All-Ashton at ABT (with bonus complaining about hockey)

Today was not a good day for Sabres fans (make sure the sound is on when you follow that link). I hate days like the trade deadline and the beginning of free agency because the Sabres never do anything exciting (unless one counts losing players as exciting). Which would only be partially bad except certain Sabres fans (not linked to here) then proceed to flip out about the lack of activity even though said dullness has been the GM's m.o. for years and is therefore entirely predictable. It makes me cranky.

On the other hand--and be prepared to admire this incredibly smooth transition--I did have a lovely evening at the ballet last night. I went to see American Ballet Theatre's beautiful All-Ashton program. Having never seen any of Ashton's work I was excited to go and was even more excited when the box office sold me a student ticket for a seat toward the front of the orchestra. So different from sitting in the Family Circle and watching the tiny dancers.

The first ballet--Birthday Offering--featured roles for seven female soloists and costumes gaudy enough that they might have been improved by watching from the Family Circle. But I loved how distinct each of the seven variations were and particularly liked Misty Copeland's, in which she repeatedly flicked her feet rapidly in front of and behind the knee as if knitting with her legs. And Stella Abrera and Eric Tamm looked wonderful both separately and together. They're two dancers I'd so like the opportunity to see more often.

I was much less sure of the partnership of Sascha Radetsky and Hee Seo in Thais Pas de Deux. The pas de deux achieves a delicate exoticism without veering as sharply into orientalism as other ballets do although the orange costumes don't help. Seo looked graceful and soft and otherwordly but her beautiful lines made Radetsky's look short in comparison and he couldn't match her air of mystery. I usually like him very much--I just think this role might not serve him well.

The second pas de deux of the evening was the Awakening from Ashton's Sleeping Beauty which I don't think works particularly well as a stand-alone piece. Although maybe it would with a more charismatic pair of dancers. Particularly problematic for me was that Paloma Herrera seemed so much the stronger of the two. Cory Stearns seemed almost superfluous when partnering her; it felt as though she could do all the same things with no help at all. Maybe if he had been more authoritative it would have helped. I feel as though my lack of knowledge when it comes to dance really hurts me at times like this. I don't know if my problem is the choreographers or the dancers and I don't know if my problem is something technical or if it's just that I'm watching dancers that don't quite do it for me for whatever reason. Well, it's something that I imagine I'll understand better the more I see.

Even if I hadn't enjoyed the first three ballets of the evening though, it would have been more than worth it to see The Dream. I particularly appreciated the clarity of the storytelling and the way that the dancing constantly moved the story forward. Maybe it's the result of having no background in dance but the utter frivolity of so many story ballets can drive me crazy. I sit there wondering why I'm watching a variation in a particular place or what purpose some bit serves other than obstructing the story or if it was really quite necessary for the dancers to do that move again. Then again, maybe it's just that a lot of these ballets are very silly indeed. But with Ashton's take on The Midsummer Night's Dream there was none of that. The dancing--coupled with the lovely set and costumes--served to create characters and atmosphere with very little that felt like excess. And such dancing from all involved (I saw the cast with Herman Cornejo as Puck and David Hallberg and Gillian Murphy as Oberon and Titania respectively)! I felt fortunate to be sitting in the theater, watching people who are capable of creating something so beautiful and funny and charming.

Turning the Lights Out

There's an interesting conversation going on over at WNYC's Performance Club sight about an incident that took place at P.S. 1 on Saturday when a performance artist was censored by the art gallery, which chose to turn the lights out during her performance. (Part I, Part II) Not being familiar with either the artists in question or, really, performance art in general, I don't have anything insightful to add.

To be honest, the thing I think of when I hear about someone turning lights the lights off to end an altercation is this:

Of course any punches thrown at P.S.1 were purely metaphorical.

A couple things that I'm thinking about:

I realize that Patrick Kane looks like a preteen. But nevertheless I'm not sure that "Most Patriotic Grade School Portrait" is a great look for a professional hockey player who will likely be participating in the Olympics this winter. Particularly when it's only one in a series of truly terrible photos. I mean, I'm not insane so I don't expect great things from USA Hockey or anything, but really, someone got paid to do this. I could do better and I'm really not a particularly talented photographer and just barely qualify as knowing how to use photoshop.

Time Out New York reviewed Sondra Lee's new book and said that readers might be familiar with her from the orgy scene in La Dolce Vita. I've seen the movie but certainly didn't remember she was in it. I do, however, remember her as Tiger Lily the Mary Martin starring Peter Pan. My sister and I used to watch an old tape of that whenever we went to our grandparents' country house.

