I've been reading Julie Andrews' autobiography, Home, this week. The version I actually owned was given to me by my mother, who'd read it. It was in large type for her, but unfortunately, I can't read large type without hurting my eyes and my head, so I decided to take Ms. Andrews' book out of the library and read it that way. (I sent the large type book back to my mother, who won't mind reading it again.)
I wasn't sure I would like it (I don't usually go for celebrity autobiographies), but I must say it's pretty good, despite being somewhat episodic in format. Once in a while I have to skip over parts that are a bit too detailed for my interest (when she's listing the show business pals she had at certain times and places, for instance). But for the most part I'm involved in her struggles and her successes. The part about enduring the bombings during WWII is very informative. Also interesting are her stories about her career. She doesn't mind recounting her failures and mistakes--I like that about her. It makes her seem more like a real person.
One thing that has struck me from reading this story is that Julia never had any other work but entertaining. She grew up in a family of entertainers and just accepted her role in the family business with no complaints; in fact, she was happy with it. There was no speculating on what she was going to do when she grew up--she was already doing it, from the age of eight or so. Even as a child she worked hard at learning to sing, dance and act and those efforts helped her to succeed later on.
She counters the professional stories with the stories of her troubled family, mostly her mother and stepfather, who ended up as alcoholics she had to support. But there were plenty of joys with her family as well, and she makes a point not to criticize her family members too much. She just matter-of-factly describes what they did and said and how it affected her and others in her family.
Right now I'm at the part where she's making her Broadway debut with The Boyfriend, followed by My Fair Lady. She's a hit, something that seems to surprise her. I sometimes wonder if she was as humble as she makes herself out to have been, but I suspect that she was.
I didn't know much about Julie's career before Mary Poppins, so this is all new information to me. Probably what makes it most interesting, however, is getting to know her, something she makes possible with the way she writes the book.
So, I'll likely finish Home this week. Then it's on to the next, which I think will be Shakespearean Whodunits, edited by Mike Ashley, which is a collection of mysteries (in two volumes) based in part on Shakespeare's plays. Each writer starts with a play and then comes up with a mystery that relates to the plot. It's an interesting premise, but the writers are not well known, so I'm not sure I'm going to like them yet.
But I will let you know, of course, one way or the other.
Sunday, March 17, 2013
Saturday, March 9, 2013
Staying Alive
I'm enjoying reading How to Stay Alive in the Woods, but the amount of technical information the author is conveying is starting to overwhelm me. I think I will set this one aside and relabel it Reference, since it seems to be something one reads in order to learn something specific, and not to enjoy for its own sake.
I must say, though, that the man is a very good writer (if a bit on the formal side, stylistically speaking). So it makes sense, as I read in Chapter 14, "Choice of Clothing, that Angier left his job as an editor when first venturing out into the wilderness. The chapter begins with these words, which tell a lot about the man's philosophy, expressed as it was well before the back-to-nature movement of the 1960s:
For now, though, I'm moving on to Julie Andrews' biography, Home: A Memoir of My Early Years. It got a pretty good revew from the NY Times, so I think I'll enjoy it. But I intend to keep Angier's very useful book around for when I may need it.
Until next time!
I must say, though, that the man is a very good writer (if a bit on the formal side, stylistically speaking). So it makes sense, as I read in Chapter 14, "Choice of Clothing, that Angier left his job as an editor when first venturing out into the wilderness. The chapter begins with these words, which tell a lot about the man's philosophy, expressed as it was well before the back-to-nature movement of the 1960s:
The necessaries of life are food, shelter, warmth, and clothing. When we have obtained these, it is claimed, there is an alternative to struggling for the luxuries. That's to adventure on life itself, our vacation from humbler toil having commenced.
