It seems enough to say that my Dad gave me this book. As could be inferred from that statement, it has little to recommend it.
Useless though the book is, however, reading it served to remind me that January is an excellent time to give my personal meditation practice a shot in the arm. In 2010, I have been meditating along the lines of Ernest Holmes' model, but I cannot say that I have put much effort into it or been very consistent.
Since reading Ricard's book, on the other hand, I have managed to meditate--fruitfully, I might add--every day. I guess it did its job after all.
Friday, December 31, 2010
Aleksandr Ostrovsky: The Storm
In the preface to this edition (Bibliobazaar, for those interested), the editor makes two comments, either of which would have sufficed to lower my expectations for this play. Firstly, she or he (identified only as E.G. for some reason) identifies Ostrovsky as " . . . the greatest of the Russian dramatists." On what authority is this ludicrous statement made? What makes Ostrovsky (largely unknown outside of Russia) better than Chekov or Gorki? Ridiculous. Secondly, "All the reproach that lives for us in the word theatrical is worlds removed from 'The Storm'. . . people who like 'farcical comedy' and social melodrama, and 'musical sketches' will find 'The Storm' deep, forbidding and gloomy." Of course, I am one of those people, so I didn't expect much to like this play.
I was not wrong, but my distaste for it did not arise from the editor's expected causes. For one thing, it was indeed gloomy, but not particularly deep. In fact, in a play where the heroine hurls herself to her death after her affair is discovered, the above assertion that the play is not theatrical seems patently absurd. Rather than overly dramatic, I found the play too simple for my taste. The plot is uninventive, and the characters uninteresting. This first item from the sixth year of Ward's Lifetime of Reading has been a disappointment, but he fails me so rarely, and plays take so little time to read, that I forgive him.
I was not wrong, but my distaste for it did not arise from the editor's expected causes. For one thing, it was indeed gloomy, but not particularly deep. In fact, in a play where the heroine hurls herself to her death after her affair is discovered, the above assertion that the play is not theatrical seems patently absurd. Rather than overly dramatic, I found the play too simple for my taste. The plot is uninventive, and the characters uninteresting. This first item from the sixth year of Ward's Lifetime of Reading has been a disappointment, but he fails me so rarely, and plays take so little time to read, that I forgive him.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Doris Lessing: The Cleft
LOL I knew Lessing was a feminist when I picked up this book, so I really should have guessed the subject from the title. Still, in spite of basically being about pussies and how men are stupid, but women are stupid for liking them, it was a fun book. The structure kept it from becoming didactic, and Lessing has a way with narrative. If there is something hidden in these few pages, I suspect that the clue lies in the narrator's reference to Artemis and Diana as two different gods, even though that has no saliency for me. The story is clearly set in Rome, so why would he even mention Diana? There is something here that is occurring to me, even as I write it down, about how our modern myths are just more mature versions of older ones--including the myth of where men and women came from. I bet, if I were a feminist critic instead of merely a personal one, I would take that ball and run with it.
Won H. Kim: Water of Life, A Cure for our Bodies
Results don't lie. If I read this book in a vacuum, I would have discounted it as so-called quack science. It is written and organized in such a way that the science behind it seems fuzzy at best, and even wishful at times. Part of this may be due to translation, but surely not all of it.
However, I did not read it in a vacuum. The author's daughter is a very close friend of mine, and her story plays a large part in the book itself. The seemingly ridiculous health claims made in the book, about how her need for troublesome and ineffective hormone supplements was nearly eliminated by mere water, are not exaggerated in the least. Crystal really has been taking specially treated water instead of medicine for years.
Which is the only reason I don't laugh at the later parts of the book, where the science gets even fuzzier, and the claims even more outlandish. Could it be true? Can we really be cured of deadly diseases so easily? The fact that Crystal's Dad is under investigation for his claims strengthens his credibility, rather than weakening it. Of course such discoveries would come under attack. At any rate, I am at least half convinced that what he describes is true, and am willing to at least consider the possibility of the other half--and believe me, it's pretty strange. . .
However, I did not read it in a vacuum. The author's daughter is a very close friend of mine, and her story plays a large part in the book itself. The seemingly ridiculous health claims made in the book, about how her need for troublesome and ineffective hormone supplements was nearly eliminated by mere water, are not exaggerated in the least. Crystal really has been taking specially treated water instead of medicine for years.
Which is the only reason I don't laugh at the later parts of the book, where the science gets even fuzzier, and the claims even more outlandish. Could it be true? Can we really be cured of deadly diseases so easily? The fact that Crystal's Dad is under investigation for his claims strengthens his credibility, rather than weakening it. Of course such discoveries would come under attack. At any rate, I am at least half convinced that what he describes is true, and am willing to at least consider the possibility of the other half--and believe me, it's pretty strange. . .
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