It's been a long time since I thought about it but it's something tons of people watched as kids, no?

The NHL Draft

So here we are, on a Friday in late June, and I'll be watching the first round of the NHL draft tonight. And the thing about that is that the NHL draft makes for truly tedious television. Last year I paid a little bit of attention beforehand since I was going to be at the draft and all, but this year I haven't bothered. My draft prep has pretty much amounted to reading the Interchangeable Parts ladies' Not On the Road with IPB series. Still, there's a lot you can predict without knowing more than 10 names:

• About 30 18-year-olds, all excited, most awkward will get up on stage and put on a sweater and a cap to pose for pictures.
• Gary Bettman will be booed. Loudly.
• Pierre Maguire will make people all over North America uncomfortable. And he will do so with enthusiasm.
• When Darcy Regier gets on stage Sabres fans will be crossing their figures and toes, hoping that he drafts someone who could not be described as small, or short, or as another member of the fucking midget brigade.
• I'll spend most of the show wondering what possessed me to spend my Friday night watching this crap.

This prediction gig is easy. You just have to set the bar low.

A Brief Hockey Moment . . .

Well fuck you, Bucky Gleason.  That out of the way, and only because I'm so annoyed that I feel the need to write about this all over the damn place, here's my problem with Bucky Gleason's latest. 

Here's the meat of what he had to say:

Twenty years ago, when the economy was weak but stronger than today, when the population had decreased but was higher than today, Buffalo fans were tougher and more judicious with their money.

Their voice was stronger. Their backbone was thicker. Their collars were bluer, and they demanded the same from their teams. They wouldn't have tolerated, let alone contributed to, what they're getting these days from their teams.  [. . .] 

The passion for the Bills and Sabres is no weaker, but the landscape has changed. Buffalo fans have lowered their standards and settled for mediocrity. [. . . ]

Marketing has played a huge role. The Bills haven't reached the playoffs since 1999, but they're masterful in selling the game experience. The Sabres' variable-pricing system is the best in the league, a terrific power play to be sure.

But attendance also remains strong because enabling fans feed the beast. There was no real urgency to keep Jason Peters last week. Why would the Bills spend $10 million a year on a left tackle when they've proven they don't need him to fill the stadium? Why make any real changes to the Sabres when it's obvious that fans will keep coming? [all emphasis mine]

I think this idea that Buffalo fans are somehow unique in tolerating mediocrity seems endemic to the Buffalo News. For example, see this Top Shelf interview with Harrington where he claims that Buffalo fans are just different than fans in other cities. That annoys me, but it's far less offensive than Gleason's condescension toward the fans because it doesn't carry the same implication that we fans are somehow complicit in the crappiness of our sports teams and doing the wrong thing if we support them. I'm sorry but it's not the job or duty of the fans to somehow hold ownership or management accountable for the quality of the team they put on the ice (or the football field). We're fans because it gives us pleasure, not out of some kind of obligation and it's insulting to claim that we're somehow responsible for mediocre teams. 

If fans decide to let their season tickets lapse or buy fewer tickets because they're not happy with the product on the ice they're not bad fans. They're just choosing not to spend their money on a product they no longer enjoy. And if they keep their season tickets or keeping buying tickets to games because they still have fun going to the games, they're not necessarily stupid idiots who buy the management's excuses. They're not ignorant, or weak, or willful enablers. They're just fans who still enjoy going to see live hockey (or football) even when the team isn't good. Bucky Gleason doesn't get it. That's his problem, not the fans' problem. 

A Letter

Dear Sabres,

That was a lousy, pathetic excuse for a hockey game. I paid $70 to witness that shit in person and I hope you're properly ashamed that anyone would have wasted their money on watching that. I may have had fun tonight but it was no thanks to you. (Lalime, you're excused. You were fine and it's not your fault the team clearly loves playing like absolute trash in front of you.) 

I mean, the Islanders are the worst team in the league for a reason. And tonight? They played like the Islanders. And yet you were shut out. If I was that shitty at my job I wouldn't have a job. I'm just saying. 

All the best,

Meg

I can't stop watching this . . .

What the heck was that? Alexander Semin . . . the source of so much amusement. 