With such philosophy not everyone will agree, although I was fortunate enough to find no reason for disputing it when I went to the wilderness to live, and it may at least answer the questions of a few to note that we have never regretted the decision not to waste what are called the best years of life earning money in order to enjoy a questionable freedom during the least valuable part. (145)I think my husband would agree with Bradford's choice to spend his youth in exploration rather than piling up cash for retirement (although I daresay Angier probably made plenty of money from his books). The idea does have a certain appeal, even now, in the "least valuable part" of my life. Perhaps it's not too late to take to the woods? Some people believe it won't be long before we're forced to do so, when the economy or the government or the environment or the infrastructure collapses.
For now, though, I'm moving on to Julie Andrews' biography, Home: A Memoir of My Early Years. It got a pretty good revew from the NY Times, so I think I'll enjoy it. But I intend to keep Angier's very useful book around for when I may need it.
Until next time!
Wednesday, March 6, 2013
Back to Nature
The book I'm currently reading is a classic in the back-to-nature genre: How to Survive in the Woods, by Bradford Angier. So far it's very interesting, though I think it's intended to be more of a reference work than something you'd read through once. Mr. Angier is an excellent writer, clear and pithy. His explanations of how to kill and eat various wild animals are straightforward and informative, without seeming deliberately violent or gory.
More later on this fascinating book, first published in 1956.
More later on this fascinating book, first published in 1956.
Friday, March 1, 2013
Skipping from Alexie to Angelou
Well, I didn't end up reading Dr. Amatuzio's book because it was about people who believe they communicate with the dead. That's not my cup of tea, but I would've been willing to give it the benefit of the doubt if it had been well written. It was not, however, so I put it into the donation pile and moved on.
The next book on the list was Maya Angelou's famous autobiography, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings. It's the story of her life from early childhood through adolescence. She was born in 1928, thus the story tells of what life was life for an African American during the 1930s and 40s. I've been meaning to read it for many years, so I was really happy to finally be starting it.
It's a very well written book--exciting, interesting, and thought provoking. Maya talks about hardships as well as joys. There are a great many passages, of course, that deal with the sorrow of race relations during the first half of the twentieth century, but also many colorful, poignant and disturbing stories about the people she knew and lived with in the segregated society of Stamp, Arkansas as well as the integrated society of California. I'm learning a lot about her friends and relations, and learning to love or despise or feel sorry for them as she does. Her grandmother, whom she calls "Momma" throughout the book, is an especially wonderful person: courageous, wise, kind and strong; Ms. Angelou makes me wish I had known her. She must miss her terribly.
The title of the book comes from a Paul Dunbar poem: "Sympathy." It's a fitting title, I think. See if you agree. Here's the poem: Sympathy.
I'm about 3/4 through with the book, but I already know it's great, and I highly recommend it.
The next book on the list was Maya Angelou's famous autobiography, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings. It's the story of her life from early childhood through adolescence. She was born in 1928, thus the story tells of what life was life for an African American during the 1930s and 40s. I've been meaning to read it for many years, so I was really happy to finally be starting it.
It's a very well written book--exciting, interesting, and thought provoking. Maya talks about hardships as well as joys. There are a great many passages, of course, that deal with the sorrow of race relations during the first half of the twentieth century, but also many colorful, poignant and disturbing stories about the people she knew and lived with in the segregated society of Stamp, Arkansas as well as the integrated society of California. I'm learning a lot about her friends and relations, and learning to love or despise or feel sorry for them as she does. Her grandmother, whom she calls "Momma" throughout the book, is an especially wonderful person: courageous, wise, kind and strong; Ms. Angelou makes me wish I had known her. She must miss her terribly.
The title of the book comes from a Paul Dunbar poem: "Sympathy." It's a fitting title, I think. See if you agree. Here's the poem: Sympathy.
I'm about 3/4 through with the book, but I already know it's great, and I highly recommend it.
Saturday, February 23, 2013
Seattle Revelations
This week I read the 10 stories that comprise Sherman Alexie's collection of stories, Ten Little Indians, published in 2003. They are all good and sad and funny, as Alexie's work is. The stories are about 10 different American Indians, all living in Seattle. They are different by occupation, age and class; some are of mixed race, some not. But all are interesting, and each is exposed to the reader's view in a rather extreme way.
