along – The Moro Cookbook. Last year, there was Ottolenghi: The Cookbook. Volumes of this type are ideal for asserting one's culinary credentials because having them suggests two things. First, that you know enough about food (and have enough money) to be familiar with the restaurant in question; and second, that you are a good enough cook to attempt restaurant cooking (or at least a simulacra of it) in your own home.Has there been an Ottolenghi equivalent this year? I'm not sure there has, but in its absence status-conscious cooks could do a lot worse than buy the latest volume to fall off the River Café production line, Rose Gray and Ruth Rogers's The River Café Classic Italian Cookbook (Penguin £30). This purports to be a work of "new recipes", although in fact there's some duplication from previous volumes – pappa al pomodoro, pork cooked in milk. Still, one shouldn't carp because for the most part it's a wide-ranging, elegant book that lives up to its "classic" billing: there are recipes here for bistecca alla Fiorentina and baccala mantecato (beaten dried cod), dishes which you feel would have been too obviously traditional to have appeared in earlier River Café books. As ever with Gray and Rogers, there's a splendid pudding section that includes a mouth-watering recipe for torta della nonna, or "Grandmother's tart from Tuscany", a sort of custard pie that one is advised, indulgently, to "serve for breakfast".It has been a good few months for Italian cookbooks generally and another impressive new volume, also "classic" in outlook, is The Silver Spoon Pasta (Phaidon £24.95). The Silver Spoon, or Il Cucchiaio d'Argento, is Italy's bestselling and most comprehensive cookbook and a few years ago Phaidon had a big success when it translated it into English.The Silver Spoon Pasta features not only the pasta dishes from that volume but also hundreds of other recipes from the Siver Spoon archive and it functions as a kind of pasta encyclopedia. But it's important to bear in mind that this is very much a recipe book, not a hands-on guide and, as such, there's a dismaying lack of technical information. There is no explanation of how to make different pasta shapes or the various types of filled pasta – things which anyone serious about pasta needs to know. Happily, such information (and much more besides) can be found in the excellent The Italian Cookery Course by Katie Caldesi (Kyle Cathie £30).Phaidon seems to be cornering the market in translations of other country's bestselling cookbooks and another of its new titles is Ginette Mathiot's I Know How to Cook (£24.95). First published in 1932, this is described as "the bible of French home cooking" and its author as "the Delia of France" (although Mrs Beeton might be more accurate). The book's 1,400 recipes have been revised and updated for the modern kitchen by the young food blogger Clotilde Dusoulier, although there's no getting away from the fact that many are pretty old-school (casseroled liver or meatballs in béchamel sauce, anyone?). For a book whose value lies in its comprehensiveness, there are puzzling omissions: no recipe for boulangère potatoes, none for aligot.And the "updating" seems to consist chiefly in substituting creme fraiche for double cream in savoury recipes, which is irritating, and misguided too, because sometimes you need the full-fat stuff. That said, it's an attractive book and if it helps remind people that there is a venerable tradition of simple French home cooking, that must be good.Our own Delia has also just returned with Delia's Happy Christmas (Ebury £25), a reprise of her earlier Delia Smith's Christmas. This is Delia doing what she has always done, which is cajole and encourage us, in her ever-so-reassuring (and mildly patronising) way, to be that much braver and more sophisticated than we thought we could be. There are some oddities: why, for instance, has she taken to using the royal we ("Over the years, we have never found a match for this mincemeat recipe")? Still, Delia has an extraordinary knack for producing recipes that you actually feel like cooking, rather than gawping at, and everyone's Christmas will be improved by this book.Finally, a work that has already been praised to the skies, and while not based on a restaurant looks certain to become the year's must-have cookbook: Tender: Volume 1 (Fourth Estate £30) by the Observer's Nigel Slater. Much like his earlier The Kitchen Diaries, it's a cookbook with a personal narrative at its core: Slater's construction of a vegetable patch in his garden and his attempt to live mainly off its proceeds (all very of the moment). Arranged alphabetically, with a short chapter on each vegetable, this is more a food odyssey than a conventional cookbook, but it is full of wonderful recipes. A note at the end, in case you were wondering, suggests that volume two will mainly be about fruit.House and gardenDelia SmithRiver CafeWilliam Skidelskyguardian.co.uk &copy; Guardian News & Media Limited 2009 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds

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<item rdf:about="http://feeds.guardian.co.uk/~r/theguardian/books/rss/~3/4GKYEHhY4yo/true-deceiver-tove-jansson-review">
<title>The True Deceiver by Tove Jansson</title>
<link>http://feeds.guardian.co.uk/~r/theguardian/books/rss/~3/4GKYEHhY4yo/true-deceiver-tove-jansson-review</link>
<description><![CDATA[This gem set in Sweden has the translation it deserves, says Ursula K Le GuinAfter the enduring international success of her Moomintroll fantasies, the Finnish author-artist Tove Jansson, in&nbsp;her 60s, began to write adult fiction. It has taken a while for these books to get much attention outside Scandinavia. On the patronising assumption that books for children are nice, ie morally bland and stylistically infantile, critics, reviewers and prize juries often dismiss those who write them as incapable of writing seriously for adults – a prejudice which, transferred to painting, plays a part in the plot of The True Deceiver.Anyone familiar with Jansson knows it would be unwise to dismiss her or patronise her work on any grounds. Her books for children are complex, subtle, psychologically tricky, funny and unnerving; their morality, though never compromised, is never simple. Thus her transition to adult fiction involved no great change. Her everyday Swedes are quite as strange as trolls, and her Swedish village in winter is as beautiful and dangerous as any forest of fantasy.If a transformation has taken place, it is in the nature of her writing. The language is more than ever spare, lean, taut, minimalist. These adjectives describe a good deal of modern narrative prose – the modishly anorectic style, well suited to thrillers, police procedurals and the existential noir, but very limited in range. Jansson's range, though effortlessly controlled, is great. Her spare exactness can express not only tension and stress but deeply felt emotion, expansion, relaxation and peace. Her description is unhurried, accurate and vivid, an artist's vision. Her style is not at all "poetic" – quite the contrary. It is prose of the very highest order; it is pure prose. Through its quiet clarity we see unreachable depths, threatening darkness, promised treasures. The sentences are beautiful in structure, movement and cadence. They have inevitable rightness. And this is a translation! Thomas Teal deserves to have his name on the title page with Jansson's: he has worked the true translator's miracle.I wish I could quote whole pages, but a paragraph must do:If it got really cold, it didn't make sense to go on working. The shed wasn't insulated, and the stove was barely able to warm it enough to keep their hands from stiffening. They locked it up and went home. But on the seaward side where the boats were launched, the doors had a latch that was easy to open. Mats would go out on the ice with his cod hook and when no one was in sight he'd go into the boat shed. Sometimes he'd go on with his work, usually details so trivial that no one noticed they'd been done. But most times he just sat quietly in the peaceful snowlight. He never felt cold.The main characters are Anna Aemalin, a successful illustrator of children's books, and Katri, whose only love and ambition is for the younger brother left in her care, Mats, a shy, slow, gentle fellow. Then there are honest Liljeberg the boat-builder, the wise Madame Nygard, the malicious storekeeper, a little horde of village children, and Katri's dog. Nameless, silent and yellow-eyed, the dog is yellow-eyed Katri's creature. And she flatters herself on her own wolfish superiority to other people: "My dog and I despise them. We're hidden in our own secret life, concealed in our innermost wildness."No one in the village seems to be married, and the relationship that will form between the two solitary women, Katri and Anna, is not sexual, though it is intensely passionate, fiercely unstable, destructive and transformative. Anna, far wealthier than Katri, keeps her parents' house piously unchanged, and illustrates little books for which the publisher provides the words. Her paintings are marvellously truthful depictions of the forest floor, patterns of leaf, twig, moss, lichen . . . to which she adds the cute bunnies of the publisher's texts. She spends much time answering letters from her child readers, and none in looking after her business interests. She sleeps, sleeps all winter until spring comes and she can see the living ground and paint it.Wolfish young Katri, determined to provide security for her brother, and also the fishing boat that is his one heart's desire, fakes a robbery of Anna's house in order to make her afraid to live alone, and pushes her way into Anna's service and confidence. Before long she appears to be in full control and has thrown out all the old furniture and the comfortable lies that let Anna sleep. But Anna, awake now, is not the bunny-rabbit she seemed, any more than Katri is truly the wolf. The unfolding of their story through vivid contrast and interplay of truthfulness and deceit, purity and complexity, ice and thaw, winter and spring, makes the most beautiful and satisfying novel I have read this year.• This article was amended on Monday 14 December 2009. The original referred to Tove Jansson as Swedish. This has been corrected.Fictionguardian.co.uk &copy; Guardian News & Media Limited 2009 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds

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<title>Are We Related? The New Granta Book of the Family, edited by Liz Jobey</title>
<link>http://feeds.guardian.co.uk/~r/theguardian/books/rss/~3/yxZj5O9ss8g/are-we-related</link>
<description><![CDATA[Julia Blackburn is thrilled by a collection that reveals the good, the bad and the ugly aspects of family lifeTowards the end of his life, my father made the disconcerting announcement that we all choose our parents, no matter how painful the choice might seem to be. And with that revelation he stopped battling the angry ghost who had sired him and became happy or at least much less tormented than he had ever been before.The stories in this wonderful collection are all concerned in one way or another with the family ties that bind us and tear us apart: children and their parents; siblings and their rivalry; husbands and wives; and the struggle to deal with the absence of those who have died.I suppose that if you come from a really happy family, then you can walk out the door and into your adult life with hardly a backward look, but if the nest in which you were reared was complicated, then you often need to try to understand what was going on before you can even find the door, let alone turn its handle.There are good relatives among these pages, but they come alongside some dangerous, duplicitous, unlovely and seemingly unlovable ones. Here comes Edmund White's terrifying Merry Widow of a mother, "who thought her name, Delilah, was so alluring that it made her a natural for a talk show"; David Goldblatt's perfidious father, who ran an organisation called Red Stripe, the "only hands-on spanking club in Great Britain", and who was murdered in his flat by two carpet fitters who had noticed the row of "soft-drink bottles with the tops cut off… all overflowing with pound coins and 50 pence pieces". Then there is Linda Grant's&nbsp;mother, who doesn't forget to be rude to her daughters, even though everything else is lost in a mist of Alzheimer's.I read many of these stories as they appeared in Granta magazine between 1995 and 2009 and it is interesting to come back to them now, like coming home after a long absence. Some have gathered intensity over the years, while others have drifted slightly out of focus, or out of my particular focus. I remembered Robyn Davidson's account of her "marriage" to an old Aborigine called Eddie, but I had forgotten quite how funny it was and how the love and acceptance of this community of chaotic and derelict people is as important to her as she is to them.When I first read Justine Picardie's painfully honest chronicle of her attempt to come to terms with the loss of her beloved sister, I had not experienced such a loss myself and so I didn't fully understand her quest, or the delicate act of uncertain faith she manages to perform when she learns to carry her sister within the enclosed space of her mind, so that, in a way, death makes no difference.This time round, I had a better appreciation of Diana Athill's blow-by-blow account of an unexpected pregnancy, cut short by a miscarriage which almost killed her. When she emerges from an emergency operation and realises that she is not dead she is overjoyed, "because the truth was that she loved being alive" and this fact becomes, as it were, the bonus from the strange journey to the edge of motherhood that she has just made.In a postscript to "Alive, Alive –Oh!", Athill explains that she wrote it in the third person because "the woman to whom this happened, though not exactly a stranger – I knew her well – was no longer me".Having just finished Hilary Mantel's immersion in Tudor courtly life, Wolf Hall, it was fascinating to be reminded of her other voice as a spiky, angry little girl growing up in Derbyshire in a house peopled with family ghosts who all had filed teeth and malevolent intentions. And it was a pleasure to return to Raymond Carver's "Call Me if You Need Me", in which a group of wild horses emerges out of the early morning mist in a garden, watched by two people who are having to face the fact that their marriage cannot be saved. Carver doubted the success of the story and it was not published during his lifetime, but it's as good as some of his best.There is quite a bit of fiction as well as autobiographical memoir, but all the stories share the same intensity of recollection and just as Diana Athill chose to put her old self into a third person, so Anne Enright, John McGahern, Graham Swift and the clutch of other very fine writers who are included here are so intimate with their subjects you feel sure they must be related to them, if not by blood, then in some other way.Julia Blackburn is the author of The Three of Us: A Memoir (Cape)Biographyguardian.co.uk &copy; Guardian News & Media Limited 2009 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds

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<item rdf:about="http://feeds.guardian.co.uk/~r/theguardian/books/rss/~3/kj6P7-tyna0/running-wild-crocodile-tears">
<title>A classic jungle book for our times</title>
<link>http://feeds.guardian.co.uk/~r/theguardian/books/rss/~3/kj6P7-tyna0/running-wild-crocodile-tears</link>
<description><![CDATA[Lisa O'Kelly is captivated by Michael Morpugo's story of a boy and an elephantRunning Wild by Michael Morpurgo CrocodileTears by Anthony HorowitzThe Death Defying Pepper Roux by Geraldine McCaughrean  A-Z: The Best Children's Poetry from Agard to Zephaniah by Michael RosenThere are rich pickings for readers aged nine to 12 this Christmas. Michael Morpurgo is on top form with Running Wild (HarperCollins £12.99), a superb animal story, inspired both by The Jungle Book and William Blake's poem "The Tyger" and strongly influenced by the devastating tsunami of 2004, which provides the starting point for the action.Nine-year-old Will and his mother are on holiday in Indonesia, trying to get over the recent death of Will's father, when the wave strikes. The boy only escapes the wall of water because he happens to be on the back of an elephant which runs off into the jungle. As weeks and months pass, Will and the elephant encounter all manner of hazards: snakes, tigers, crocodiles, orang-utans and, most frightening of all, big game hunters who kill animals for money while also burning down the forest so they can grow palm trees to make palm oil.Like all Morpurgo, it breaks your heart but is utterly convincing and absorbing. The action sequences are gripping and Morpurgo is immensely skilful in the way he depicts the boy's relationship with the elephant, Oona, growing and deepening as they face each one of their trials. A new classic.There is plenty more action and adventure to be had in Crocodile Tears (Walker Books £14.99), the eighth novel in Anthony Horowitz's hugely successful Alex Rider series. Devotees will notice that it's a darker, more damaged and pensive Alex we encounter here, which is not surprising given everything that has happened to him in his career as a teenage spy.The plot centres on a dastardly scheme to extort billions of pounds by playing on the public's goodwill and it takes Alex once again all over the world, from chilly London to sweat-soaked southern India to the wide-open African bush, all the while wishing he could just lead the quiet life of a regular schoolboy. Horowitz has hinted this may be one of the last Alex Rider books. but he shows no sign here of running out of steam. Crocodile Tears is as fast-paced, tightly plotted and exciting as any of its predecessors.Chase stories are eternally popular with children and in essence that is what Geraldine McCaughrean gives us in The Death Defying Pepper Roux (OUP £12.99). The tale of a boy whose untimely death is predicted at birth by a superstitious aunt, this is a funny, charming and eccentric book. It kicks off on the day of Pepper's doom – his 14th birthday – and takes us on the run with him as he attempts to stay one step ahead&nbsp;of his fate.Poetry lovers will adore Michael Rosen's wonderful A-Z: The Best Children's Poetry from Agard to Zephaniah (Puffin £6.99). The former children's laureate has made a fabulous collection of poems by writers as diverse as Carol Ann Duffy, John Hegley, Roger McGough, Adrian Mitchell and Benjamin Zephaniah. Thankfully, he has included a couple of his own poems, which, as he says at the start of this volume, are about "all kinds of things – but always important things – from chocolate cake to bathtime". LISA O'KELLYChildren and teenagersMichael MorpurgoMichael RosenLisa O'Kellyguardian.co.uk &copy; Guardian News & Media Limited 2009 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds

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<item rdf:about="http://feeds.guardian.co.uk/~r/theguardian/books/rss/~3/MRI6KSsRE0A/rachel-cusk-women-writing-review">
<title>Shakespeare&#x27;s daughters</title>
<link>http://feeds.guardian.co.uk/~r/theguardian/books/rss/~3/MRI6KSsRE0A/rachel-cusk-women-writing-review</link>
<description><![CDATA['This is an important book, the critic assumes, because it deals with war. This is an insignificant book because it deals with the feelings of women in a drawing-room.' Eighty years after A Room of One's Own was first published – and 50 years after The Second Sex – the same value system prevails, argues Rachel CuskCan we, in 2009, identify something that could be called "women's writing"? To be sure, women are sometimes to be found receiving the winner's cheque for the Man Booker or Costa prizes, just as they are sometimes to be found piloting your flight home from New York. It may be that in both cases certain sectors of society do not feel entirely secure. But it seems to me that "women's writing" by nature would not seek equivalence in the male world. It would be a writing that sought to express a distinction, not deny it.When a woman in 2009 sits down to write, she perhaps feels rather sexless. She is inclined neither to express nor deny: she'd rather be left alone to get on with it. She might even nurture a certain hostility towards the concept of "women's writing". Why should she be politicised when she doesn't feel politicised? It may even, with her, be a point of honour to keep those politics as far from her prose as it is possible to get them. What compromises women – babies, domesticity, mediocrity – compromises writing even more. She is on the right side of that compromise – just. Her own life is one of freedom and entitlement, though her mother's was probably not. Yet she herself is not a man. She is a woman: it is history that has brought about this difference between herself and her mother. She can look around her and see that while women's lives have altered in some respects, in others they have remained much the same. She can look at her own body: if a woman's body signifies anything, it is that repetition is more powerful than change. But change is more wondrous, more enjoyable. It is pleasanter to write the book of change than the book of repetition. In the book of change one is free to consider absolutely anything, except that which is eternal and unvarying. "Women's writing" might be another name for the book of repetition.Two books, Simone de Beauvoir's The Second Sex – now issued for the first time in a faithful English translation – and Virginia Woolf's A Room of One's Own, bring these thoughts to mind. Between them they shaped the discourse of 20th-century women's writing, a shape that is still recognisable today; both, famously, are formulated around the concept of property. De Beauvoir's thesis of the great displacement of woman in history by the male initiative of ownership is the magnification of Woolf's more literary synthesis of actual and expressive female poverty. A woman needs a room of her own to be able to write; thus her silence has been the silence of dispossession. Yet there is something still deeper and more mysterious in her silence, the mystery of her actual identity. Woolf and De Beauvoir agree that a woman – even a woman with her own room – could never have written Moby-Dick or War and Peace, for "civilisation as a whole elaborates this intermediary product between the male and the eunuch that is called feminine"; and as well as lacking a room, woman has lacked a literature of her own. Half silence, half enigma: the words "women's writing" connote not simply a literature made by women but one that arises out of, and is shaped by, a set of specifically female conditions. A book is not an example of "women's writing" simply because it is written by a woman. Writing may become "women's writing" when it could not have been written by a man.De Beauvoir's woman is a beggar – she becomes one, to paraphrase, rather than is born one – comprehensively debased in her slavery, debasing herself, fawning for scraps from the male table. Woolf's woman is more in the way of a victim, a prisoner. She is actively disbarred; if her nature is warped, it is by fault of circumstance. "Art, literature and philosophy are attempts to found the world anew on a human freedom," writes De Beauvoir, "that of the creator. To foster such an aim, one must first unequivocally posit oneself as a freedom." A woman can be given freedom, certainly, but she can never have always had it: "one must first emerge within [the world] in sovereign solitude if one wants to try to grasp it anew." The temptation for the woman writer, De Beauvoir says, is to use writing as an escape. The woman writer wishes to avoid confrontation, for "her great concern is to please; and as a woman she is already afraid of displeasing just because she writes .&nbsp;.&nbsp;. The writer who is original . . . is always scandalous; what is new disturbs and antagonises; [but] women are still astonished and flattered to be accepted in the world of thinking and art, a masculine world. The woman watches her manners; she does not dare to irritate, explore, explode."A woman writer, then, loses her integrity – and her chance of greatness – in the attempt to join male literary culture. For, as De Beauvoir says, "man is a sexed human being: woman is a complete individual, and equal to the male, only if she too is a sexed human being. Renouncing her femininity means renouncing part of her humanity." Thus equality can only be arrived at by the route of difference: but what does this mean for the woman writer? Must she experience kinship with silence and enigma, as the male writer feels kinship for Moby-Dick? Twenty-first-century female culture barely acknowledges its debt to feminism: why should it? And perhaps consequently, today's woman writer is careful not to show any special interest in today's woman. Yet if black writers cease to write about what it is to be black, we do not conclude that blackness no longer has any special features, or that racism no longer exists. Oppression, being a type of relationship, can never be resolved, only reconfigured; in its ever-alternating phases of shame and receptivity, the possibility of its return must always remain. Sometimes society is receptive to the language of oppression; at other times it is not, and oppression becomes a cause of shame. Women, then, might cease to produce "women's writing" not because they are freer but because they are more ashamed, less certain of a general receptiveness, and even, perhaps, because they suspect they might be vilified.It is easier to be a historian than a prophet, and when Virginia Woolf said that a woman needed a room of her own and money of her own to write fiction she appeared to be alluding to a female future where possession – property – equalled words as inevitably as dispossession, in the past, had equalled silence. A woman with a room and money will be free to write – but to write what? In A Room of One's Own Woolf asserts two things: first, that the world – and hence its representations in art – is demonstrably male; and second, that a woman cannot create art out of a male reality. Literature, for most of its history, was a male reality. The form and structure of the novel, the perceptual framework, the very size and character of the literary sentence: these were tools shaped by men for their own uses. The woman of the future, Woolf says, will devise her own kind of sentence, her own form, and she'll use it to write about her own reality. What's more, that reality will have its own values: "And since a novel has this correspondence to real life, its values are to some extent those of real life. But it is obvious that the values of women differ very often from the values which have been made by the other sex; naturally, this is so. Yet it is the masculine values that prevail . . . This is an important book, the critic assumes, because it deals with war. This is an insignificant book because it deals with the feelings of women in a drawing-room. A scene in a battle-field is more important than a scene in a shop – everywhere and much more subtly the difference of value persists."The independent woman writer, Woolf believed, would in overturning those values write what had not yet been written. The story of woman would "light a torch in that vast chamber where nobody has yet been. It is all half lights and profound shadows like those serpentine caves where one goes with a candle peering up and down, not knowing where one is stepping."The future, of course, never comes: it is merely a projection from the present of the present's frustrations. In the 80 years since Woolf published A Room of One's Own, aspects of female experience have been elaborated on with commendable candour, as often as not by male writers. A book about war is still judged more important than a book about "the feelings of women". Most significantly, when a woman writes a book about war she is lauded: she has eschewed the vast unlit chamber and the serpentine caves; there is the sense that she has made proper use of her room and her money, her new rights of property. The woman writer who confines herself to her female "reality" is by the same token often criticised. She appears to have squandered her room, her money. It is as though she has been swindled, or swindled herself; she is the victim of her own exploitation. And as for "female values", who could say what they are? If, as Woolf claims, the values of literature are at any given moment the reflection of the values of life, then we are living in an era in which the female is once more devalued and the male pre-eminent.Recently, reading Chekhov's Three Sisters, it struck me that the question of female self-expression – let's call it "women's writing" – becomes confused precisely where the attempt is made to concretise it. Chekhov's play is based on aspects of the lives of the Brontë sisters; the three women, Olga, Irina and Masha, suffer not only from the confinement and tedium of provincial life but from something antithetical in their relationship to reality. What they feel is not embodied by what they are. They look back to childhood as a time of edenic simplicity and happiness – as children they did not recognise gender as destiny and limitation – but now all their hopes for accomplishment, for "becoming", have transferred themselves to their brother Andrey. The sisters ponder marriage, love, motherhood, paid work, and yet can find no answer in any of them. It isn't just female powerlessness that causes the difficulty: it is something more, a force that bears a special hostility to the actual. There is nothing they can be or become that will discharge it. This force might be called creativity; what is interesting is Chekhov's decision to omit writing from his representation of the situation, and indeed he is careful to maintain only the lightest connection in the play with the extremity of the Brontës' world. Both the suffering and the writing are transposed into something less tangible and more generalised, something that touches on the nature of woman herself.Woman is filled with visions and yearnings that are never matched by reality; she has a power of visualisation, of imagination, that her lack of worldly power forever frustrates. Yes, she might produce literature out of this conflict in her being. But she is more likely to produce silence. And in Chekhov's version, the conflict between being and becoming grows more severe as life advances, because the space for intangibility shrinks. Irina and Olga are made to share a room because their sister-in-law wants Irina's room for her new baby. Thus the woman who has embraced what Woolf calls the "masculine values", who agrees to exist as woman on male terms, gains a territorial advantage over the woman who has not. Moreover, the two types of woman have become mutually hostile. The woman who has her being in marriage and motherhood has become part of antithetical reality, revoking property from the woman who remains in a condition of intangible femininity.It may be, then, that the room of one's own does not have quite the straightforward relationship to female creativity that Woolf imagined. She, after all, had by dint of circumstance always had a room and money of her own, and perhaps being the eternal conditions of her own writing they seemed to her indispensable. Yet she admits that the two female writers she unequivocally admired – Jane Austen and Emily Brontë – wrote in shared domestic space. The room, or the lack of it, doesn't necessarily have anything to do with writing at all. It could be said that every woman should have a room of her own. But it may equally be the case that a room of her own enables the woman writer to shed her links with femininity and commit herself to the reiteration of "masculine values". The room itself may be the embodiment of those values, a conception of "property" that is at base unrelated to female nature.Woolf confesses that she does not know what women are: they have left so little trace behind them, she says, have observed such a profound silence over the centuries that they are virtually unhistoried. The woman artist must grasp the scanty threads of her forebears – Austen, George Eliot, the Brontës. She must cling on to what representation there is. Yet Chekhov is perhaps the more perceptive on this point. The representation inspired him to consider the silence, not the other way around. It is the silence itself which interests him, and it interests him not as an absence but as a presence. Woolf, in A Room of One's Own, sees that presence in terms of Shakespeare's imaginary sister Judith: a person she describes as being like her brother William in every respect except that of sex, who is frustrated and silenced and abused at every turn where he is recognised and advanced and congratulated. But Chekhov does not consider the female in terms of the male. He sees her as thwarted in her own being, as fundamentally unknown even to herself. In Three Sisters, Irina expresses this concept of silence as arising from a lack of connection between emotion and actuality: "Oh, I used to think so much of love," she says. "I have been thinking about it for so long by day and by night, but my soul is like a costly piano which is locked and the key lost." She does not say who locked the piano, nor who lost the key; just that it was costly, and is silent.Doris Lessing enlarges on these themes in her story "To Room Nineteen", where a conventionally – if not happily – married mother of four children begins to experience the desire to have a room of her own. The desire is a kind of plague: she doesn't know why she wants the room, nor what she will use it for. But she has to have it. She does feel a strong urge to free herself from the impingement of other people: this is the only explanation she can offer, that she wants to be where no one can get at her. First she designates an unused room in the family home as "hers", but this doesn't satisfy her. People can still find her there; the children come in and leave their toys on the floor. But more than that, she doesn't actually want to be in this room. It becomes clear that what she wants is to sever her ties with existence itself. She rents a room in a seedy hotel in an unpleasant part of town, and every afternoon she goes there and lies on the bed. This room, room number 19, she identifies as "hers": she is upset when she arrives one afternoon to discover that it isn't free (it's a hotel, after all). To explain her disappearances, she tells her husband she is having an affair. He is pleased: he himself has affairs, and now he feels exonerated. One afternoon, in room 19, she kills herself.In Lessing's story, as in Three Sisters, writing is "silent". We know that Lessing, a woman, wrote it, as we know that the Brontës wrote. But in both cases, the self-expressive space of the actual drama remains unfilled: Lessing's character does not go to room 19 to write bestselling novels, any more than Olga and Irina channel their frustrations into the production of literary works. Writing, "women's writing", thus comes to mean something else, something new: it describes what it is not, it defines its opposite, silence; it puts itself at the service of what negates it. In Lessing's story the room – the room of one's own – is death, death of female reality, death as an alternative to compromise. The author acknowledges that her writing is the kin of death and silence, that her "room" is a place menaced by compromise. And better death than the furtherance of "masculine values".Woolf concedes that the woman writer might have to break everything – the sentence, the sequence, the novel form itself – to create her own literature. And she wonders, too, whether a situational link between women's lives and their work, far from impeding their writing, might actually be necessary to it; whether, in other words, it was because Austen wrote behind the door in the shared sitting room that Pride and Prejudice is the flawless novel it is. It is a requirement of art that the artist be unified with his or her own material. Stumblingly, Woolf hazards the guess that a "female" literature will be shorter, more fragmentary, interrupted, "for interruptions there will always be". And her own Mrs Dalloway might be read as a novel about its author's fear of her own ordinariness and triviality, her dread sexual ancestry with its silence and compromise and mediocrity, the awful frailty of her expressive gift, without which, as she wrote in her diary, she believed she would be nothing at all.It may be that today's woman writer doesn't have much to do with the concept of "women's writing". Feminism as a cultural and political crisis is seen to have passed. Marriage, motherhood and domesticity are regarded as so many choices, about which there is a limited entitlement to complain. If a woman feels suffocated and grounded and bewildered by her womanhood, she feels these things alone, as an individual: there is currently no public unity among women, because since the peak of feminism the task of woman has been to assimilate herself with man. She is, therefore, occluded, scattered, disguised. Were a woman writer to address her sex, she would not know who or what she was addressing. Superficially this situation resembles equality, except that it occurs within the domination of "masculine values". What today's woman has gained in personal freedom she has lost in political caste. Hers is still the second sex, but she has earned the right to dissociate herself from it.In this context Simone de Beauvoir's assertion that one is not born a woman but becomes one gains a new kind of potency. If modern woman has no identity, her "becoming" is both more random and more mysterious. The danger, surely, is that she will "become" – violently – in those parts of life where her sex can be experienced as unitary. In other words, if the difference of gender goes unexamined – is made to seem as though it doesn't exist – the girl will be more, not less, magnetised and fascinated by that difference. And she will look around her and see that the politicians, the captains of industry, the bankers and the power-brokers and the commentators are mostly men. This may be the reason – if there can be a reason – for the woman writer to risk taking femaleness and female values as her subject. "The fact is that the traditional woman is a mystified consciousness and an instrument of mystification," De Beauvoir writes. "She tries to conceal her dependence from herself, which is a way of consenting to it." Some of the most passionate writing in The Second Sex concerns the ways in which women seek to protect their privileges and property under patriarchy by condemning or ridiculing the honesty of other women. This remains true today: woman continues to act as an "instrument of mystification" precisely where she fears and denies her own dependence. For the woman writer this is a scarifying prospect. She can find herself disowned in the very act of invoking the deepest roots of shared experience. Having taken the trouble to write honestly, she can find herself being read dishonestly. And in my own experience as a writer, it is in the places where honesty is most required – because it is here that compromise and false consciousness and "mystification" continue to endanger the integrity of a woman's life – that it is most vehemently rejected. I am talking, of course, about the book of repetition, about fiction that concerns itself with what is eternal and unvarying, with domesticity and motherhood and family life. The sheer intolerance, in 2009, for these subjects is the unarguable proof that woman is on the verge of surrendering important aspects of her modern identity.So the woman writer looking for work will still find plenty in the task of demystification, of breaking the silence that forms like fog around iterative female experience. She won't win the Man Booker prize for writing the book of repetition: she will, as De Beauvoir perceived, irritate and antagonise rather than please. What's worse, she may have to give back some of her privileges to write it. She may have to come out of her room, and take up her old place behind the sitting room door.Rachel CuskVirginia WoolfSimone de BeauvoirDoris Lessingguardian.co.uk &copy; Guardian News & Media Limited 2009 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds

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<title>&#x27;An intense listener and a great talker&#x27;</title>
<link>http://feeds.guardian.co.uk/~r/theguardian/books/rss/~3/OBk50MqEs4o/gordon-burn-gillian-wearing-obituaries-2009</link>
<description><![CDATA[The opinionated and lyrical writer who died of cancer, on 17 July, aged 61, is remembered by the Turner Prize-winning artistGordon would fix you with a stare and you would never quite know what was going on inside his head; his penetrating eyes were always sizing up the situation – you couldn't tell if his thoughts were positive or negative.&nbsp;These were my first impressions of him, and not ones that would entirely go away, but that was the power of Gordon's presence. He was an intense listener and a great talker who was incredibly funny and incisive. In the end I found that he was actually a big softie, devoted to his lovely partner, Carol Gorner.Gordon loved talking about ideas, discussing them with artists, drinking and hanging out with them. He was more like a conceptual artist; he could talk about your work and would give very frank opinions if you asked him, which is rare in most people you befriend.&nbsp;Before I got to know him I had already read Happy Like Murderers, his brilliant but very disturbing account of Fred and Rosemary West.&nbsp; Gordon had got inside the head of Fred West and had been able to conjure up some of his musings and repetitive thoughts. A lot of his interest lay in the darkest side of human nature. He also wrote a very powerful book about the Yorkshire Ripper – Somebody's Husband, Somebody's Son. His articles on art and candid interviews with artists showed how close and deep he could get into their way of thinking.&nbsp; He could be both critical and passionate about art at the same time.Writers are not known for being good at keeping in contact, but if you emailed Gordon he was surprisingly fast at replying, and when I mentioned I would like to read Alma Cogan, one of his novels, the book was sent to me within days. Last year he sent me and Michael Landy, my partner, some fresh fish in the post… I am still trying to work out why.On hearing of his death, I immediately, and very selfishly, thought, "I want another  conversation with him." Gordon had so much insight, and he is one person I could have talked to all day, even if it would have been about Strictly Come Dancing, which was one of his favourite TV programmes.The last time I saw Gordon was at a dinner with Carol and Michael. Gordon had been out of action for months due to an inflamed colon, but he was in a celebratory mood, as he had been given the all clear with regards to cancer and was treating himself to a few glasses of wine. But his thoughts, because of this recent illness, had been on death; we spoke about Jade Goody, Angus Fairhurst, who had taken his own life the previous year and who had also suffered from an inflamed colon. He also talked about his recent colonoscopy, how the women doing the procedure were chatting away. That was the last time I saw him. He did have cancer, probably hidden by inflammation.I really will miss Gordon, he still had so much more to give creatively. There are not many people like him.★&nbsp;Gordon Burnguardian.co.uk &copy; Guardian News & Media Limited 2009 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds

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<item rdf:about="http://feeds.guardian.co.uk/~r/theguardian/books/rss/~3/SzqoNo9pPis/jenny-uglow-interview-paul-laity">
<title>A life in writing</title>
<link>http://feeds.guardian.co.uk/~r/theguardian/books/rss/~3/SzqoNo9pPis/jenny-uglow-interview-paul-laity</link>
<description><![CDATA['I like biography so much – because it's somehow easier being somebody else'There's something winning about Jenny Uglow's insistence that she's always been "terribly lucky". The author of a string of hugely admired historical biographies, she still refuses to think of herself as "a writer with a capital 'W'". A distinguished figure in publishing who's known as "the best editor in London", she still expresses surprise that Chatto & Windus, where she is editorial director, tolerates her preference to work part-time. She "slipped by accident" into becoming the adviser on every worthwhile period drama on TV. And it becomes clear she considers the whole idea of being interviewed for a newspaper profile "a little weird".Sitting in the kitchen of her house in Canterbury, almost her first remark is that she just lives an "ordinary family life". Later, in the course of remembering her student acting days, she wonders whether "that's why I like biography so much – because it's somehow easier being somebody else". But her capacity for self-effacement is matched by her friendliness and the enthusiasm she radiates when talking about her work. She isn't reflective about the writing process, she says; she's "much happier talking about the stuff".At Chatto, she has edited such stellar titles as AS Byatt's novels since Possession, Edmund White's Genet, David Kynaston's four-volume history of the City, and Virginia Woolf and Edith Wharton by her close friend since college, Hermione Lee. Uglow describes herself as happily "plunged by editing into different worlds all the time", and it doesn't take much encouragement for her to turn the focus of conversation away from herself towards a "thrilling" volume on stained-glass windows, or a "fabulous" new study of Montaigne.Uglow's own books similarly originate in an eagerness to share her sense of enthrallment: "I always get terribly excited and want to say to other people 'Hey, look'." As a result her writing is, according to Peter Conrad, "aglow with affection", and she admits to feeling very partial towards the biographical subjects she chooses ("you're on their team. And you get really cross with people who are against them").Her biographies span art, literature and science, and together they map a route of rigorous but evidently gleeful intellectual discovery. There are many connections, more or less obvious, between the works. Elizabeth Gaskell, for instance, a life of whom Uglow published in 1993, had family ties to Erasmus Darwin and Josiah Wedgwood, who are at the centre of The Lunar Men, her account of the 18th-century Lunar Society, so-called because it met around the time of the full moon, when there was enough light to walk home.Wedgwood had "witty, minutely observed landscape vignettes" by the Northumbrian engraver and naturalist Thomas Bewick on some sets of his Queensware. Bewick, who democratised book illustration, is another of Uglow's subjects, and is described by her as "an adherent to the Hogarthian, English school that placed the particular above the general or idealised, the observed above the academic" (which might be said to be her own method too). Her much-heralded biography of Hogarth was published in 1997. Before that was a "little book on Henry Fielding", who was Hogarth's good friend.Incorrigibly curious herself, she reflects that "looking at different times, I always find curiosity an engaging quality". It's easy to see why she found the Lunar Society irresistible. Its members – who included James Watt and Joseph Priestley as well as Darwin and Wedgwood – were astonishingly inventive and adventurous, building clocks and telescopes, flying in hot-air balloons, inventing machines that could speak, and coming up with recipes for disappearing ink. Darwin even designed a mechanical bird whose wings were to be flapped by the detonation of small charges of gunpowder. "There was a sense of possibility that you could make anything," Uglow marvels. "Take an imaginative leap then fit the technology to it."Having immersed herself in 18th-century science, an obvious pathway was further back to the beginnings of the Royal Society, set up in 1660, the year Charles II returned to England to assume the throne. But curiosity got the better of Uglow once again, and she became, she says, intrigued by the Restoration and by Charles II himself – his appetite for pleasure, his own interest in the "new science" and his often risky strategies for survival."I have written about artists and writers, inventors and scientists," she says in the prologue to her new book about Charles, A Gambling Man, but "what if a person's art is also his life, his role simply 'being the king'?"In a related sense, too, A Gambling Man represents a departure for Uglow. "My books look as if they're on disparate subjects,'" she says, "but I realise after having written them that they're all about stroppy bourgeois radicals who were fighting the centre." And it's with these people that her sympathies lie. But "I began to wonder what things look like from the heart of power. And it's outrageous, of course, but it's also an amazing viewpoint".She was "gripped" by the ecstatic moment of the Restoration: "people really thought their lives would change. It's very moving." The events called to mind more recent political upheavals, in particular 1989 – "those astonishing scenes on television, everybody out in the street in eastern Europe. Then when I was finishing the book, there was Washington on the TV, with people crying with happiness at the election of Obama."When Charles landed in Dover in May 1660, "Onlookers wept. Bonfires flared . . . fires sprang from beacon to beacon, lighting him home." As his coach headed towards a tumultuous reception in London, "country girls with laced bodices and wide-sleeved smocks . . . ran to throw flowers." I'm really a republican, Uglow admits, "but I grew up with fairy tales" – she is susceptible to the allure of a prince charming returning home.There were, she remembers, "a lot of Greek myths and stories about Hannibal", as well as fairy tales, on the bookshelves of her childhood home in Cumbria. Her father was a classics teacher at St Bee's school on the coast; her mother, who came from the Lleyn Peninsula at the tip of North Wales, was a Froebel teacher to young children. As befits an enthusiast of Bewick, she talks a little wistfully of the rural landscape she grew up with – "mountains sloping down to the sea".From the age of seven to 13, she went to "an eccentric school called Calder Girls (long since closed) in Seascale. It was very free and easy, run by two ladies, Miss Bellamy and Miss Gardner, one tall and thin, the other short and fat. We had swimming lessons in the sea, and the grass on the tennis courts was knee-deep. Wonderful."That all changed when the family moved south and Uglow was sent to Cheltenham Ladies College, where she recalls "battling against the system. There were all these rules. What side of the stairs to go up . . . I didn't understand the logic." She describes herself as being "saved by good English teachers", in particular the poet UA Fanthorpe, who died last year: "She was a brilliant analyst of literary and poetic forms – making me understand how great writers respect form yet push against it. She was also the person I turned to when I got into trouble."After five years as an undergraduate and graduate at St Anne's College, Uglow felt the need to "get out of Oxford", largely because she took against the tone of "urbane, ironic detachment" that prevailed in the common rooms there. "We were an outspoken, passionate lot." Uglow met her husband, Steve, at Oxford; they married in 1971. When he was at Berkeley, they travelled in a camper van through Mexico: "very much of the period".The couple moved to London, where they lived in a big, shared house in Cornwall Gardens, Kensington. "A group of us got together and bought it . . . everything had to be done by committee; it was a nightmare, of course." She and Steve were involved in grassroots radical politics – "it was the era of cyclostyle magazines and going off to meetings". Uglow got a job at Macmillan, where she worked for a few years.They then moved to Canterbury, and have stayed there ever since (Steve Uglow is a professor of criminal justice at the University of Kent). Between 1975 and 1983 Uglow had four children (three sons and a daughter). She also helped set up one of the first women's refuges and taught adult education courses for the WEA: "It led me to a different kind of reading – very direct." Encountering the work of Raymond Williams and EP Thompson "was like opening a window after the stuffy rooms of formal literary criticism. Different writers sprang into focus, and alerted me to a rich 'people's culture' – not so much 'popular culture'."This had an obvious influence: her own books are celebrated for their vivid reimaginings of everyday lives in the past. ("She has a novelist's imagination as well as a historian's, and has a brilliant eye for detail" says Byatt. "Her writing captures what it's like to cook a certain stew or take a particular Northumbrian walk in wet weather.") Another hero was Angela Carter, whose journalism and other writings Uglow edited into a collection entitled Shaking a Leg. "I adored her," Uglow says. "Her stories and novels were wild, bloody-minded and brilliant, funny and dark (and empowering, to use a word from those early feminist days)."One product of her freelancing was the Macmillan Biographical Dictonary of Women, first published in 1982, and now in its fourth edition. Its origins lay&nbsp;in Uglow's work for the reference division of the publishing house, and her frustration that all the books of facts were "full of bloody men". It "was&nbsp;a mad undertaking" she has written since, "born of a time when feminists wanted heroines and didn't have Google".She was also one of the gang who helped Carmen Callil with Virago, and wrote a number of introductions to the Modern Classics (Mrs Oliphant, Mary Braddon, Mrs Humphry Ward), before embarking, suitably daunted, on George Eliot, for the Virago Pioneers series – "I didn't think I could do it; it was touching the hem."Uglow was pulled back into publishing by Callil who, when she became publisher of Chatto in 1982, hired her to relaunch the Hogarth Press and run it as a radical paperback list. Her editing skills soon became renowned. In Byatt's words, "Jenny has this capacity of knowing exactly what you're talking about at an earlier stage than anybody else. Her mode of editing is precise. She makes very few suggestions but most I immediately accept. I've never had another editor like that."Kynaston, who is also struck by how very quickly she grasps things, remembers that the only time he ever saw Uglow discomposed was the time he "brought into Chatto a copy of her Gaskell biography to have her sign it. It was lying on her desk when Carmen Callil approached. The formidable Callil was a little cross it hadn't been published by Chatto and Jenny said . . . 'Put it away, quick, put it away!'"All but one of Uglow's major books have been published by Faber, beginning with her life of Gaskell, whom she continues to admire as "a daring, pioneering writer, determined to speak out against injustice", and whose cause she was able to champion two years ago, during the screening of the much-loved BBC adaptation of Cranford, in which she was involved as&nbsp;adviser.Her first job of this kind – going through scripts, checking for anachronisms and making suggestions – was on Tom Jones in 1997, "just after I'd written on Fielding. I just kept doing it for fun. A lot of my work has been on Andrew Davies adaptations. It can be maddening but I'm still fascinated by the difference between novel and film, the way dialogue works and the need to 'see' scenes in every tiny detail." Her credits include the film of Pride and Prejudice as well as Bleak House, The Way We Live Now and Wives and Daughters.Davies describes her as "pure gold, so clued up and curious. The other day, thinking about the fact that the Hottentot Venus and Mr Darcy were contemporaries, I emailed her to ask if there were any situations where they could plausibly have encountered each other. She came up with a couple straight away." Working on the script of Vanity Fair, Davies tried out another adviser, but the interloper was phased out when it became clear that only Uglow properly knew the disreputable things that went on in 19th-century pleasure gardens.It is Uglow's success in different spheres that is highlighted in friends' descriptions of her. "Everybody is aghast at what she's achieved," says Callil. "Jenny always struck me as amazingly busy, caring for her family, researching her books and holding down a packed job as an editor," Edmund White remembers. "She seems a bit scatter-brained or at least breathless, but in fact her mind is beautifully organised – how else could she do so much? Hermione Lee once told me that when she would visit a new place with Jenny, within a matter of hours Jenny had sussed out the entire region, taken notes, absorbed everything: she is Henry James's ideal, the person on whom nothing is wasted."Lee herself talks of Uglow having "more than one life. And she lives them all with extraordinary fullness and a sense of fun."It's certainly hard to think of a publisher at the top of the profession in Britain, now or in recent memory, who is as prolific and feted a writer. Lee, Callil and Davies all refer to her as a "kind of genius" – "and now she's a grandmother, too", Callil adds. "She doesn't suffer fools, though," Byatt says. "She may not make a lot of noise about it, but she doesn't." Kynaston describes her as "driven, a smoker, not too interested in food" (Callil emails especially to say "another good thing about Jenny is she's a smoker – or used to be").One of Uglow's secrets, perhaps, is that she long ago realised she didn't want to spend more than two days a week in an office. She describes herself as "not a natural nine-to-fiver. It's a very privileged thing to say, I know, but something about my programming doesn't fit that life."It is at home in Canterbury, now cluttered again with young children's toys, that she works on her books – as sharply detailed, humane and entertaining as Bewick's woodcuts. And if her mind slows, she goes outside and spends half an hour gardening, her passion for which, like her modesty, can be seen as one sort of thoroughgoing Englishness. "It is a misty November morning," she writes at the beginning of A Little History of British Gardening. "Each blade of grass gleams and leans, heavy with moisture, and the air is so still that leaves from the oak tree at the end of my garden fall straight down, twirling and landing like a whisper." It sounds better than the office to me.Paul Laityguardian.co.uk &copy; Guardian News & Media Limited 2009 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds

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<title>Miss McConkey of Bridgewater Close</title>
<link>http://feeds.guardian.co.uk/~r/theguardian/books/rss/~3/Fo7JbwlADLM/petina-gappah-awardwinner-short-story</link>
<description><![CDATA[A new short story by Petina Gappah, winner of the Guardian first book award, 2009When I saw her yesterday, Miss McConkey looked vital and frail at the same time, like a cross between Doris Lessing and poor, murdered Cora Lansquenet. She stood in the queue for the only cashier inside the OK supermarket that replaced the Bon Marché at Mabelreign shopping centre. She carried her head as she always had done, slightly tilted to the left, and her hair, all white now, was pinned into a large bun at the top of her head. When I was a little girl, her hair reminded me of Mam'zelle's at Mallory Towers. Not Mam'zelle Rougier, who was thin and sour and never any fun, but Mam'zelle Dupont, who was plump and jolly. Her eyes, unlike Mam'zelle Dupont's, which were never still and sparkled and gleamed behind her lorgnettes, did not twinkle behind her round glasses. For all the time that had passed, I would have known her anywhere, and besides, you can count on all eight fingers the number of white people left in the whole of Mabelreign, from Sentosa to Bluff Hill, from Meyrick Park to Cotswold Hills.She took an inordinate amount of time to get her things onto the counter, sugar, and pasta, tomato puree, a packet of onions and two cans of condensed milk, Mazoe orange crush, a loaf of bread, a crate of eggs, seven packets of candles and three packets of Irvine's Chik pet food. "That will be seventy five billion three hundred million and six hundred thousand dollars," the cashier said.She took out four bricks of notes, unpeeled some from one and handed over the rest. The cashier took the bands off the bricks and put the money through a money counter.When the whirring sound stopped, and the red button blinked to indicate the amount, the cashier said, "It's short by five hundred million.""That can't be," Miss McConkey said. "Your machine must be broken. I have just this minute come from the bank."The cashier counted out the money, spreading the notes in little heaps of billions and millions across the counter. By now the line of shoppers holding their shopping, mainly the packets of candles that had been rumoured to be available only at the OK in Mabelreign, were murmuring mutiny. The counting continued. The machine was not broken."Do you have enough?" asked the cashier."What?" said Miss McConkey.The cashier scowled and sighed and said, "Money. Do you have enough money?""More money," Miss McConkey said."Pardon?" said the cashier."More, not enough. Have you more money?""Have you more money?" the cashier repeated loudly."There is no need to shout like that," Miss McConkey said. "Wait."She rummaged in her bag to find the notes she had unpeeled, but these with the others failed to add to seventy five billion three hundred million and six hundred thousand dollars."Maybe you can go back to the bank and ask," suggested the cashier."It's closed now, isn't it," said Miss McConkey, "and what's the use?""We can take some off," the cashier said.She reached for the pet food."I'll decide, thank you," Miss McConkey said."Kanotofidha imbwa mari kasina," said a voice behind me.I moved forward to the till."I know her," I said to the cashier in Shona, and in English, to Miss McConkey, I said, "I would be very happy to help you pay for your groceries.""No, thank you," Miss McConkey said without looking at me."Miss McConkey," I said.She looked at me then."You live in Bridgewater Close," I said, "At number seventeen. I know your house, and I can always get the money later."I ignored the mutters coming from behind me and continued, "You were my headmistress at HMS Junior." Then I told her my name. She looked blank, and no wonder, I had given her my real name. I told her my school name."Of course," she said. "You were in Kudu.""You have a good memory," I said.I gave her the money for her groceries, paid for mine, and after a tussle, she agreed that I could carry her bags to her car. Her car was parked on the other side of Stortford Parade, facing the market and the church. It was a yellow Datsun 120Y I remembered, the car that made my heart beat as I saw it drive past."I was not headmistress for long after you got there, was I?"She looked straight into me, and I was a child again, the old fear gripped my heart, and I thought that she must know that it was because of me that she no longer stood on the stage in the hall, flanked between the two merit boards and all of HMS Junior, from KG1 to Grade 7Blue answered with one voice and said, "Good Morning Miss McConkey."❦We were always the first at the things that mattered to my parents. So it was no surprise to anyone when my parents moved to Cotswold Hills, when I was seven, the year that the white people who ran our country opened up the areas that they had closed to the blacks.My father worked for a bank in town. Our family was the first in the street to own a car, a yellow Citroen called bambadatya in the township because of its crouching frog shape. I was the first child I ever knew to get on an aeroplane, to Victoria Falls, not to see the waterfall but my father, who worked there briefly for six months.For years after that, my mother kept the tickets stuck prominently in the photo album, next to a picture of us standing by the Air Rhodesia plane. When visitors asked to see the photo album, and they asked what the tickets were, my mother, in a voice that worked too hard to be casual said, "Oh, these are just plane tickets from the time we went to Vic Falls." She made sure to call it Vic Falls because that is what the captain had said when we landed, "Welcome to Vic Falls," he said, "on this bright and sunny day," and she never called it anything else after that.Shortly after the plane ride, but long after he bought the car, we moved out of Specimen and into Glen Norah B, to one of the smart flats that were a street from the township, where we were not the first to have a car, but we were the first to have both a telephone and a television. My father was not content to live in the African townships, in Mbare and Highfield, Mabvuku and Glen Norah; nor for him the African suburbs of Westwood, just one road from Kambuzuma, or Marimba Park, ten steps removed from Mufakose. On Sundays after church, he took us for long drives along Salisbury Drive and pointed out Borrowdale, Cotswold Hills, Marlborough and Mount Pleasant, Highlands, Avondale, Bluff Hill, places whose very names evoked wonderful lives that were closed to us because the Prime Minister had decreed that not in a thousand years would black people ever rule Rhodesia.We moved in the year of the internal settlement. The houses were quiet on undusty streets. There were trees, flowers and lawns everywhere. There were green hedges, and low gates with signs on which a silhouetted dog snarled at a man with the words "Beware of the dog, bassopo la inja". Milkmen deposited bottles of milk with gold and silver tops outside, and no one stole them. In our living room with a fireplace and a maroon fitted carpet, we watched television adverts for Solo, the margarine for families with an appetite for life, for Pro-Nutro, the balance of nature, and Sunlight for that fresh, sharp clean. That Christmas, my parents had a party for all our relatives. My father danced my mother around and around while David Scobie sang "Gypsy Girl". All the guests cried enko enko enko so that by the time I went to sleep that night, I knew all the words to the song and the tanatana tanatana tanatana of the chorus wove its way into my dreams.❦In January I started at my new school. It was called Henry Morton Stanley Junior School but everyone called it HMS Junior. On the morning of my first day, I met Miss McConkey. "I can't pronounce Zvamaida," she said, as she wrote my name down. "Has she no other name?"As it happened I did, my second name, Hester, named for my father's dead sister, a name I hated. I was lucky, I suppose, Lucia in Grade 3Red did not have any name other than Chioniso, so her mother plucked Lucia out of the air of Miss McConkey's office. She sometimes forgot her new name and got into trouble.I left Zvamaida behind in Glen Norah, and Hester took her place, a Hester who missed the old school, where the voices of children in unison could be heard chanting the twelve times table, or "Sleep baby mine, the jackals by the river are calling soft across the dim lagoon where tufted rows&nbsp;of mealies stand aquiver under a silver moon."In March, all the five black children who had started school on the same day were called to Miss McConkey's office. A missing book had been found in the bag of Gary in Grade 5Red who was Garikai at home. One of us had been found to be a thief and a liar, she told us. She gave a long talk about standards, and when we looked down at our feet, in the manner of respectful African children trained not to look adults in the eye, she talked about the importance of not being shifty.Gary's theft came to define our relationship to one another. Until more black children joined the school much later, the five of us were linked by the hard fact of our colour, but separated by the greater gulfs of sex and age, and above all, by an urgent need to show that we were not all like each other. We wanted white friends, they had all the nice things, they had different things on their sandwiches, like Marmite and polony and cheese. They went to South Africa on holidays, and brought back Smarties. They knew all the Van jokes and what you got when you crossed a kangaroo with a ball of string, what was black and white and red all over, what the biscuit said after it got run over, why the one-handed man crossed the road. For Christmas, they didn't get clothes from the Edgars red hanger sale that they wore to school on Civvies day, they got annuals, like Misty and Jacky, and the Beano and Whizzer and Chips. They got Rubik's cubes, and yoyos, and Monopoly and Ludo. They could hold their breaths for two widths underwater, and sometimes, like Evan Smith, for two lengths. They had their own hockey sticks, tennis rackets, and cricket bats, and did not use the old worn ones belonging to the school. Their mothers got their name tags from Barbours; they did not sew them on with uneven hands. And their fathers' radios did not say nditaki nzvee kwaAmato wandiona, or have the Jarzin Man's exhortations to shop at Jarzin kune zvekudya zvine mitengo yakaderera.The only white children who befriended us, at least in that first lonely year, were the misfits and outcasts, the children whose company everyone else shunned. Gary took up with Keith Culverton whose family was large enough to be African, whose two dogs were said to have rabies, and who often came to school dressed in the big shorts of his older brother. After Ian Moffat's mother caused a scene at the school when her husband ran off to live with Miss Adamson, who taught Grade 5Red, Ian Moffat turned from the humiliation and became friends with Vusani. And when Antonia de Souza dropped the baton and made Kudu come last at the inter-house race, no one would play with her because she ran like a spastic (and besides, said Stacey Collins, she was not really European, just Portuguese) she talked mainly to Lucia who had made Eland come first in the same race but was only given the shared cup long after we had forgotten that it was she who had led Eland to victory.I had Lara, Lara Van Tonder, the only Van in a class addicted to van jokes, fat Lara whom everyone began to call Blubber after Mrs Crowther told us about whales. She was too fat to run or swim and when she walked fast her breath came quickly in little hisses. Lara liked me to brush her hair a hundred strokes in the school playground, and she made me count each one. "If you brush it enough, at least three times a day" she said, "it will become golden, like Pauline Fossil's." I did not believe this really, but I did it anyway, because Lara had a pool at home that she could not swim in, so she sat with her legs dangling in the pool, while I splashed and picked up coins from the bottom of the pool, and I was happy because we were just like Darrel and Mary-Lou in Mallory Towers.❦Miss McConkey lived two streets away from our house, in Bridgewater Close, and she often passed me in her Datsun 120Y. I made sure to straighten my shoulders when I saw her car, or when I walked past her house to take the short cut home. One time, as I walked down Pat Palmer with no shoes on and enjoyed the hard heat of the road under my feet, I saw her car and hid in the ditch until she passed.At school, I saw her every day at assembly, and in the corridors when she saw us walking in clusters she said, single file, children. Only in the third term, as Prizegiving Night approached, did I see her frequently. It was the school tradition, we were told, for HMS Junior to celebrate on that night the discovery of David Livingstone by HM Stanley. There was a poem that the school recited, a long and active poem in which there was a Livingstone and a Stanley, lots of concerned people in England wondering what had happened to Livingstone and lots of natives doing dances and naming all the places Livingstone had discovered.The star was Keith Timmons, the captain of Roan. He was Stanley in an explorer hat and declaimed, in a voice loud with concern: "Oh, where is Dr Livingstone, Dr David Livingstone, who went away to Africa to tread the track unbeaten?" Then twenty children, who were supposed to be the people in England said: "We haven't had a letter for so long, perhaps we'd better send Mr HM Stanley, just to see if he's been eaten.""And sing with me in chorus," said Stanley, "while the natives do a romp-o." The five of us, the five black children, were to be the chorus and in loud voices, we chanted, "Nyasa and Zambesi and Cabango and Kabompo, Chambese and Ujiji and Ilala and Dilolo, Shapanga and Katanga, not forgetting Bangweolo!" We danced and stomped and beat our drums like our lives depended on it. Lucia and I added a little flourish by trying to ululate like we had seen our mothers do. "Well done children," Miss McConkey said. We were the finest natives that the school had ever seen, she said.❦It was my uncle Gift who changed everything. He had fought in the war as Comrade White Destroyer, and returned with little patience for what he called diehard renegade elements. He worked in the Department of Youth Affairs and Employment Creation, and he told his boss about our poem and his boss called someone at the Herald, and Miss McConkey was in the news and then she was not the headmistress any more. There was another headmaster, a Coloured man called Mr Marchand and the teachers, said my parents, would not work under him so they would go to South Africa. Uncle Gift said there was no place for people like that in the country, but my mother was worried about the white teachers leaving because she wanted me to have a good accent.I was never called to Miss McConkey's office again because she had no office. She stayed on, teaching the remedial class for the slow learners, until there were no white teachers left at the school and only a sprinkling of white children. I became so afraid of Miss McConkey that I took to going the long way home, down Pat Palmer and into Cotswold Way, and thus managed to avoid Bridgewater for the rest of my life at HMS Junior. When I left to go to secondary school, she was still teaching the remedial class, never knowing that it was I who had changed her life forever. I did not see her again until yesterday, when she ran out of money in OK.❦I carried her bag of groceries for her and walked her to her car."Out there then, are you?" she said."I live in Australia now, Miss McConkey," I said. "In Melbourne."I thought she would say something more and waited, but she said nothing as she got into her car. She closed the door and said "You make sure you come and get your money.""Yes, Miss McConkey," I said."You run along now," she said."Goodbye, Miss McConkey," I said.She started her car without another word, and drove into Stortford Parade, past the Polyclinic that used to be the veterinary surgery, and past Wessex Drive. I watched her until her car turned left into the Harare Drive, the old Salisbury Drive along which my father had driven us a lifetime ago. I watched her until she disappeared from my view.Guardian first book awardPetina Gappahguardian.co.uk &copy; Guardian News & Media Limited 2009 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds

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<title>Inside Yarl&#x27;s Wood immigration centre</title>
<link>http://feeds.guardian.co.uk/~r/theguardian/books/rss/~3/AExZ5yJtjSc/yarls-wood-immigration-children</link>
<description><![CDATA[Author Beverley Naidoo, who herself first came to the UK seeking refuge, is moved and saddened by the plight of children she meets detained in a UK immigration centreYarl's Wood immigration removal centre is not exactly easy to reach. Our taxi from Bedford station drives through the village of Clapham, with its 11th-century church and ancient yews, then out again through fields. Suddenly, we see low-lying buildings like those on a modern industrial estate. A lone man walks purposefully with a dog. From inside a glass-paned office, a man waves us through the boom gates. His uniform could be that of a security guard in any official establishment.Karin Littlewood is an illustrator and I'm a writer. We're going to run a storytelling workshop – organised by Women for Refugee Women – with children detained in Yarl's Wood, and we have been instructed to bring Criminal Records Bureau "enhanced disclosure" forms and visual ID. This concern over child protection sits oddly with instances of children being seized in dawn raids.About 1,000 children are locked up every year under immigration rules, many of them in families who have sought asylum. Yarl's Wood is the main centre for detaining children, with about 30 held at any one time. Although the government says it detains families only as a last resort, just prior to removal, the majority of these children are released back into the community. Many will later be granted leave to remain in the UK.We step into the visitors' centre under a sign that reads: "Serco bringing service to life." Karin has brought rolls of drawing paper, as well as original paintings from our picture book Baba's Gift. We've had to specify in advance every item that we wish to bring. Apart from books to give to the children and library, our list includes a little wooden elephant and hippo, a finger-puppet hare, a small mbira (thumb piano) and an oyster shell.As we walk along an empty corridor, I scribble down words from a notice: "Yarl's Wood IRC is committed to promoting and celebrating racial equality and diversity." We are searched in a claustrophobic little room, with two women guards, then a door is unlocked and I step into a huge visitors' waiting room with comfy seats and children's toys, overseen by a single guard. By the time Karin has been processed, we've lost a third of our workshop time.Five locked doors and corridors decorated with murals lead to Crane section for families – mainly mothers with children. We are introduced to the primary teacher. The young lady smiles and we shake hands, but my brain takes time to connect. She is wearing the Serco uniform, with keys attached to her waist. A guard-cum-teacher or a teacher-cum-guard?Along more corridors and through an indoor sports hall, we come to patches of grass, high wire fences, and two elongated chalets that house newly-opened schoolrooms. The secondary schoolteacher, also with uniform and keys, greets us. It's unusual to run a workshop for people ranging in age from five to 16, but there is nothing usual about today.School inside Yarl's Wood is voluntary. Today, three older students are attending, along with 11 younger children from Albania, Egypt, Namibia, Uganda, Kenya, Jamaica and Nigeria. Some have just arrived in Yarl's Wood. For one boy, it's his 37th day. As I give them my South African handshake, a boy of about 10 immediately asks whether I can speak Afrikaans. He asks, and I answer, in Afrikaans. I tell him I have forgotten a lot. Quietly, he replies: "My ook (Me too)." I catch the sadness in his eyes and ask: "What places do you know in South Africa?" Jo'burg, he says. "But I'm a Jo'burg girl!" I exclaim. I pull out a copy of my book Journey to Jo'burg. Within seconds, his head is buried in it.Most of the children seem to speak English, and within seconds we are playing a name game to break the ice. I sense a generosity from the older students. How easy it would be for them to dismiss our workshop as something for little kids.Introducing Baba's Gift, about two children's first trip to the seaside in South Africa, I recount how I wrote the story with my daughter, Maya. I slip in that many years ago I came to Britain seeking refuge. I tell them how Maya had wanted to set a story in the place where her father grew up, but from which we'd been cut off for many years. Karin interweaves my reading by showing her artwork close up, drawing in the teens. They are intrigued.The children begin to open out. I retell a traditional African story from my collection, The Great Tug of War, about the little hare, Mmutla, who must use his wits against the powerful, bossier animals. Karin draws the animal characters as I act out how Mmutla tricks the elephant, Ttlou, and the hippo, Kubu, into a tug of war with each other. Beneath these age-old stories is the message about resilience that enslaved Africans carried to America and kept alive through Brer Rabbit. In identifying with the little hare, I hope the children may gain their own strength.Our workshop has to finish before Karin has time to get everyone drawing, but she leaves a painting of Mmutla tugging a rope. It stretches across a long roll of paper, and the teachers say they will give the children a chance to draw in their own players for this new tug of war.Karin asks the two small boys from Albania to help hold up the paper. They have avoided eye contact and been terribly quiet. If for a brief moment we might have almost forgotten where we are, these young siblings most visibly remind us that here are children undergoing a deeply traumatising experience.The government has signed up to the UN Convention on the Rights of the Child, yet its policy runs completely counter to the spirit of the convention. It pays Serco to "normalise" the imprisonment of children – something morally abhorrent that should never be considered normal.Moral issueThat is why almost 70 writers and illustrators for young people have this week signed an open letter to Gordon Brown, supporting the End Child Detention Now campaign. It follows a joint report by the Royal Colleges of General Practitioners, Paediatrics and Child Health, and Psychiatrists, and the UK Faculty of Public Health, warning that detaining children in immigration centres puts them at risk of mental health problems, self-harm and suicide, and demanding an end to the practice. This is a cross-party moral issue in which we should ask every MP to stand up to the rising tide of anti-immigrant xenophobia and support Chris Mullin MP's parliamentary motion to stop detaining children.After leaving Yarl's Wood, we meet someone who knows it well, and who says the atmosphere inside has been subdued. Last week, she tells us, a woman was deported, naked. It was her final protest.What else have these young people – who have struck us as so delightful and thoughtful – witnessed in their uprooted lives? Have we no shame?There is an online petition atpetitions.number10.gov.uk/ NoChildDetention Childrenguardian.co.uk &copy; Guardian News & Media Limited 2009 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds

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<title>Stephen Covey&#x27;s butterfly effect on publishing</title>
<link>http://feeds.guardian.co.uk/~r/theguardian/books/rss/~3/x3g529_JFA0/stephen-covey-amazon-rosetta-ebooks</link>
<description><![CDATA[Business book author's decision to move ebook rights to Amazon affiliate Rosetta Books may prove a turning pointThey say the fluttering of a butterfly's wing in the Amazon rainforest can cause a hurricane in the northern hemisphere. Stephen Covey's decision to move from his traditional, conventional publisher, Simon and Schuster, to Rosetta Books an electronic book publisher working in association with Amazon, may turn out to be one of those moments in the history of book publishing when everything changed and wild forces were released into the creative environment.Mind you, Covey has been lucky with his timing. The announcement that he is moving the ebook rights of two of his most successful titles to Amazon.com comes after a week in which the chief executive of Random House US unilaterally declared to literary agents that the imprints under his control had "the exclusive right to publish in electronic book publishing formats". For some commentators this salvo was the opening of hostilities in a war between publishers and authors' representatives that has been in the offing for more than a decade. Covey is not the first US writer to flirt with ebooks, but he is the first to declare a preference for the different business model offered by Amazon. In turn, this begins to look like the fulfilment of those predictions that Amazon's position in the market meant it should become a publisher. In other ways, however, Covey's move is less radical that it might seem. Essentially, he is treating the ebook as an electronic  paperback, selling mass market rights after a conventional hardcover launch with Simon & Schuster, the publisher to whom he is at pains to stress his loyalty. There's also much less risk attached to his contract. Covey's writing sells to a niche market of managerial readers for whom books such as The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People are career bibles. The risk factor inherent in publishing a novel is absent with an author like Covey. We are not talking Virginia Woolf or Kurt Vonnegut here.The ebook sale of classics is the next logical step in a market already under desperate pressure to generate revenue. And that's where traditional publishers start to panic. Backlist sales are the bone marrow of their business. The economics of digital publishing are not yet proven, but it is likely they will give authors a way to make far better returns on their writing than has traditionally been the case. Suddenly, the prospect of a flight from paperbacks seems a possibility. If the mass sales of established titles migrate to an ebook market they cannot control, then they are in the middle of a commercial hurricane that will threaten to blow down their houses, uproot their crops and ultimately drive them to ruin.For the moment, Covey's move will only accelerate publishers' preparations for the shift from ink and paper to the digital screen. The book will not be outmoded, but it will face competition from yet another format.PublishingEbooksAmazon.comE-commerceInternetUnited StatesRobert McCrumguardian.co.uk &copy; Guardian News & Media Limited 2009 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds

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<title>Stephen Covey&#x27;s digital rights deal with Amazon startle New York publishers</title>
<link>http://feeds.guardian.co.uk/~r/theguardian/books/rss/~3/J5h8f8LBMPo/stephen-covey-amazon-ebook-deal</link>
<description><![CDATA[Online editions seen as threat to backlist cash cowThe scramble for survival in the New York publishing world provoked by the rise of the ebook has become so ruthless it makes the Wild West look like a Swiss finishing school.Authors and publishers are squabbling over rights, internet retailers are slugging it out with bookshops, and tech companies are climbing over each other to produce an ebook reader that can challenge Amazon's hit, the Kindle.The latest blast of gunfire has come from one of America's leading authors in the highly lucrative market of business self-help books.Stephen Covey has announced he is selling exclusive digital rights to two of his bestsellers – The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People, and Principle-Centered Leadership – to Amazon, bypassing the traditional publisher, Simon & Schuster, that has up to now handled all his output.The move has put a chill over New York publishing houses already struggling to keep up with the ebook revolution. One of their big fears is that of becoming separated from their backlists, the titles that act as the cash cows of the industry, bringing in a steady and increasingly crucial income in the insecure digital world.As jitters spread, some big publishers have moved to defend what they claim is theirs – the digital rights to the backlist.Random House startled many in the book world this week by sending a letter to agents informing them that, in its view, the publishing house holds the exclusive rights to digital editions of the "vast majority" of its backlist titles. That made authors and their agents see red. They pointed to a ruling by the New York courts as far back as 2002 in which Random House itself failed in an attempt to block on ebook firm from publishing works by the late William Styron, author of Sophie's Choice, and Kurt Vonnegut. The ruling, upheld on appeal, found that copyright for books that were written before digital publishing existed, remained with the author.Arthur Klebanoff, head of RosettaBooks, the ebook company that beat off Random House in 2002, secured Covey's exclusive deal this week with Amazon. He said: "We are very clear about this, the author controls the rights unless it is specified otherwise, and that was settled by the courts years ago."Simon & Schuster, which took a knock over the Covey deal, was taking a softer stance than Random House but not accepting defeat. Adam Rotherberg, a spokesman, would not comment on Covey specifically, but said in general terms it was the company's "intention to publish the electronic editions to our backlist titles".Simon & Schuster, in tandem with other big houses, is trying to protect income from print books by delaying the publication of new ebooks by four or six months after release of the hardback editions.The spat in the US stands in contrast to Britain, where publishers broadly accept that they do not have the rights to the ebook editions of older titles, and authors accept that they should avoid offering ebooks to other publishers."There is a kind of gentleman's agreement," said Anthony Goff, an agent with David Higham, who heads the trade association for literary agents in the UK.One reason for panic in the US is that there the ebook market has already grown to a significant size. Almost $16m (nearly £9m) of ebooks were sold in September, a year-on-year growth of 171%.Amazon enjoys the lion's share of that market through its website and popular Kindle, and the deal with Covey is an indication that it intends to tighten its grip. This year about three million e-readers have been sold in the US, a number that could double in 2010.Although the Kindle is the industry leader it is facing strong competition from the Sony Reader and the Nook, a new offering from book chain Barnes & Noble.A further shake-up lies ahead when Apple wades in, as exected in the spring, with the Apple Tablet.As these behemoths fight it out in an increasingly ungainly display of muscle, the big question is what happens to authors and their readers, which is after all what the fuss is about.Bestselling names such as Covey are likely to prosper, as will their fans who will benefit from knockdown prices. Amazon is selling some titles for as little as $7.99, massively below their paper price.Less well-known authors have yet to reap any rewards.Paul Aiken, head of the Authors Guild, pointed out that most ebook deals award authors 25% of royalties, which, given the lower costs of publishing digitally, is only about a half of the accepted rate in print books."Up to now that hasn't been much of an issue, because the ebook market was so tiny," Aiken said. "Now that's changing, and authors with clout are starting to demand more."EbooksPublishingAmazon.comUnited StatesEd Pilkingtonguardian.co.uk &copy; Guardian News & Media Limited 2009 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds

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<title>A Christmas Carol | Theatre review</title>
<link>http://feeds.guardian.co.uk/~r/theguardian/books/rss/~3/Nqj8Hpz39m8/a-christmas-carol-review-southwark</link>
<description><![CDATA[Southwark Playhouse, LondonPromenade theatre demands  a number of things: interesting space interestingly used, a cloakroom so the audience can follow the action unencumbered, reasonable brevity, or the chance to perch now and again, a limited audience so that everyone can see, sensitive stewarding – and a good reason for the walkabout. Ellie Jones's production fails to offer most of these things, but it&nbsp;certainly has architecture on its side.The underground arches of the playhouse drip mournfully, and double as a grim Victorian London. The space is a major character: there is a wonderful moment when you suddenly find yourself in a graveyard.Jones has opted for Neil Bartlett's spare, steely version of Dickens's story, but lends it a festive air with a big community cast. There is an opportunity to dance at the Fezziwigs' party, sit down with the Cratchits for Christmas lunch (the Cratchit children are such charmers that Bob could surely solve his money problems by putting them on the stage) and experience the tick-tock of passing time in Scrooge's freezing office.With its hand-held lighting it's very atmospheric, but all that tick-tocking and moving from space to space breaks up the action, so it's not always easy to keep a grip on the narrative. Like many Christmas Carols, this one likes to look on the bright side, and David Fielder's cockney, camp Scrooge never feels in need of real redemption. But the whole thing drips (literally, under the arches) with a sense of time and place and could be an unusual festive experience if Jones took more care with the storytelling and upped the pace.Until 9 January. Box office: 020-7407 0234. Rating: 3/5Charles DickensTheatreLyn Gardnerguardian.co.uk &copy; Guardian News & Media Limited 2009 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds

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<item rdf:about="http://feeds.guardian.co.uk/~r/theguardian/books/rss/~3/uhRz2-OlEM8/a-christmas-carol-review">
<title>A Christmas Carol | Theatre review</title>
<link>http://feeds.guardian.co.uk/~r/theguardian/books/rss/~3/uhRz2-OlEM8/a-christmas-carol-review</link>
<description><![CDATA[Sherman Cymru, CardiffThe Sherman's festive shows are always a treat, but Gary Owen's new version of A Christmas Carol is an impressive adaptation for our times. Best of all, the modern touches – references to MPs' expenses, hedge funds and the war in Afghanistan – are subtly done in a production that streamlines and updates the original for a younger audience while keeping its moral core intact.This is a rousing family show, with belly laughs and cheering songs, yet it also presents the dark side of Dickens's tale with tremendous boldness. The depiction of Christmas Future, in which feral children terrorise a house-bound Scrooge, is bleak enough to make us all want to mend our ways.Owen doesn't linger over evidence of Scrooge's miserly, wicked behaviour, opting instead to focus on what brutalised him. The workhouse, a terrifying black mill in Patrick Burnier's stark design, is always quite literally in the background. Director Amy Hodge has, in Mark Frost, opted for a younger Scrooge and this works: he is portrayed as a single-minded, workaholic entrepreneur, the kind who makes the decisions on Dragons' Den.The ghosts are a mix of spectral forms&nbsp;and beasts, from sci-fi nightmares&nbsp;to Simon Nehan's majestically camp performance as Christmas Present, who was played somewhere between an annoying Big Brother contestant and a drag version of&nbsp;Gavin and Stacey's Nessa. There are lots of contemporary references and echoes – the interval is playfully handled like the dramatic hook at the end of a soap opera – but the production, which is boisterous and thoughtful in equal measure, retains a Victorian sternness. Some adaptations ditch this, and others are hemmed in by&nbsp;it; this hugely likable show is confident enough&nbsp;to work with that, and meld it with our world.Until 9 January. Box office: 029 2064 6900.Rating: 4/5Charles DickensTheatreChristmasElisabeth Mahoneyguardian.co.uk &copy; Guardian News & Media Limited 2009 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds

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<title>Watch with mother: what are the scariest children&#x27;s films? | Ben Child</title>
<link>http://feeds.guardian.co.uk/~r/theguardian/books/rss/~3/Y_Rdg3PRoY8/childrens-films-scary</link>
<description><![CDATA[Where the Wild Things Are has been thrilling parents and getting their offspring quivering. Which family films still give you the shakes?Is Where the Wild Things Are, Spike Jonze's retelling of the Maurice Sendak tale about a little boy who finds kindred spirit with a horde of lumbering beasts, too scary for children? It almost certainly depends on the child. What's certain is that kids enjoy being ripped from their existences and challenged on a sensory level just as much as adults do. And they may find the strangest of things terrifying - as a child I was incapable of viewing Sam the blue eagle from the Muppets for more than a few seconds without experiencing epic nightmares that froze me to my very core.Here are some other films which may just have parents reaching for the remote, though any shivers they engender will surely manifest themselves in the form of a sort of delicious fear, capable of holding images fast in the memory long after wide-eyed sprogs have morphed into twinkle-eyed grown-ups.In her true shape, with gaunt features and those razor sharp, needle-like talons, The Other Mother from this year's Coraline is a creature from your worst nightmares. But earlier in Henry Selick's film, prior to her transformation, she's perhaps even more chilling: what could be more terrifying to a child than a figure who appears to be a kinder, more attentive version of one's own parent, yet in reality longs to imprison you for eternity by sewing buttons in place of your peepers?Selick was also responsible for directing the Tim Burton-penned TheNightmare Before Christmas. The scene in which the sinister Oogie Boogie holds Father Christmas captive and sings maniacally about his horrifying plans for poor old Santa seems custom-designed to give little ones the chills. Not only does he get his kicks from menacing an untouchable icon of childhood, Boogie is eventually revealed to be made entirely out of creepy crawly bugs. Ugh.Long before Johnny Depp's ill-advised and equally creepy (in a wholedifferent kind of way) Michael Jackson impersonation for Burton's versionof Roald Dahl's classic tale, Gene Wilder was petrifying small childrenwith the bizarre boat ride scene in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. Powered by the automaton-like Oompa Loompas, it's a lurid bad trip with the stary-eyed Wonka at its centre, mouthing off-key couplets as the vessel moves ever forwards.Nicolas Roeg's The Witches may have been based on Dahl's rather politically incorrect conceit that bald women from eastern Europe are the epitome of all evil, but there's no denying that the makeup artists who transformed Anjelica Huston into the Grand High Witch more than deserved their pay cheques.The macabre death scene of the Skeksi emperor must go down as one of the most hideous moments from The Dark Crystal. With their vulture-like features, loathsome voices and repugnant little eyes, Jim Henson'screations were visions of living death far more terrifying than anythingever seen in a George A Romero flick.The scene in which Michael Jackson transforms into a giant robot in order to defeat Joe Pesci's evil drug dealer Mr Big in Moonwalker has to go down as one of the most alarming in Hollywood history. Yes, that's right: he destroys his enemies with his voice - even Celine Dion couldn't manage that.With its vision of death around every corner, 1978's Watership Down was gorier than a Wes Craven movie and way more sinister than anything ever dreamt up by Hideo Nataka. General Woundwort, with slavering jaws, blood-red eye and terrible voice, is right up there with Frank from Donnie Darko on the list of the scariest bunnies on celluloid.Of course, your list will differ from mine. Which are your personal top scary children's movies? And is it better to keep kids away from materialwhich may frighten them, or give them the opportunity to make up their own minds?FamilyFamilyChildrenMichael JacksonJohnny DeppTim BurtonSpike JonzeMaurice SendakRoald DahlBen Childguardian.co.uk &copy; Guardian News & Media Limited 2009 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds

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<title>Competition: Win copies of Auggie Wren&#x27;s Christmas Story illustrated by ISOL</title>
<link>http://feeds.guardian.co.uk/~r/theguardian/books/rss/~3/f1QV705baYo/paul-auster-auggie-wren-competition</link>
<description><![CDATA[Your chance to win one of five superbly illustrated editions of Paul Auster's haunting seasonal tale

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<title>Who killed off The Golden Compass?</title>
<link>http://feeds.guardian.co.uk/~r/theguardian/books/rss/~3/dOC0ZN7Rs5M/golden-compass-sam-elliot-catholic-church</link>
<description><![CDATA[Sam Elliot believes the Catholic church killed off any chances of a sequel to The Golden Compass, but the truth may be far simplerAfter the success of Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter and The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, Philip Pullman's His Dark Materials trilogy looked a dead cert for epic fantasy book franchise success. In 2007, when first installment The Golden Compass was released, it looked to have all the right ingredients: moppet actors, spectacular battles, a sexy baddie, Ian McKellen, snow. But no sequels were made. Why?Actor Sam Elliot thinks he knows. According to an interview in the Evening Standard, Elliot – who basically played himself in The Golden Compass – is pinning the failure of the series directly on the Pope, saying: "The Catholic church happened to The Golden Compass, as far as I'm concerned. It did incredible at the box office. Incredible. It took $85m (£52m) in the States. The Catholic church … lambasted them, and I think it scared New Line off."He could have a point. The Golden Compass was the subject of a prolonged attack from the Catholic League for Religious and Civil Rights, who proclaimed it to be "atheism for kids", and Fox News's Bill O'Reilly who, with typical restraint, apparently called the film a "war on Christmas". The attacks shouldn't have come as a surprise to anyone. Pullman has always been impressively vocal in his atheism, plus writing a book about some children literally murdering God is probably as overt an anti-Catholic statement as you can get – but there's something about Elliot's argument that doesn't quite ring true.The Catholic church hates a lot of things. The Vatican called the Twilight sequel New Moon "a moral vacuum with a deviant message", and that's only the second in a series. Cardinal Francis Arinze started huffing about legal action when The Da Vinci Code was released, and that got a sequel in which loads of Catholics run around on fire. The Pope said that Harry Potter would "corrupt the Christian faith" and that got seven sequels. It's not just movies. Madonna spent much of her 2006 concerts writhing around in an age-inappropriate leotard strapped to a giant glittery crucifix, something that Cardinal Ersilio Tonini called "an act of open hostility", and that went on to become the highest-grossing female tour of all time. The Catholic church couldn't even stop a middle-aged lady in a horrible leotard singing about her holidays. So maybe, just maybe, The Golden Compass wasn't given any sequels because it didn't deserve any. Rotten Tomatoes gave it a score of 42% – ranking it alongside such masterpieces as Charlie's Angels: Full Throttle – with reviewers calling it "bland", "patchy" and "a crushing disappointment". It looks as if people were too busy despairing at the film's long, impenetrable voiceovers about dust to notice that it was apparently waging a war on Christmas.It's a little sad that Elliot has to blame a shadowy religious conspiracy for the failure of The Golden Compass, especially since he was just about the film's sole redeeming feature, but the truth is that not many of us could bear to sit through any more sequels if there was any chance they would be as ropey as the first film. Nice try, though.Philip PullmanScience fiction and fantasyHarry PotterStuart Heritageguardian.co.uk &copy; Guardian News & Media Limited 2009 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds

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<item rdf:about="http://feeds.guardian.co.uk/~r/theguardian/books/rss/~3/ac0EeMRRbnI/best-words-of-the-decade">
<title>Noughtyisms: the best words of the decade</title>
<link>http://feeds.guardian.co.uk/~r/theguardian/books/rss/~3/ac0EeMRRbnI/best-words-of-the-decade</link>
<description><![CDATA[Here's a selection of my favourite neologisms of the last 10 years. Please add your ownAs a collector of words, here's my list of the best the decade had to offer, taken from my book, The Wonder of Whiffling. These words and expressions were all coined in particular parts of the world in specific years: they're principally slang and jargon; catching on, but still waiting to be formalised into our dictionaries.2000witches' knickers (Ireland) shopping bags caught in trees, flapping in the wind get corrugated ankles (UK campus) to get drunkglomp (US campus) to jump and hug someone from behind drink-link (UK campus) a cash dispenser 2001goat heaven (Caribbean) a state of unfettered freedom, enjoyment, indulgence evoking both bliss and excess2002cuddle puddle (New York) a heap of exhausted ravers trout pout (UK) the effects of collagen injections that produce prominent, comically oversized lips resembling those of a dead fish urbeach (US) an urban beach (a trend that began with the Paris Plage 2002)barbecue stopper (Australia) an issue of major public importance, which will excite the interest of voters2003smirting (New York) flirting between people who are smoking cigarettes outside a no-smoking building.meh (US, from "The Simpsons") boring, apathetic or unimpressive pumping party (Miami) illegal gatherings where plastic surgeons give back-street injections of silicone, botox etccroggie (UK schools) a ride of the crossbar or handlebars of another rider's bicycle  2004flairing (Sydney) the action of bartenders balancing, catching, flipping, spinning or throwing (bottles, glasses, napkins, straws) with finesse and styleglass ball environment (US intelligence) of the weather in Iraq being often conducive to collecting images from above sandwich generation (Canada) those caring for young children and elderly parents at the same time (usually "baby boomers" in their 40s or 50s)huburb (US) its own little city within another cityzhing-zhong (Zimbabwe) merchandise made in Asia; cheaply made, inexpensive or substandard goodswardrobing (US) buying an item and then returning it after wearing itspange (street talk) for "Spare change?" pudding ring (Florida) facial hair made up of a moustache and a goateeJ.Lo (Wall Street) the rounding bottom in a stock's price chart2005cougar (Canada) an older woman on the prowl, preferably for a younger man elevens the creases between one's eyebrows from squinting or frowningCalifornia licence plate (US) a tattoo on the lower back milkshaking (Kentucky) bicarbonate loading which slows fatigue in a horse Picasso porn (US) the scrambled signal of a pornographic cable channel as seen by a nonsubscriberFaye (UK) a bright light placed at eye level, in front of the performer, which helps to hide wrinkles (in honour of Faye Dunaway, who is said to always insist on one) fogging (UK) children showing minimal reaction to or agreeing with the taunts of a bully slippage (US) the percentage of people who get a cheque and forget to cash it set-jetter (UK) someone who goes on a holiday to a particular place simply because he's read about it or seen it in a film or on television swoop and squat (Washington) to drive and pull in front of another vehicle and slam on the brakes, deliberately causing an accident to collect the insurance money helicopter mom (US) a mother who micro-manages her children's lives and is perceived to be hovering over every stage of their developmentghost ridin (US) jumping out of a moving vehicle – usually stolen – and letting it smash into another car, home or business roider (US) someone who injects illegal steroids to enhance his body open the kimono (US) to expose or reveal secrets or proprietary informationnom de womb (US) a name used by an expectant parent to refer to their unborn childsequencing (US) delaying your career until your children are in school goose father a father who lives alone having sent his spouse and children to a foreign country to learn English or do some other form of advanced study twixters (US) fully-grown men and women who still live with their parents dog-whistle politics (Australia) to present your message so that only your supporters hear it properlydoughnuting (UK) a carefully created seating plan which places an ideal group of MPs (women, photogenic, ethnic minority etc) around a leader for the ideal television shot 2006ant hill family (UK) the trend whereby children move back in with their parents so that all work together towards group financial goalsNew York rain (Hong Kong) water that drips annoyingly from air-conditioners onto passers-by chair plug (2006) someone who sits in a meeting but contributes nothingbanana fold (North Carolina) fat below the buttocks chubb (North Carolina) fat around the kneecapshail damage (Minnesota) cellulite (from its pitted appearance being similar to the effects of hail)throw a series of notes (Illinois) to perform a back handspring with no handsblack spider memo (UK) notes, mostly hand-written, in which Prince Charles enthusiastically details his beliefs on particular political topicsrubber arms (California) surfers who turn to catch a wave, making all the paddling movements, but never really go anywherepush present (US) an expensive gift given to a woman by her husband in appreciation for having recently given birthHarry Potter a poker hand containing a Jack and a King (after JK Rowling)Anna Kournikova when an Ace and King are held (allegedly so called because it looks a good hand but in fact rarely wins anything)flashpackers (Australia) intrepid, but comfortably-off travellers glamping (UK) glamorous camping (prompted in part by celebrity-studded festivals like Glastonbury) 2007menoporsche (UK) the phenomenon of middle-aged men attempting to recapture their lost youth by buying an expensive sports cargate fever (UK) terror at the prospect of release from prisonhippo's tooth (US) a cement bollardfox hole (UK) the area beneath desk where telephone calls can take place peacefully puddle (US) a heap of clothing an actor steps into and is quickly zipped inside during one of those split-second costume changes that dazzle audiences2008goldfishing (UK) one politician talking inaudibly in an interview (you can see his lips move but only hear the reporter's words)twuncing (UK) when walkers drive two cars to the end point of their walk, and then ride together in one car to the starting point; after the walk they drive together to the starting point to collect the other vehicle shock and hee-haw (US) explosive devices under satchels on donkeys ham (UK) legitimate email messages (as opposed to "spam")mattressing (UK) the term used by other traders and bank managers to hide their results flusher (US) a volunteer who rounds up non-voters on Election Day2009generica (US) features of the American landscape (strip malls, motel chains, prefab housing) that are exactly the same no matter where one iscatch a falling knife to buy a stock as its price is going down, in hopes that it will go back up, only to have it continue to fallWords and languageReference and languagesAdam Jacot de Boinodguardian.co.uk &copy; Guardian News & Media Limited 2009 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds

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<title>A Christmas Carol enjoys second helpings as UK No 1 | Charles Gant</title>
<link>http://feeds.guardian.co.uk/~r/theguardian/books/rss/~3/Q6JAAPczIp4/a-christmas-carol</link>
<description><![CDATA[With new entries becalmed in the chart before Avatar is unleashed, Robert Zemeckis's animated spectacle surges back to the top in its sixth week of release to become the gift that keeps on giving to DisneyThe marathon runnerFor the past four weeks, the top spot has been occupied by 2012, The Twilight Saga: New Moon and Paranormal Activity. But now, five weeks after it first entered the chart at No 1, Disney's A Christmas Carol returns to the summit. It's rare for a film in its sixth week of release to be finding much favour with audiences; to dominate the market at this point is an exceptional result. Box-office takings for Robert Zemeckis's animated Dickens adaptation went up on its second weekend by 31%, and has subsequently enjoyed small week-to-week declines of 11%, 13%, 14% and 7%. The film has now grossed over £16m, compared with £12m for Zemeckis's Polar Express (a figure boosted by seasonal re-releases) and £7.4m for Beowulf. Digital 3D remains the preferred format for cinemagoers seeing A Christmas Carol; 2D screens contributed only 14% of box-office receipts this weekend. That's been good news for Disney, with the ticket-price premium at 3D venues. But this will become its Achilles heel when Avatar arrives on Thursday – it's hard to imagine James Cameron's lengthy event picture not Hoovering up the vast majority of 3D cinemas. The low-key successIn its three weeks on release, genial festive flick Nativity! has never charted higher than sixth place. But extraordinarily consistent takings – the film has so far seen week-to-week declines of only 13% and 3% – mean that it's also never been lower than seventh. After 17 days, Debbie Isitt's improvised comedy has taken £2.68m, compared with £1.84m for her previous effort Confetti at the same stage of its release. And since it isn't occupying 3D screens, the arrival of Avatar shouldn't have a particular impact on Nativity!'s continuing success. The disappointmentWith Where the Wild Things Are, backers Warner Bros always had the problem of addressing twin audiences: the adults who admire director Spike Jonze and the kids who love Maurice Sendak's 10-sentence picture book. Even so, they will probably be disappointed with an £884,000 opening from a wide 491-screen release. Comparisons are tricky, but Fantastic Mr Fox, Wes Anderson's adaptation of the Roald Dahl tale, opened with a more robust £1.52m in October. Jonze's previous pictures Being John Malkovich and Adaptation both debuted in the £200,000-300,000 range, on screen counts in double digits.Despite the weak result, Where the Wild Things are is overwhelmingly the highest-grossing new release on the chart, since both Chris Pine horror Carriers and the thriller The Stepfather stumbled with anaemic grosses of £69,000 and £40,000 respectively.Arthouse wipeoutIf your local independent cinema is mostly playing commercial Hollywood fare, don't blame the bookers. Apart from the Coen brothers' A Serious Man, which is enjoying its fourth weekend in the top 10, there's a serious dearth of quality arthouse films to programme. Me and Orson Welles, for example, fell 62% from its disappointing debut the previous weekend, and is not delivering attractive returns for cinemas. Newcomers The Limits of Control and Unmade Beds landed feebly at Nos 29 and 37, behind veteran warhorses An Education and Bright Star. The White Ribbon is hanging in there for fans of austere European highbrow, but the nation's City Screens and Curzons must surely be looking forward to the arrival of the strong awards contenders in January.The futureOverall, 11-13 December was the third worst weekend of 2009, with just one film achieving £1m-plus takings, and a shocking dearth of strong commercial new releases. The reason, of course, is the imminent arrival of Avatar on Thursday: the current flat market is the calm before the anticipated storm. Cameron's movie is being given a saturation release on more than 1,000 screens, although discerning cinemagoers will be trying to book into the 300 UK locations with digital 3D projection. Audiences will also be checking out Nine, from Chicago director Rob Marshall, and St Trinian's 2: The Legend of Fritton's Gold. Then, on Monday 21 December, Alvin and the Chipmunks: The Squeakquel arrives. Cinema chains have every reasonable expectation of a timely cash bonanza.UK top 10, 11-13 December1. A Christmas Carol, £1,544,226 from 434 sites. Total: £16,030,0832. Where the Wild Things Are, £883,990 from 491 sites (New)3. Planet 51, £764,742 from 421 sites. Total: £2,537,7184. Paranormal Activity, £758,704 from 399 sites. Total: £8,703,3965. The Twilight Saga: New Moon, £750,227 from 458 sites. Total: £25,004,6806. Nativity!, £667,663 from 405 sites. Total: £2,676,6147. Law Abiding Citizen, £604,873 from 461 sites. Total: £4,731,1758. 2012, £471,856 from 361 sites. Total: £18,674,8649. The Box, £249,707 from 288 sites. Total: £1,011,73510. A Serious Man, £1390,778 from 100 sites. Total: £1,335,999How the other openers didCarriers, 101 screens, £69,224Rocket Singh: Salesman Of The Year, 35 screens, £67,389The Stepfather, 80 screens, £40,056The Red Shoes, 12 screens, £13,338The Limits of Control, 10 screens, £10,318Unmade Beds, 9 screens, £6,1077 Husbands For Hurmuz, 2 screens, £3,606Mascarades, 1 screen, £5943DWalt Disney CompanyAnimationCoen brothersSpike JonzeMaurice SendakCharles Gantguardian.co.uk &copy; Guardian News & Media Limited 2009 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds

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<title>For Photographer Of Birds, A Spotlight On Beauty</title>
<link>http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=121480844&#x26;ft=1&#x26;f=1032</link>
<description><![CDATA[Theodore Cross has spent the last 40 years watching and photographing birds &mdash; and water birds are his favorite. He says the water birds have a "courage and beauty" that outshines others. A collection of his photos and stories are collected in a book called Waterbirds.]]></description>
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<item rdf:about="http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=121458755&#x26;ft=1&#x26;f=1032">
<title>Griffin Dunne On The Life And Work Of His Father</title>
<link>http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=121458755&#x26;ft=1&#x26;f=1032</link>
<description><![CDATA[The actor and director shares memories and discusses the work of his late father, journalist and novelist Dominick Dunne, who became famous for covering the lives and trials of celebrities. He died in August at the age of 83.]]></description>
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<item rdf:about="http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=121458784&#x26;ft=1&#x26;f=1032">
<title>Excerpt: &#x27;Too Much Money&#x27;</title>
<link>http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=121458784&#x26;ft=1&#x26;f=1032</link>
<description><![CDATA[&raquo; E-Mail This&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; &raquo; Add to Del.icio.us&#13;
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<title>Best Books For A Book Club? Lynn Neary&#x27;s &#x27;09 Picks</title>
<link>http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=121415553&#x26;ft=1&#x26;f=1032</link>
<description><![CDATA[What makes a good book-club selection? Most of Lynn Neary's picks are quick reads. All are fiction. And, because some of the best conversations occur when people don't agree, a few are calculated to spark debate. So have a glass of wine, maybe a bite to eat, and let the discussions begin.]]></description>
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<title>Alan Cheuse&#x27;s Book Picks To Warm A Winter&#x27;s Night</title>
<link>http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=120539406&#x26;ft=1&#x26;f=1032</link>
<description><![CDATA[Book reviewer Alan Cheuse selects the highlights of this holiday season: futuristic dystopias; things that go bump in the night; portraits from Norman Rockwell's America; gay New York; a celebration of our immigrant adventures; one writer's journey to manhood; and, of course, Long John Silver.]]></description>
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<title>Historian Asks, &#x27;What On Earth Evolved?&#x27;</title>
<link>http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=121426659&#x26;ft=1&#x26;f=1032</link>
<description><![CDATA[The history of Earth features a few extremely successful species, such as ants, black pepper, sheep, and of course, humans.  In his book, What On Earth Evolved, Christopher Lloyd explores their stories before and after man.]]></description>
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<item rdf:about="http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=121337672&#x26;ft=1&#x26;f=1032">
<title>In The Year&#x27;s Best Memoirs, Mirth And Melancholy</title>
<link>http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=121337672&#x26;ft=1&#x26;f=1032</link>
<description><![CDATA[Heller McAlpin's picks include: the story of a lifelong crush on Albert Camus, a humorous take on middle-aged malaise, and a no-nonsense look at mortality. The sharp, fresh writing in these memoirs will bring you headfirst into each author's world, with your heart following close behind.]]></description>
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<item rdf:about="http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=121395472&#x26;ft=1&#x26;f=1032">
<title>What Constitutes A &#x27;Just War&#x27;?</title>
<link>http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=121395472&#x26;ft=1&#x26;f=1032</link>
<description><![CDATA["Just war" &mdash; that phrase was a centerpiece of President Obama's Nobel acceptance speech this past week. And it's a concept that political philosopher Michael Walzer has studied for decades. He wrote the book Just and Unjust Wars, and he tells host Guy Raz about what exactly constitutes a "just war" and how Obama's definition stacks up.]]></description>
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<item rdf:about="http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=121359301&#x26;ft=1&#x26;f=1032">
<title>Was Ancient Historian One Of The First Spin Doctors?</title>
<link>http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=121359301&#x26;ft=1&#x26;f=1032</link>
<description><![CDATA[Thucydides' account of the war between Athens and Sparta has become an allegory of modern conflicts like the Cold War, Vietnam, Iraq and Afghanistan. But a new book about the ancient historian shows he may not quite have been telling the truth.]]></description>
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<item rdf:about="http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=121388834&#x26;ft=1&#x26;f=1032">
<title>&#x27;Dracula Is Dead,&#x27; But How Is Romania?</title>
<link>http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=121388834&#x26;ft=1&#x26;f=1032</link>
<description><![CDATA[Twenty years after the fall of the Iron Curtain, a new book titled Dracula Is Dead takes a look at how Romania has fared since the December 1989 overthrow of dictator Nicolae Ceausescu. Host Liane Hansen speaks with co-authors Jim Rosapepe, former U.S. ambassador to Romania, and journalist Sheilah Kast.]]></description>
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<item rdf:about="http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=121374125&#x26;ft=1&#x26;f=1032">
<title>Years Of Schooling Leaves Some Students Illiterate</title>
<link>http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=121374125&#x26;ft=1&#x26;f=1032</link>
<description><![CDATA[Author Beth Fertig says that as many as 20 percent of American adults may be functionally illiterate. They may recognize letters and words, but can't read directions on a bus sign or a medicine bottle, read or write a letter, or hold most any job. Her new book, Why cant U teach me 2 read, follows three young New Yorkers who legally challenged the New York City public schools for failing to teach them how to read &mdash; and won. Host Scott Simon talks to Fertig about her book.]]></description>
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<item rdf:about="http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=121374131&#x26;ft=1&#x26;f=1032">
<title>Kids&#x27; Book Boasts The Best Words, Real Or Not</title>
<link>http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=121374131&#x26;ft=1&#x26;f=1032</link>
<description><![CDATA[Every good book begins with good words. Ounce, Dice, Trice is a book for children that is full of words &mdash; magnificent, wonderful words like "frangipani," "dimity," "gloaming" and "nunnery." And don't forget "murdo," "drumjargon" and "chumly." Host Scott Simon speaks with Weekend Edition's ambassador to the world of kiddie literature, Daniel Pinkwater, about this new release of an old book.]]></description>
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<item rdf:about="http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=121374151&#x26;ft=1&#x26;f=1032">
<title>Churchill Biography Pithy, Like The Man</title>
<link>http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=121374151&#x26;ft=1&#x26;f=1032</link>
<description><![CDATA[One of the world's great historians has written a biography of the man who is one of the immense figures of the last century. And perhaps surprisingly, the book is short. Just 192 pages. It is pungent, pointed and eloquent, like some gorgeous, highly-distilled liqueur. Host Scott Simon speaks with author Paul Johnson about this revealing biography, titled, Churchill.]]></description>
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<item rdf:about="http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=121345792&#x26;ft=1&#x26;f=1032">
<title>Hero Pilot &#x27;Sully&#x27; Sullenberger Tries To Stay Grounded</title>
<link>http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=121345792&#x26;ft=1&#x26;f=1032</link>
<description><![CDATA[Pilot Chesley Sullenberger's wild ride started this year when he landed a US Airways jet plop-solid perfect onto the icy surface of the Hudson River on Jan. 15, saving all 155 passengers on board. He's a hero to the nation, but Sullenberger says his story is really more about a nation in need of a hero.]]></description>
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<item rdf:about="http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=121365224&#x26;ft=1&#x26;f=1032">
<title>The Orient Express Takes Its Final Trip</title>
<link>http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=121365224&#x26;ft=1&#x26;f=1032</link>
<description><![CDATA[Van Helsing rode it to his battle with Dracula. James Bond romanced a beautiful Russian aboard it. And Agatha Christie set one of the best-known murders in literary history aboard that train. Now the original Orient Express is itself about to become part of history.]]></description>
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<item rdf:about="http://rss.slashdot.org/~r/Slashdot/slashdotBookReviews/~3/1drpkmhoKA0/The-Book-of-Xen">
<title>The Book of Xen</title>
<link>http://rss.slashdot.org/~r/Slashdot/slashdotBookReviews/~3/1drpkmhoKA0/The-Book-of-Xen</link>
<description><![CDATA[swsuehr writes "The Book of Xen: A Practical Guide for the System Administrator provides an excellent resource for learning about Xen virtualization. I frequently need to create test environments for examples that appear in various books and magazine articles (in the interest of full disclosure, I've never written for the publisher of this book). In the days before virtualization that meant finding and piecing together hardware. Like many readers, I've been using virtualization in one form or another for several years, including Xen. This book would've saved hours searching around the web looking for tidbits of information and sifting through what works and doesn't work in setting up Xen environments. The authors have done the sifting for me within the ~250 pages of the book. But far beyond, the authors also convey their experience with Xen using walkthroughs, tips, and recommendations for Xen in the real world." Read on for the rest of Steve's review.Read more of this story at Slashdot.

]]></description>
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<item rdf:about="http://rss.slashdot.org/~r/Slashdot/slashdotBookReviews/~3/TCgdCo8mMT8/Confessions-of-a-Public-Speaker">
<title>Confessions of a Public Speaker</title>
<link>http://rss.slashdot.org/~r/Slashdot/slashdotBookReviews/~3/TCgdCo8mMT8/Confessions-of-a-Public-Speaker</link>
<description><![CDATA[brothke writes "While there is a plethora of books such as Public Speaking for Dummies, and many similar titles, Confessions of a Public Speaker is unique in that it takes a holistic approach to the art and science of public speaking. The book doesn't just provide helpful hints, it attempts to make the speaker, and his associated presentation, compelling and necessary. Confessions is Scott Berkun's first-hand account of his many years of public speaking, teaching and television appearances. In the book, he shares his successes, failures, and many frustrating experiences, in the hope that the reader will be a better speaker for it." Keep reading for the rest of Ben's review.Read more of this story at Slashdot.

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<item rdf:about="http://rss.slashdot.org/~r/Slashdot/slashdotBookReviews/~3/IWb5DPDXDY8/Service-Oriented-Architecture-With-Java">
<title>Service Oriented Architecture With Java</title>
<link>http://rss.slashdot.org/~r/Slashdot/slashdotBookReviews/~3/IWb5DPDXDY8/Service-Oriented-Architecture-With-Java</link>
<description><![CDATA[Martijn de Boer writes "The book has been written to provide the reader with a short introduction to the concepts of Service Oriented Architecture with Java. The book covers the theory and analysis from the start and is progressing to a more intermediate level slowly throughout the different chapters. This book has been written for software architects and programmers of the Java language who have an interest in building software using SOA concepts in their applications. The cover hints to a series called &ldquo;From Technologies to Solutions&rdquo;, and that is exactly what this book tries to do, it tries to explain the SOA technology with different case studies and a path for solutions for your applications." Read below for the rest of Martijn's review.Read more of this story at Slashdot.

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<item rdf:about="http://rss.slashdot.org/~r/Slashdot/slashdotBookReviews/~3/CnIxlOeMJtQ/Magento-Beginners-Guide">
<title>Magento Beginner&#x27;s Guide</title>
<link>http://rss.slashdot.org/~r/Slashdot/slashdotBookReviews/~3/CnIxlOeMJtQ/Magento-Beginners-Guide</link>
<description><![CDATA[Michael J. Ross writes "The shopping cart systems that power online stores have evolved from simple homebrew solutions in the CGI era to far more powerful open source packages, such as osCommerce. But even the later systems are frequently criticized as suffering from poorly-written code and inadequate documentation &mdash; as well as for being difficult to install and administer, and nearly impossible to enhance with new functionality and improved site styling, at least without hiring outside help. These problems alone would explain the rapidly growing interest in the latest generation of shopping cart systems, such as Magento, purported to be outpacing all others in adoption. In turn, technical publishers are making available books to help developers and site owners get started with this e-commerce alternative, such as Magento: Beginner's Guide, written by William Rice." Read on for the rest of Michael's review.Read more of this story at Slashdot.

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<item rdf:about="http://rss.slashdot.org/~r/Slashdot/slashdotBookReviews/~3/W44eBvpiQuE/Writing-For-Video-Game-Genres">
<title>Writing For Video Game Genres</title>
<link>http://rss.slashdot.org/~r/Slashdot/slashdotBookReviews/~3/W44eBvpiQuE/Writing-For-Video-Game-Genres</link>
<description><![CDATA[Aeonite writes "The third book in a pseudo-trilogy, Writing for Video Game Genres: From FPS to RPG, offers advice from 21 experts in the field of video game writing, pulled from the ranks of the IGDA's Game Writers Special Interest Group and wrangled together by editor Wendy Despain. It follows in the footsteps of Professional Techniques for Video Game Writing and Game Writing: Narrative Skills for Videogames, and in keeping with the trend, offers the most specific, targeted advice for how to write for an assortment of game genres." Read below for the rest of Michael's review.Read more of this story at Slashdot.

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<item rdf:about="http://rss.slashdot.org/~r/Slashdot/slashdotBookReviews/~3/kzALH7_mLVk/Drupal-6-Social-Networking">
<title>Drupal 6 Social Networking</title>
<link>http://rss.slashdot.org/~r/Slashdot/slashdotBookReviews/~3/kzALH7_mLVk/Drupal-6-Social-Networking</link>
<description><![CDATA[dag writes "Drupal 6 Social Networking is an interesting book about how to build social networks and why Drupal is a good choice as a platform for building communities. Even if you don't have any Drupal experience yet, this book explains what is needed when you start from scratch and looks at the different facets of a social network." Keep reading for the rest of Dag's review.Read more of this story at Slashdot.

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<item rdf:about="http://rss.slashdot.org/~r/Slashdot/slashdotBookReviews/~3/1imsIcD3rBk/Becoming-Agile">
<title>Becoming Agile</title>
<link>http://rss.slashdot.org/~r/Slashdot/slashdotBookReviews/~3/1imsIcD3rBk/Becoming-Agile</link>
<description><![CDATA[IraLaefsky writes "The appropriately titled Becoming Agile: In An Imperfect World by Greg Smith and Ahmed Sidky offers a realistic path to the family of Agile practices which have become prevalent in software development in the last few years. This family of approaches to software development has been widely adopted in the past decade to replace the traditional Waterfall Model of software development, described in a 1970 article by Winston W. Royce 'Managing the Development of Large Software Systems.' The Waterfall Model stressed rigid functional and design specification of the program(s) to be constructed in advance of any code development. While the this methodology and other early formal tools for Software Engineering were infinitely preferable to the chaos and ad-hoc programming-without-design practices of early systems, these first tools ignored the fallibility of initial interviews used to construct initial design and often resulted in massive time and cost overruns." Read below for the rest of IraLaefsky's review.Read more of this story at Slashdot.