(Video of this is all over the hockey blogosphere today, of course, but I stole the link from Alix)

Notes from the Homefront

1.) The night I got in to Buffalo, my brother (who is 18 and has Down Syndrome) asked me to give him back his Ultimate Spiderman comics. My father took them away ages ago because my brother isn't always so good at recognizing the line between fact and fiction, and stashed them somewhere in my room. I don't know where though and even if I did I wouldn't give them back. So I told him that I didn't really know what he wanted from me and a few minutes later, I got this note:

Ultimate
theef
bich
you
took
my things

Now obviously it would be better if he were writing me nice notes, but being able to express himself in writing like that is a pretty new thing so we're all pleased (and amused). It's particularly nice because it's not like anyone ever taught him how to write "bitch" so he obviously sounded it out on his own.

2.) My father took me to a Sabres game while I was home. Fortunately they won, if in an unnecessarily ugly way. Last time I went to a Sabres game in Buffalo was the ice bowl last year. There were an awful lot fewer people yelling, "You suck, Vanek!" this year. Also, we got ice cream, which makes any day better.


3.) My parents have what appears to be an infestation of excessively stupid mice. Not only have they set up residence in a household that has a fairly talented feline hunter, either the cat has taken to putting them there, which we doubt since he's previously shown a preference for eating his kills, or they keep drowning in the dog's water bowl. 5 dead mice between Thanksgiving and Christmas. Thankfully there were none in the week I was home.


4.) I am now in possession of a passel of new plants which I will hopefully manage not to kill. The first is a bamboo plant that was a Channukah gift from my brother. We don't actually exchange Channukah gifts, but he couldn't wait until Christmas to give it to me. The other two are cuttings from other plants.

The bamboo (obviously).

A cutting from my sister's Rat Tail Cactus,
which will hopefully not die since it really didn't cure long enough.
They end up looking really neat.

A cutting from my grandparents cactus,
which they've had for over 30 years
and just cut down for the umpteenth time.

5.) I'm glad there was snow when I arrived because the rest of the week was so warm and damp that it all melted and a lake formed in the backyard. On Sunday morning it was so windy that tiny rippling waves were running across the pooled water and you could feel the wind pushing against the car as my sister and I drove toward New York City. Briefly, around the time we passed Rochester, it looked like it was going to clear up. A sharp streak of lighter sky appeared at the horizon, as if the lid of a pot were being lifted up. Instead the rain came back.


6.) Driving up to the Holland Tunnel totally sucks.

Things I think about . . .

In a New York Times op-ed, Charles Blow writes:

Of course, anything could happen. There are three days left. McCain could still win. And, a drunk man wearing a blindfold could get a puck past Marc-André Fleury.

Yeah, unlikely. It’s a wrap. Fade to black.

How the hell did he come to choose Fleury? Why not Brodeur or Lundqvist who are a) better and b) local? Or at least why not one of the top goalies in the league (hint: Fleury's not one of them)? Should we take from this that the likelihood of McCain winning is greater than the likelihood of a drunk man wearing a blindfold getting a puck past Brodeur, equal to a drunk man in a blindfold getting a puck past Fleury, and less than a drunk man in a blindfold getting a puck past Niittymaki?

Yeah, I'm ready for this election to be over.

For today and only today . . .

I'm kind of loving Flyers fans.



I'm also getting a kick out of them trying to drown out the sound of the booing, which the New York Times hockey blog described as "resounding (almost deafening)," by playing the music extra loudly. Honestly, who thought this was a good idea?

The Mutinous Peons

Another year, another round of the IPB fantasy league (hockey is totally coming, you guys!). Last year the Rabid Chinchillas puttered in to a rather middling finish. Part of the problem was that they were, well, just a wee bit pantywaisted. We got slaughtered in the penalty minutes category every week. Well, this year we've rebranded ourselves as the Mutinous Peons, sharpened our pitchforks, lit our torches, and begun taking our thuggish duties far more seriously. By which I mean that this time around we'll be featuring Chris Pronger with his flying elbows and stomping feet. 

Returning players this year are Pavel Datsyuk, Alexander Frolov, Nicklas Lidstrom, and Brad Boyes (who was surprisingly useful last year). The team is delighted to have all of them back. I'm a little more familiar with the players this year than last, which means that the IPB league really has been a learning experience. So, without further ado:

Things I Am Most Happy With

• Replacing unlikable Russian goalie Nikolai Khabibulin with endlessly entertaining Russian goalie Ilya Bryzgalov. We can only hope for more interviews like this well-known one.
• Patty's favorite player, Philippe Boucher, joining the D. Hopefully he won't be spending this entire season injured even if he does look nice in a suit. 