What the stories have in common is this openness, this stark honesty that reveals the characters' dark secrets, not only to the reader, but also to other characters, many of them total strangers to the protagonist. In fact, it is this confessional aspect of each story that ties it to the next. It's almost as if the characters are acting as readers for each other.
Alexie always has a storyteller in his fiction; he sees the storyteller as central to his culture, even perhaps to all cultures. As a storyteller himself, Alexie knows that for the storyteller to complete his mission, there must be a listener who is willing to enter the storyteller's world. In each of the stories in Ten Little Indians there is such a listener: kind, tolerant, responsive, insightful. And I would add: grateful. Grateful for the story, for the chance to the see the world through a stranger's eyes.
It's been a few months since I've read Alexie's work (See my October 11, 2012 post), so it was nice to get back to his world, although I must say that Alexie's vision is not for the faint of heart. It's intense, but rich in its intensity. A little Alexie goes a long way, but that little bit is immensely satisfying. And the feeling lingers; after reading one of his stories, I think about it for hours and sometimes days.
The best story in the collection, in my opinion, is "What You Pawn, I Will Redeem." It's a story with a classic structure, comprising 24 hours in Jackson Jackson's life, starting when he sees his grandmother's dance regalia in the window of a pawn shop. The pawn broker tells him that if he can raise the $1000 it cost, he will sell it to him. But he gives Jackson only 24 hours to raise the cash or the deal is off. He even gives Jackson $20 to get him started on his quest.
And it is a quest, like that of Odysseus in a way--a long, winding journey that gets sidetracked many times because, you see, Jackson is a homeless alcoholic who tends to spend any money he comes into on alcohol. He has many friends, though, including the local police officer, who accompany him at various points on his journey. It seems likely that Jackson will not succeed, but as with many of Alexie's stories, miracles (of the earthly sort) have a way of happening. The outcome is unexpected, and very satisfying. I recommend this book highly.
My next book will be non-fiction, and in keeping with my alphabetical selection method (I'm still in the As), I'll be reading Beyond Knowing: Mysteries and Messages of Death and Life from a Forensic Pathologist, by Janis Amatuzio. It appears to be a memoir of Dr. Amatuzio's life and career as a pathologist, with the focus on mysteries of death, in particular spiritual mysteries. It looks interesting; I'll let you know what I think later.
What the stories have in common is this openness, this stark honesty that reveals the characters' dark secrets, not only to the reader, but also to other characters, many of them total strangers to the protagonist. In fact, it is this confessional aspect of each story that ties it to the next. It's almost as if the characters are acting as readers for each other.
Alexie always has a storyteller in his fiction; he sees the storyteller as central to his culture, even perhaps to all cultures. As a storyteller himself, Alexie knows that for the storyteller to complete his mission, there must be a listener who is willing to enter the storyteller's world. In each of the stories in Ten Little Indians there is such a listener: kind, tolerant, responsive, insightful. And I would add: grateful. Grateful for the story, for the chance to the see the world through a stranger's eyes.
It's been a few months since I've read Alexie's work (See my October 11, 2012 post), so it was nice to get back to his world, although I must say that Alexie's vision is not for the faint of heart. It's intense, but rich in its intensity. A little Alexie goes a long way, but that little bit is immensely satisfying. And the feeling lingers; after reading one of his stories, I think about it for hours and sometimes days.
The best story in the collection, in my opinion, is "What You Pawn, I Will Redeem." It's a story with a classic structure, comprising 24 hours in Jackson Jackson's life, starting when he sees his grandmother's dance regalia in the window of a pawn shop. The pawn broker tells him that if he can raise the $1000 it cost, he will sell it to him. But he gives Jackson only 24 hours to raise the cash or the deal is off. He even gives Jackson $20 to get him started on his quest.