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<item rdf:about="http://rss.slashdot.org/~r/Slashdot/slashdotBookReviews/~3/uhWB46cQSDA/OpenGL-Shading-Language-3rd-Edition">
<title>OpenGL Shading Language 3rd Edition</title>
<link>http://rss.slashdot.org/~r/Slashdot/slashdotBookReviews/~3/uhWB46cQSDA/OpenGL-Shading-Language-3rd-Edition</link>
<description><![CDATA[Martin Ecker writes "The &ldquo;OpenGL Shading Language&rdquo; (also called the Orange Book because of its orange cover) is back in its third edition, with updated discussions of the OpenGL shading language (up to version 1.40, introduced with OpenGL 3.1). Like the previous edition, the third edition of the book is one of the best introductions to GLSL &mdash; the OpenGL Shading Language &mdash; that not only teaches the ins and outs of GLSL itself but also explains in-depth how to develop shaders in GLSL for lighting, shadows, animation, and other topics relevant to real-time computer graphics." Keep reading for the rest of Martin's review.Read more of this story at Slashdot.

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<item rdf:about="http://rss.slashdot.org/~r/Slashdot/slashdotBookReviews/~3/NXPmfhQXo5o/The-Big-Questions">
<title>The Big Questions</title>
<link>http://rss.slashdot.org/~r/Slashdot/slashdotBookReviews/~3/NXPmfhQXo5o/The-Big-Questions</link>
<description><![CDATA[Frequent Slashdot contributor Bennett Haselton changes things up today by reviewing The Big Questions: Tackling the Problems of Philosophy with Ideas from Mathematics, Economics and Physics. Questions that big need a big review and you can learn what Bennett has to say about it all by reading below.Read more of this story at Slashdot.

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<item rdf:about="http://rss.slashdot.org/~r/Slashdot/slashdotBookReviews/~3/Y1jPQUZYfwk/Drupal-Multimedia">
<title>Drupal Multimedia</title>
<link>http://rss.slashdot.org/~r/Slashdot/slashdotBookReviews/~3/Y1jPQUZYfwk/Drupal-Multimedia</link>
<description><![CDATA[Michael J. Ross writes "Of the leading content management systems used by developers for creating websites, Drupal is highly regarded for many characteristics, including a much smaller initial footprint, compared to Joomla and other CMSs. Yet some developers find this a disadvantage as well, because one of the most common criticisms leveled against Drupal is its lack of built-in support for images and multimedia elements &mdash; thereby forcing new Drupal developers to choose from the thousands of contributed Drupal modules those that would be optimal for implementing their websites' multimedia functionality. Aaron Winborn's book Drupal Multimedia is intended as a guide to help such developers." Keep reading for the rest of Michael's review.Read more of this story at Slashdot.

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<item rdf:about="http://rss.slashdot.org/~r/Slashdot/slashdotBookReviews/~3/bIfk2vOCtas/Android-Application-Development">
<title>Android Application Development</title>
<link>http://rss.slashdot.org/~r/Slashdot/slashdotBookReviews/~3/bIfk2vOCtas/Android-Application-Development</link>
<description><![CDATA[stoolpigeon writes "Google's mobile OS Android has received plenty of press. As with a lot of Google products, there was much anticipation before any devices were even available. Now a number of phones are available, with many more coming out world-wide in the near future. Part of the lure of Android is the openness of the platform and the freely available tools for development. The SDK and accompanying Eclipse plug-in give the would be creator of the next great Android application everything they need to make their idea reality. The bar to entry in the official Google Android Marketplace is very low and it doesn't seem to be much of a stretch to predict that the number of developers working on Android is only going to grow. As with any hot technology the number of books will grow as well and O'Reilly's Android Application Development has jumped into the fray, promising to help budding Android developers what they need to get started." Read on for the rest of JR's review.Read more of this story at Slashdot.

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<item rdf:about="http://rss.slashdot.org/~r/Slashdot/slashdotBookReviews/~3/WIgFNmXrBrY/Learning-Ext-JS">
<title>Learning Ext JS</title>
<link>http://rss.slashdot.org/~r/Slashdot/slashdotBookReviews/~3/WIgFNmXrBrY/Learning-Ext-JS</link>
<description><![CDATA[stoolpigeon writes "Rich Internet Applications (RIA) have often been associated with some type of sandbox or virtual machine environment to make desktop features available via the web. Many applications though, have left behind the restrictions and demands of those technologies, implementing RIAs as pure web interfaces. One key technology in this area is JavaScript. It's been well documented that working with JavaScript can be problematic across various browsers. In response a number of JavaScript libraries have been created to alleviate the issues in dealing with different browsers, allowing developers to focus on application logic rather than platform concerns. One such library, focused on providing tools for building RIAs is Ext JS. For the aspiring developer looking to use Ext JS, Packt provides a guide to the library in the form of Learning Ext JS." Read on for the rest of JR's review.Read more of this story at Slashdot.

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<item rdf:about="http://rss.slashdot.org/~r/Slashdot/slashdotBookReviews/~3/gyRmhWQyiGU/The-Magicians">
<title>The Magicians</title>
<link>http://rss.slashdot.org/~r/Slashdot/slashdotBookReviews/~3/gyRmhWQyiGU/The-Magicians</link>
<description><![CDATA[stoolpigeon writes "The popularity of web site Will It Blend? is indicative of how people enjoy mashing things together. Of course this kind of sharing and combining has been going on in the arts for quite some time. The new Lev Grossman novel, The Magicians asks 'will it blend?' of two rather popular fantasy series, J.K. Rowling's world of Harry Potter and the tales of Narnia from C.S. Lewis. Grossman's thoughts on both are tossed on top and then the author begins to play a symphony across the full range of buttons from stir to liquefy. What comes out is not children's fantasy but at times a rather bitter mix." Keep reading for the rest of JR's review.Read more of this story at Slashdot.

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<item rdf:about="http://rss.slashdot.org/~r/Slashdot/slashdotBookReviews/~3/-jFQeLspBP0/Coders-At-Work">
<title>Coders At Work</title>
<link>http://rss.slashdot.org/~r/Slashdot/slashdotBookReviews/~3/-jFQeLspBP0/Coders-At-Work</link>
<description><![CDATA[Vladimir Sedach writes "Aside from authoring narrowly focused technical books, teaching university courses, or mentoring others in the workplace, programmers don't often get a chance to pass on the knowledge of the practise of programming as a profession. Peter Seibel's Coders at Work takes fifteen world-class programmers and distills their wisdom into a book of interviews with each of them." Keep reading for Vladimir's review.Read more of this story at Slashdot.

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<item rdf:about="http://rss.slashdot.org/~r/Slashdot/slashdotBookReviews/~3/1r19A5eAq3A/The-Myths-of-Security">
<title>The Myths of Security</title>
<link>http://rss.slashdot.org/~r/Slashdot/slashdotBookReviews/~3/1r19A5eAq3A/The-Myths-of-Security</link>
<description><![CDATA[brothke writes "The Myths of Security: What the Computer Security Industry Doesn't Want You to Know is an interesting and thought-provoking book. Ultimately, the state of information security can be summed up in the book's final three sentences, in which John Viega writes that 'real, timely improvement is possible, but it requires people to care a lot more [about security] than they do. I'm not sure that's going to happen anytime soon. But I hope it does.'" Read on for the rest of Ben's review.Read more of this story at Slashdot.

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<item rdf:about="http://www.csmonitor.com/Books/chapter-and-verse/2009/1215/Guest-blog-Best-cookbooks-of-2009">
<title>Guest blog: Best cookbooks of 2009</title>
<link>http://www.csmonitor.com/Books/chapter-and-verse/2009/1215/Guest-blog-Best-cookbooks-of-2009</link>
<description><![CDATA[What were the best cookbooks of 2009?


    
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<item rdf:about="http://www.csmonitor.com/Books/chapter-and-verse/2009/1214/Plenty-of-real-life-drama-over-Girl-with-the-Dragon-Tattoo-series">
<title>Plenty of real-life drama over &#x22;Girl with the Dragon Tattoo&#x22; series</title>
<link>http://www.csmonitor.com/Books/chapter-and-verse/2009/1214/Plenty-of-real-life-drama-over-Girl-with-the-Dragon-Tattoo-series</link>
<description><![CDATA[The trilogy of thrillers penned by Swedish author Stieg Larsson are selling like hotcakes and making headlines for some unusual reasons.


    
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<item rdf:about="http://www.csmonitor.com/Books/chapter-and-verse/2009/1211/How-low-can-Amazon-go">
<title>How low can Amazon go?</title>
<link>http://www.csmonitor.com/Books/chapter-and-verse/2009/1211/How-low-can-Amazon-go</link>
<description><![CDATA[Amazon lowers prices on some e-books to $7.99. 


    
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<item rdf:about="http://www.csmonitor.com/Books/chapter-and-verse/2009/1210/not-much-love-for-barnes-noble-nook">
<title>Not much love for Barnes &#x26; Noble Nook</title>
<link>http://www.csmonitor.com/Books/chapter-and-verse/2009/1210/not-much-love-for-barnes-noble-nook</link>
<description><![CDATA[

    
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<item rdf:about="http://www.csmonitor.com/Books/chapter-and-verse/2009/1209/can-they-hold-back-the-tide-publishers-will-slow-e-book-releases">
<title>Can they hold back the tide? Publishers will slow e-book releases</title>
<link>http://www.csmonitor.com/Books/chapter-and-verse/2009/1209/can-they-hold-back-the-tide-publishers-will-slow-e-book-releases</link>
<description><![CDATA[

    
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<item rdf:about="http://www.csmonitor.com/Books/chapter-and-verse/2009/1208/is-she-safe-tomatoes-tossed-at-sarah-palin-on-book-tour">
<title>Is she safe? Tomatoes tossed at Sarah Palin on book tour</title>
<link>http://www.csmonitor.com/Books/chapter-and-verse/2009/1208/is-she-safe-tomatoes-tossed-at-sarah-palin-on-book-tour</link>
<description><![CDATA[A man was arrested after throwing tomatoes at Sarah Palin in a Minnesota bookstore.


    
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<item rdf:about="http://www.csmonitor.com/Books/2009/1208/12809-monitor-books-podcast-including-an-interview-with-colum-mccann-author-of-let-the-great-world-spin">
<title>12/8/09 Monitor Books podcast, including an interview with Colum McCann, author of &#x22;Let the Great World Spin&#x22;</title>
<link>http://www.csmonitor.com/Books/2009/1208/12809-monitor-books-podcast-including-an-interview-with-colum-mccann-author-of-let-the-great-world-spin</link>
<description><![CDATA[

    
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<item rdf:about="http://www.csmonitor.com/Books/chapter-and-verse/2009/1207/from-book-to-film-how-does-the-lovely-bones-fare">
<title>From book to film: How does &#x22;The Lovely Bones&#x22; fare?</title>
<link>http://www.csmonitor.com/Books/chapter-and-verse/2009/1207/from-book-to-film-how-does-the-lovely-bones-fare</link>
<description><![CDATA[

    
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<item rdf:about="http://www.csmonitor.com/Books/chapter-and-verse/2009/1207/guest-blog-foodista-launches-a-crowd-sourced-cookbook">
<title>Guest blog: Foodista launches a &#x22;crowd-sourced&#x22; cookbook </title>
<link>http://www.csmonitor.com/Books/chapter-and-verse/2009/1207/guest-blog-foodista-launches-a-crowd-sourced-cookbook</link>
<description><![CDATA[

    
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<item rdf:about="http://www.csmonitor.com/Books/2009/1207/monitor-books-dec-7-2009">
<title>Monitor Books - Dec. 7, 2009</title>
<link>http://www.csmonitor.com/Books/2009/1207/monitor-books-dec-7-2009</link>
<description><![CDATA[

    
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<item rdf:about="http://www.csmonitor.com/Books/chapter-and-verse/2009/1204/for-sale-poes-tamerlane-the-rarest-book-in-american-literature">
<title>For sale: Poe&#x27;s &#x22;Tamerlane&#x22; &#x2013; the rarest book in American literature </title>
<link>http://www.csmonitor.com/Books/chapter-and-verse/2009/1204/for-sale-poes-tamerlane-the-rarest-book-in-american-literature</link>
<description><![CDATA[Poe's &quot;Tamerlane,&quot; the rarest book in American literature, goes up for auction today.


    
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<item rdf:about="http://www.csmonitor.com/Books/chapter-and-verse/2009/1203/a-whole-shelf-full-of-books-from-the-obama-family">
<title>A whole shelf full of books from the Obama family</title>
<link>http://www.csmonitor.com/Books/chapter-and-verse/2009/1203/a-whole-shelf-full-of-books-from-the-obama-family</link>
<description><![CDATA[

    
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<item rdf:about="http://www.csmonitor.com/Books/2009/1203/12109-monitor-books-podcast">
<title>12/1/09 Monitor Books podcast, including interview with Jonathan Safran Foer, author of &#x22;Eating Animals&#x22;</title>
<link>http://www.csmonitor.com/Books/2009/1203/12109-monitor-books-podcast</link>
<description><![CDATA[

    
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<item rdf:about="http://www.csmonitor.com/Books/2009/1203/bestselling-childrens-books-according-to-indie-bound">
<title>Bestselling children&#x27;s books, according to Indie Bound*</title>
<link>http://www.csmonitor.com/Books/2009/1203/bestselling-childrens-books-according-to-indie-bound</link>
<description><![CDATA[

    
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<item rdf:about="http://www.csmonitor.com/Books/2009/1203/bestselling-paperback-books-according-to-indie-bound">
<title>Bestselling paperback books, according to Indie Bound*</title>
<link>http://www.csmonitor.com/Books/2009/1203/bestselling-paperback-books-according-to-indie-bound</link>
<description><![CDATA[

    
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<item rdf:about="http://www.csmonitor.com/Books/2009/1203/bestselling-hardcover-books-according-to-indie-bound">
<title>Bestselling hardcover books, according to Indie Bound*</title>
<link>http://www.csmonitor.com/Books/2009/1203/bestselling-hardcover-books-according-to-indie-bound</link>
<description><![CDATA[

    
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</item>

<item rdf:about="http://www.csmonitor.com/Books/chapter-and-verse/2009/1202/why-women-are-or-are-not-reading-sarah-palin">
<title>Why women are (or are not) reading Sarah Palin</title>
<link>http://www.csmonitor.com/Books/chapter-and-verse/2009/1202/why-women-are-or-are-not-reading-sarah-palin</link>
<description><![CDATA[

    
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<item rdf:about="http://www.csmonitor.com/Books/chapter-and-verse/2009/1201/oops-a-twitter-misstep-in-the-book-world">
<title>Oops! A Twitter misstep in the book world </title>
<link>http://www.csmonitor.com/Books/chapter-and-verse/2009/1201/oops-a-twitter-misstep-in-the-book-world</link>
<description><![CDATA[

    
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</item>

<item rdf:about="http://www.csmonitor.com/Books/chapter-and-verse/2009/1201/booksellers-leap-into-cyber-monday-bargain-frenzy">
<title>Booksellers leap into Cyber Monday bargain frenzy </title>
<link>http://www.csmonitor.com/Books/chapter-and-verse/2009/1201/booksellers-leap-into-cyber-monday-bargain-frenzy</link>
<description><![CDATA[

    
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<item rdf:about="http://www.csmonitor.com/Books/chapter-and-verse/2009/1201/guest-blog-why-it-took-me-years-to-read-angelas-ashes">
<title>Guest blog: Why it took me years to read &#x27;Angela&#x27;s Ashes&#x27;</title>
<link>http://www.csmonitor.com/Books/chapter-and-verse/2009/1201/guest-blog-why-it-took-me-years-to-read-angelas-ashes</link>
<description><![CDATA[

    
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</rdf:RDF>