• Having an integrated team thanks to Dustin Byfuglien (hey, it's hockey, it makes even the town I grew up in look racially diverse). 
• Getting to keep best-player-in-the-world-even-if-the-media-wants-it-to-be-Ovechkin-or-Crosby Nick Lidstrom.

Our first opponent is Amy's The Little Honkers. They're going down. 

Sports Stuff

Those Opening Ceremonies were something else. Beautiful but also rather frightening in their precision. Definitely the most interesting opening I can remember watching. The Tai Chi demonstration with the thousands of people, many of them running opposite directions in perfect concentric circles was just unreal.

I love the Olympics. My family has always watched them religiously. Having only NBC to watch feels weird though since I'm used to being able to switch over to CBC whenever I feel like it. I can't say I buy into the whole "Olympic spirit" thing. But if you like watching sports--particularly the kind of sports they don't show on tv regularly--it doesn't get much better. I love the swimming and the volleyball (beach and regular) and the diving and a host of other sports. Track and field? That I don't love so much. So the first half of the games is more fun for me as a viewer.

In other news I am absolutely delighted that Teppo Numminen has been re-signed by the Sabres. I don't know how much better the team will be in the upcoming season but I've really been pretty happy with their offseason.

The NHL Draft

Now updated with photos. My transfer program still isn't working, but my sister stopped into town on her way to Costa Rica with her card reader, so I was able to get all the images off my camera. (6/28)

So I'm thoroughly behind on blogging because I was out of town, then busy, and then, finally, exhausted. I went to take a little nap between getting home from work and watching So You Think You Can Dance last night and instead I was out for the night by about 6:30. I live such an exciting life. Also, I would like to note that I would have pictures with this post but my photo transfer program isn't working. If I get it figured out, I'll add the pictures in later.

That said, it actually has been a busy few weeks. This past weekend I went up to Ottawa to attend the NHL Draft. Because if you were a hockey fan with minimal interest in any players below the NHL level it would make perfect sense to go watch crusty old people draft 18-year-old kids most of whom will never play in the NHL, right? It's safe to say I was skeptical about the entertainment value inherent in this thing. In fact I had a vivid picture of myself as one of the listeners trying to kill herself in Airplane. Still getting a chance to meet Alix of The Humming Giraffe, Pookie and Schnookie of Interchangeable Parts, Patty of Penalty Killing, and Heather B. of Top Shelf outweighed the potential boredom of the actual event, so off I went. Of course I'm writing about it days after the fact so everything has already been covered by actual hockey bloggers and I'm just repeating what other people have said, but I figure that's OK because being original has never been a hallmark of this blog.

And as it turns out, the NHL draft isn't nearly as boring as I thought it would be. Hurrah! Bettman was vaguely charming while being booed and is, of course, hilariously short, which is extra-obvious in person when tall hockey people are constantly walking past him. Also amusing is that the people running the show regularly spoke to the GMs as though they were unruly children. I suspect that's probably necessary. The first day we were way up in the 300s and could see only well enough to notice when our GMs were on the phone or away from their seat. Although that didn't stop us from attempting long-distance body-language reading. The draft doesn't exactly move quickly in the first round but between the GM watching, looking up players in the Hockey News draft preview I'd picked up, and chatting with each other and the Ottawa fan sitting next to us, we kept ourselves busy and entertained.

(The arena emptied out pretty drastically after Ottawa made their pick.)

Special entertainment props need to go to the Islanders for trading down not once, but twice, and the Devils for deciding that if the Islanders could do that than they could too, thank you very much. Also to John Carlson for handing his coat to Gary Bettman as though Bettman were the doorman. The Sabres did their bit by drafting a giant with their early first round pick. They later returned to their usual midget drafting with their late first round pick. I have nothing but admiration for Regier's apparent commitment to on-ice physical comedy. Seriously, all I want in life right now is to someday see Tyler Myers on the ice with Nathan Gerbe on a regular basis.

The second day of the draft was . . . less interesting. Mainly because with a few exceptions I didn't know who anyone was. But those exceptions we're totally fun. We got to see Alix's cousin drafted and we also got to see a kid Schnookie had run into on the elevator the previous night drafted. And, because we were allowed to sit in the 100s on the 2nd day, we were able to see everything much more closely.

(Regier makes a trade on the second day.)

We could even see the Sabres watching video of prospects before making their selections. We didn't stay for the whole draft, but we stuck it out through the 5th round, which seems pretty good to me.

And of course the off ice stuff--girly drinks, delicious food, and a hockey card games--was a blast. The card game, courtesy of Pookie and Schnookie, was particularly fun for me not only because I love games but because the cards are totally hilarious. Just look at that goalie (he was waived rather quickly). The very best part of the trip, though, was that everyone was just as fun in person as they are online.