And it is a quest, like that of Odysseus in a way--a long, winding journey that gets sidetracked many times because, you see, Jackson is a homeless alcoholic who tends to spend any money he comes into on alcohol. He has many friends, though, including the local police officer, who accompany him at various points on his journey. It seems likely that Jackson will not succeed, but as with many of Alexie's stories, miracles (of the earthly sort) have a way of happening. The outcome is unexpected, and very satisfying. I recommend this book highly.
My next book will be non-fiction, and in keeping with my alphabetical selection method (I'm still in the As), I'll be reading Beyond Knowing: Mysteries and Messages of Death and Life from a Forensic Pathologist, by Janis Amatuzio. It appears to be a memoir of Dr. Amatuzio's life and career as a pathologist, with the focus on mysteries of death, in particular spiritual mysteries. It looks interesting; I'll let you know what I think later.
Saturday, February 16, 2013
Liar, Liar
I finished (finally) When Presidents Lie, but I must admit I fast-forwarded through much of it, not only because there were a great many details, but also because many of those details were distressing.
The chapter on LBJ was upsetting in that it seems those at the top spent little time thinking about the many American men and women (not to mention the many Vietnamese people) who would die or be forever maimed, mentally and physically, before committing us to a war no one (including the South Vietnamese) seemed to want. Who benefited? Other than companies supplying the war effort, no one, it seems.
The chapter on Reagan was worse, in that not only did we get involved in conflicts that were unnecessary, but our involvement was almost wholly secret (and arguably criminal) and covered up by our government (both executive and legislative branches, apparently).
None of the presidents featured in the book (FDR, JFK, LBJ, Reagan) came off looking very noble, attractive, or even moral. They were all described as pathological liars and they seem in the book to have little feeling for the people who were hurt by their lies.
The point Alterman is ultimately making, however, is not just that the presidents were bad men and talented liars, but that their lies hurt our country and our democracy. After reading and skimming the book, I would agree with him. But his solution--to never lie--seems not only impossible, but also not the best course in every situation. Maybe our presidents could try a little harder, though, to determine when a lie is absolutely necessary and whether it is worth its considerable cost before launching into one (or two or 300).
I can't say I enjoyed reading this book, but I did learn a lot from it--some of it I'd rather not have known.
Next up: some fiction, I think.
The chapter on LBJ was upsetting in that it seems those at the top spent little time thinking about the many American men and women (not to mention the many Vietnamese people) who would die or be forever maimed, mentally and physically, before committing us to a war no one (including the South Vietnamese) seemed to want. Who benefited? Other than companies supplying the war effort, no one, it seems.
The chapter on Reagan was worse, in that not only did we get involved in conflicts that were unnecessary, but our involvement was almost wholly secret (and arguably criminal) and covered up by our government (both executive and legislative branches, apparently).
None of the presidents featured in the book (FDR, JFK, LBJ, Reagan) came off looking very noble, attractive, or even moral. They were all described as pathological liars and they seem in the book to have little feeling for the people who were hurt by their lies.
The point Alterman is ultimately making, however, is not just that the presidents were bad men and talented liars, but that their lies hurt our country and our democracy. After reading and skimming the book, I would agree with him. But his solution--to never lie--seems not only impossible, but also not the best course in every situation. Maybe our presidents could try a little harder, though, to determine when a lie is absolutely necessary and whether it is worth its considerable cost before launching into one (or two or 300).
I can't say I enjoyed reading this book, but I did learn a lot from it--some of it I'd rather not have known.
Next up: some fiction, I think.
Saturday, February 9, 2013
American Wars, South and North
I finished The House of the Spirits last week and did finally get the answers to my questions posed in the last post. The other "I" of the story turned out to be the granddaughter of the main character, Esteban. And I decided that we occasionally get Esteban's narration to provide some perspective on a character who might otherwise be seen as wholly negative. For those who might read the book, I won't reveal what happens at the end, but for me it ended satisfactorily, if not entirely happily.
Toward the end of the book I was starting to get impatient with the narrative's many, many rich and evocative details. Though I found them enjoyable throughout most of the novel, I got a bit bogged down by them when the narrative reached modern times. Maybe because much of what was being described was the country's political turmoil, I wanted to move through those grisly details more quickly. I had no idea Chile was going through so much; I want to read more about this country's history when I get the chance.
It's an odd experience, though, reading novels that incorporate real history, especially when it's history I'm not aware of. The descriptions of the terror, corruption, torture, and other shocking events seem almost cartoonish in The House of the Spirits. I had the same reaction to a book I read that was set in India, Six Suspects. (See my blog 8/14/11.) It makes me think that this style of presenting terrifyingly real details in a comic light is frequently employed, probably to make the subject more palatable to those who would otherwise be repulsed by it. It reminds me of how Native American writers jokingly tell of the despair that continues to haunt their people. The ability to rise above suffering through humor not only reveals the suffering, but also shows the bravery of those who suffer.
Interestingly, in her novel Allende does not seem to take sides. She presents each side of the socialism vs republicanism debate (and the negative consequences of each type of government) from multiple perspectives, primarily through the eyes or voices of the characters, while the omniscient narrator stays mostly neutral, except to condemn dictatorship.
As I said, I enjoyed the book but was ready to move to non-fiction for a while, so I jumped the alphabetical list a little bit to choose the next non-fiction book, When Presidents Lie, by Eric Alterman, a columnist for The Nation and author of many books about politics and history. Though published in 2004, When Presidents Lie does not take up George W. Bush's lying to start a war with Iraq, but past instances of presidential lying about international conflicts that had, Alterman believes, grave consequences.
At the moment I'm in the section about Kennedy's lies during the Cuban Missile Crisis. The book is not a story, but an analysis, and for that reason is a bit dry, but it is interesting since it discusses events I know very little about.
I'll let you know how it goes. Stay tuned!
Toward the end of the book I was starting to get impatient with the narrative's many, many rich and evocative details. Though I found them enjoyable throughout most of the novel, I got a bit bogged down by them when the narrative reached modern times. Maybe because much of what was being described was the country's political turmoil, I wanted to move through those grisly details more quickly. I had no idea Chile was going through so much; I want to read more about this country's history when I get the chance.
It's an odd experience, though, reading novels that incorporate real history, especially when it's history I'm not aware of. The descriptions of the terror, corruption, torture, and other shocking events seem almost cartoonish in The House of the Spirits. I had the same reaction to a book I read that was set in India, Six Suspects. (See my blog 8/14/11.) It makes me think that this style of presenting terrifyingly real details in a comic light is frequently employed, probably to make the subject more palatable to those who would otherwise be repulsed by it. It reminds me of how Native American writers jokingly tell of the despair that continues to haunt their people. The ability to rise above suffering through humor not only reveals the suffering, but also shows the bravery of those who suffer.
Interestingly, in her novel Allende does not seem to take sides. She presents each side of the socialism vs republicanism debate (and the negative consequences of each type of government) from multiple perspectives, primarily through the eyes or voices of the characters, while the omniscient narrator stays mostly neutral, except to condemn dictatorship.
As I said, I enjoyed the book but was ready to move to non-fiction for a while, so I jumped the alphabetical list a little bit to choose the next non-fiction book, When Presidents Lie, by Eric Alterman, a columnist for The Nation and author of many books about politics and history. Though published in 2004, When Presidents Lie does not take up George W. Bush's lying to start a war with Iraq, but past instances of presidential lying about international conflicts that had, Alterman believes, grave consequences.
At the moment I'm in the section about Kennedy's lies during the Cuban Missile Crisis. The book is not a story, but an analysis, and for that reason is a bit dry, but it is interesting since it discusses events I know very little about.
I'll let you know how it goes. Stay tuned!
Saturday, February 2, 2013
Women's Worlds: Real and Magical
I finished Writing Women's Worlds, enjoying it greatly. I wrote to the author, a professor at Columbia, to tell her so, and she very graciously wrote back, thanking me. That's one of the nice things about reading a scholarly book: the writers are often not famous (other than in academia), and their email addresses are completely accessible on the websites of their schools. If your email doesn't go in the person's junk mail box, you may get a reply.