This and That (once more)

I was reading today's Alistair Macaulay review in the New York Times and I realized he had just described exactly how I feel while watching the Boston Bruins play hockey. Which is why I'm thoroughly grateful that I won't be doing so again until next fall.

While you watch, you begin to feel that Bill Clinton probably eloped with Michelle Obama long ago, that the problems of Palestine and Iraq and Afghanistan must have all been sorted by now, that whole generations of human life have passed and aliens have surely taken over the planet and then departed, all while you are stuck there in the theater trying to find the least interest in watching the same tepid floozies doing the same limp steps.

Well, maybe it's not exact--I am, after all, generally sitting on my couch in front of the television when I watch the Bruins--but it's pretty damn close.


Also, this is neither here nor there but too absurd not to share: My roommate's parents just had to buy a new toilet after her mother clogged their old--as in about 70 years old--toilet by accidentally flushing a large and very hard meatball. Yes, really. No, meatball is not a euphemism in this story. The toilet had to be taken apart completely and was so old it couldn't be put together again. That, my friends, is one hell of a meatball. Let this be a cautionary tale for you all--keep meatballs far away from the bathroom at all times.

It Figures

I was at Sunday in the Park with George tonight, so of course the Sabres went and did this. Without fail I go out on a night when they're playing and they go and have a totally exciting game. Sunday in the Park with George was great by the way. More on that tomorrow.

More Miscellany

Just a few thoughts from your resident absentee blogger:

1. Finally replaced the old, falling apart whale stickies on the bottom of the tub.
Quite an improvement, I think. My roommate and I agree that they make it look a bit like we have a 5 year old living in the apartment but we love them anyway. Besides, look at the color of our tub (also the sink and toilet). Our bathroom needs all the cheering up it can get.


2. Dmitri Kalinin makes my heart hurt. I want so much for him not to struggle and he's just playing really bad hockey right now.


3. I'm so glad that Christian won Project Runway. I liked Jillian's work as well, but I thought Christian put together a wonderful show. And this dress was fucking amazing (although not the most amazing picture of it):
I loved this as well, particularly the hat:


4. Over the weekend I baked Italian olive bread. My sister gave me the recipe but told me she found it a bit bland and would probably substitute whole wheat flour for about half the recipe. I didn't really feel like doing that but in the end I agreed that it was slightly boring although it had a nice texture. I think next time I'll either try adding in some whole wheat flour or I'll use more olives to make a really olive-stuffed loaf. I'm also thinking that sourdough bread with black olives would be delicious.


5. I also made a maple-pecan cake, which has the advantage of looking quite pretty.
I like the cake a lot but hate the frosting. It's maple and vanilla flavored and has a kind of sticky, marshmallow-y texture which I don't enjoy. If anyone has any suggestions on a frosting that would go well with a maple-flavored cake feel free to leave them in the comments.

Ice Bowl

As usual I'm a bad blogger writing way after everyone posts their Ice Bowl blogs and without much of anything insightful to say. The sentiments I'm about to express have already been stated eloquently in posts on BfloBlog and The Willful Caboose, as well as numerous other Sabres blogs. But hey, it's the most exciting event I've been to in ages--probably ever--so I have to try, right?

My outdoor game saga began when I left our tickets in New York upon flying to Buffalo. Needing my roommate to FedEx the tickets--after confiscating our ballet tickets for safekeeping--wasn't the most auspicious start, but fortunately they arrived smoothly and it was uphill from there.

I'm the daughter of a hyper-organized man who truly took his years in the Boy Scouts to heart, so to avoid haranguing, I laid at enough clothing the night before to go exploring in the Arctic.

And in the morning we went off, first to a tailgate party and then to the stadium itself. They had a nice little area set up outside the stadium where there were these large blow-ups, an ice sculpture, a [product placement] green screen, and a stage where a band was playing.
We got in and to our seats a bit before the anthems. Or in the case of this game, O Canada followed by God Bless America. Which I'm not against per se, although I can deal without the God stuff. But it's singable which makes it nice for the crowd.

And then the game began. Not well, but it began. And it continued through stoppages of play and bad weather. I'm not sure how well it came off on TV--I assume the ice-fixing stoppages were less than captivating--but being there it didn't really matter.

I know there will be many better crowd videos than mine, and I didn't capture a particularly interesting or exciting moment, but the following video will give you an idea of what the crowd looked and sounded like at a sort of average moment of the game (and no, that's definitely not my voice you hear):

At the end of the day, it didn't much matter that the Sabres lost or that the actual hockey was less than spectacular due to the conditions. It was a unforgettable experience in an incredible atmosphere and I feel so, so fortunate to have been at Ralph Wilson with my parents and to have taken part in the event.

Before the game began the woman sitting next to my family said to someone sitting a few seats away, "Where would you want to be other than here? NOWHERE!" In the spectacularly long game recap comments thread over at IPB, Gambler of Desperation Hockey quoted Marv Levy saying, "Where else would you rather be than right here, right now?" And I think that's a feeling that was shared by most of the 71,000+ in attendance yesterday afternoon. We were lucky to be there, watching this wonderful sport outdoors on a snowy winter day, with thousands of people from our community who felt just the same as we did. Yesterday, I was happy to be a Sabres fan and happy to be a hockey fan. But above all that, I was so very proud to have grown up in Buffalo. It was a fantastic way to start the new year.

In Which Meg Goes to a Hockey Game

I went out to the Island with friends to see the Sabres game last night. Three Sabres fans and an Islanders fan who was really a very good sport about it. Nassau Coliseum is a pain in the ass to get to from my work--really from the city in general--and we got there just in time for the national anthem.

It was pretty empty when we got there and I figured it would fill up as people managed to get out there. I was wrong though. People did kind of filter in as the game progressed but it never filled up much more than half way. Too bad really, as it was largely pretty quiet. The only time the crowd came alive was the one time the Islanders scored to tie the game and then it quickly went quiet again. Toward the end, with the Sabres up by one, the guy behind us muttered, "Anytime you want to start skating, Guerin," and that was about all we heard of the Islander fans' opinions. Well that, and the occasional "shoot," on the power play.

We had nice seats--just a few rows into the 200s to the left of the goalie. Since we were on the end where the Islanders shot twice we had ample opportunity to watch Miller's brilliance--and he was pretty damn brilliant. The rest of the team? Not so much. Although it figures that both of the Sabres goals happened on the other side of the ice where we really couldn't see what was going on. Still, though it wasn't the most exciting of games, it was fun to see the team play and fun to see a win.

I'd have more to say but am too busy and overwhelmed by everything I need to do to write any more tonight. Once I get up to Buffalo (Saturday) I suspect I'll have a lot more free time and I'm very much looking forward to it.

Good Hockey (aka Not What the Sabres are Playing)

What I was watching during my lunch hour Friday:

A Personal Matter

So I was perhaps a bit optimistic about my emotional state yesterday. I found the whole day more than a little miserable. I'm still not as distraught as some Sabres fans seem to be, but then it would probably take the death of a family member to get me to that point. I still like Regier and am still willing to wait and see how the team performs next season. But I will say that being all, "oh, I'm reading this really depressing book, so at least it'll provide perspective," was pretty damn stupid. Because between the book and the emotional beating of seeing the team Sabres fans have so adored for the last two years lose both captains, I'm feeling pretty wrecked. Also, I really wish my roommate wasn't out of town because if she was here we'd watch Midsummer Murders and chat and I'd feel better. But enough of this whining!

A Personal Matter is a wonderful novel. Just truly great literature. It's one of those books that reminds you that most of what you read is not great. But it also kind of made me feel like bits of me had been put through a blender.

One of the toughest things for me to read is always disgusting physical descriptions of people. Now it's perfectly possible that I am just incredibly inobservant, but I never look at people and see this. There just seems to be such a visceral level of disgust for the human body. I'm not complaining; it's vital to the book. But it was a particularly difficult aspect of what was a trying read. At the same time, the novel had moments of incredible beauty and clarity. And the greatest of these, for me, was when Bird, the protagonist, first sees his damaged son.

My son has bandages on his head and so did Apollinaire when he was wounded on the field of battle. On a dark and lonely battlefield I have never seen, my son was wounded like Apollinaire and now he is screaming soundlessly...

Bird began to cry. Head in bandages, like Apollinaire: the image simplified his feelings instantly and directed them. He could feel himself turning into a sentimental jelly, yet he felt himself being sanctioned and justified: he even discovered a sweetness in his tears.

Like Apollinaire, my son was wounded on a dark and lonely battlefield that I have never seen, and he has arrived with his head in bandages. I'll have to bury him like a soldier who died at war.

Bird continued to cry.

--A Personal Matter, Kenzaburo Oë

It's just an absolutely perfect passage.