I'm now almost finished with Isabel Allende's first novel, The House of the Spirits. It's really quite good, and I don't know why I didn't get into it the first time I tried to read it. It's a saga about a family in Chile, the Pruebas, from the turn of the 20th century into modern times. They are an upper middle class family, land owners, who go through the turbulent 20th century and are affected by it in various ways.
What makes this novel different from others of its genre is that it incorporates magic realism in telling its story. Magic realism is a technique that describes magical and supernatural events as if they were no big deal, placing them in an otherwise ordinary, realistic narrative. At first, readers are startled to see magic in what they assumed was a realistic story (not science fiction, horror or fantasy), but eventually, they get used to it and come to accept it as natural and ordinary, the way the story's characters do.
But even though the magic elements stand out, they are not what make The House of the Sprits a great story. In this story, it is the realism that gripped me. When I think of sagas, I think of romance fiction and its ilk, since that's the genre where sagas normally appear. But the family saga in this story is not in the least romantic because it shows the way people really act and think. The main characters are all flawed, and their flaws cause them and the people around them great pain, even while their perfections give great joy.
Because of the stark realism, it's hard to know who to root for in this story, but it seems that Allende gives the women a slight edge, though several of the men seem worthy of praise and admiration. Wanting to know what happens to all the characters is what keeps me reading.
What is perhaps the most striking feature of this novel, though, is the wonderfully detailed descriptions of the people, places, and events of this (not entirely) imaginary world. It presents a rich tapestry that is quite satisfying (especially if you like details). It makes me wonder if James Lee Burke picked up this method from Allende. Maybe I'll ask him.
One thing I don't understand in this story, though, is why we occasionally get the first-person narration of the main character, Esteban. Along those same lines, who is telling another part of the narrative and referring to her/himself as "I"? Perhaps I'll find these things out before I finish the book.
I am enjoying it and recommend it highly.
I'm now almost finished with Isabel Allende's first novel, The House of the Spirits. It's really quite good, and I don't know why I didn't get into it the first time I tried to read it. It's a saga about a family in Chile, the Pruebas, from the turn of the 20th century into modern times. They are an upper middle class family, land owners, who go through the turbulent 20th century and are affected by it in various ways.
What makes this novel different from others of its genre is that it incorporates magic realism in telling its story. Magic realism is a technique that describes magical and supernatural events as if they were no big deal, placing them in an otherwise ordinary, realistic narrative. At first, readers are startled to see magic in what they assumed was a realistic story (not science fiction, horror or fantasy), but eventually, they get used to it and come to accept it as natural and ordinary, the way the story's characters do.
But even though the magic elements stand out, they are not what make The House of the Sprits a great story. In this story, it is the realism that gripped me. When I think of sagas, I think of romance fiction and its ilk, since that's the genre where sagas normally appear. But the family saga in this story is not in the least romantic because it shows the way people really act and think. The main characters are all flawed, and their flaws cause them and the people around them great pain, even while their perfections give great joy.
Because of the stark realism, it's hard to know who to root for in this story, but it seems that Allende gives the women a slight edge, though several of the men seem worthy of praise and admiration. Wanting to know what happens to all the characters is what keeps me reading.
What is perhaps the most striking feature of this novel, though, is the wonderfully detailed descriptions of the people, places, and events of this (not entirely) imaginary world. It presents a rich tapestry that is quite satisfying (especially if you like details). It makes me wonder if James Lee Burke picked up this method from Allende. Maybe I'll ask him.
One thing I don't understand in this story, though, is why we occasionally get the first-person narration of the main character, Esteban. Along those same lines, who is telling another part of the narrative and referring to her/himself as "I"? Perhaps I'll find these things out before I finish the book.
I am enjoying it and recommend it highly.
Monday, January 21, 2013
Working Through the A's
I'm getting toward the end of Writing Women's Worlds, and learning this week about weddings and related customs. I have been wondering throughout this book if much has changed since Lila last visited this society in 1989. I should look that up and report back.
The next book on the list is a novel by Isabel Allende, the Chilean writer (and second cousin of ex-president Salvador Allende). I've read a couple of her books, but the one I have planned is her first: The House of the Spirits, which was made into a movie by the same name in 1993: The House of the Spirits. Though it starred Jeremy Irons, Meryl Streep and Glenn Close, it was not well received. I've never seen it, myself. Maybe I'll give it a go after I read the book.
I started reading House of the Spirits once before but didn't get very far. This time I hope to finish it. More later.
The next book on the list is a novel by Isabel Allende, the Chilean writer (and second cousin of ex-president Salvador Allende). I've read a couple of her books, but the one I have planned is her first: The House of the Spirits, which was made into a movie by the same name in 1993: The House of the Spirits. Though it starred Jeremy Irons, Meryl Streep and Glenn Close, it was not well received. I've never seen it, myself. Maybe I'll give it a go after I read the book.
I started reading House of the Spirits once before but didn't get very far. This time I hope to finish it. More later.
Sunday, January 13, 2013
From Desert Solitaire to Desert Solidarity
I finished Desert Solitaire, although by the end I was starting to lose interest, I must say. I'll probably go back and read the ending again sometime; maybe my mindset will be different by then.
Right now I'm reading the next book on the list, Writing Women's Worlds: Bedouin Stories, by Lila Abu-Lughod, a Palestinian-American anthropologist. She has written about the Bedouins of Egypt before. This time she focuses on women and aspects of their lives, from birth to death.
Lila writes beautifully, and the stories are very interesting and enlightening. One of things that has finally been made clear to me is the impact modernization has had on Muslim cultures. We think that modernization is all good, but it is really the reason for the tightening of restrictions on women. Before, in their rather isolated societies, women were freer, paradoxically, because the dangers of the outside world were not felt. Women were safe within their kinship circles because the men were all relatives. When the world intrudes with its strangers, women have to retreat to their households and spend all their time outside covered up to avoid being seen by non-relatives. It's not comfortable for them; they don't like it, but the reality of being surrounded by strangers leaves them with no alternative, given their cultural/religious restrictions of only being "themselves" around family.
Of course, we would say: change your culture, then! Not any easy or a quick solution, because women who try it are only viewed as non-honorable, "fallen" women (as they used to call them in our culture).
Lila's book takes us behind the scenes and shows us the women relatively unguarded and what they think. It's a fascinating look at a culture we don't often readily understand.
I'm enjoying the book very much. Though it is a scholarly work, I recommend it highly.
Right now I'm reading the next book on the list, Writing Women's Worlds: Bedouin Stories, by Lila Abu-Lughod, a Palestinian-American anthropologist. She has written about the Bedouins of Egypt before. This time she focuses on women and aspects of their lives, from birth to death.
Lila writes beautifully, and the stories are very interesting and enlightening. One of things that has finally been made clear to me is the impact modernization has had on Muslim cultures. We think that modernization is all good, but it is really the reason for the tightening of restrictions on women. Before, in their rather isolated societies, women were freer, paradoxically, because the dangers of the outside world were not felt. Women were safe within their kinship circles because the men were all relatives. When the world intrudes with its strangers, women have to retreat to their households and spend all their time outside covered up to avoid being seen by non-relatives. It's not comfortable for them; they don't like it, but the reality of being surrounded by strangers leaves them with no alternative, given their cultural/religious restrictions of only being "themselves" around family.
Of course, we would say: change your culture, then! Not any easy or a quick solution, because women who try it are only viewed as non-honorable, "fallen" women (as they used to call them in our culture).
Lila's book takes us behind the scenes and shows us the women relatively unguarded and what they think. It's a fascinating look at a culture we don't often readily understand.
I'm enjoying the book very much. Though it is a scholarly work, I recommend it highly.
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