I read widely and compulsively and my fancies are ever changing. My love of reading, however, is no mere fancy.
Amanda Welling shares a screenshot of author's discussing "trolls," where it was reveled that several authors are collecting readers' personal information, via Book Giveaways, into a spreadsheet to "track and identify trolls."
There's no indication of what they plan to do with this informations, but the fact that none of these authors are respecting the privacy of potential readers is worrisome enough.
Whether you believe you're one of the "trolls" being targeted is beside the point, everyone should be concerned, if not outright pissed. The personal information of ALL the participants in these giveaways is being shared without their permission.
Not surprising, GoodReads has absolutely nothing safeguarding privacy of the participants' personal information in the Terms & Conditions of their giveaways.
I already posted this today, but worth another look.
[Reblogged by The Stacks]:This is my comment on the issue. AmandaWelling's rebog starts from *** This is very worrying. Someone 'anonymous' is collecting real life names and addresses through GoodReads, but they don't want anyone to know who they are. Another author wants to have this information - for what if it isn't for stalking?
I'm not really involved in the reviews/comments/spa authors thing as I don't read in any of their genres, but all this tracking of people is worrying. It's worrying because if 'anonymous' (what a coward eh? At least the other author has the courage of his convictions and uses his name) can track people and their friends, what about all sorts of other crazies, maybe targetting the kids with the private profiles sending away for stuff?
This is seriously Not Good.
...I'm not surprised by this anymore.
I was warned - as are all who pursue their dreams - by those who define reality as a sequence of salutary disappointments that 'reality' would soot set in. I was reminded that immemorial outsiders had followed that same cisalpine path. Yet we trusted to the private revelation. Of her time in Rome, Elizabeth Bowen wrote: 'If my discoveries are other people's commonplaces I cannot help it - for me they retain a momentous freshness.' And so, for most of us, it was and is.
[We were] living more completely among the scenes and sentiments of a humanism the New World could not provide. The Italian admixture of immediacy and continuity, of the long perspective and the intensely personal . . . Italy again offered to travelers her antique genius for human relations - a tact, an expansiveness never quite with out form. One was drawn, too, but beauty that owed as much to centuried endurance as to the luminosity of art and that seemed, then , to create an equilibrium as lasting as nature's. Like the historian Jakob Burckhardt, we felt all this was ours 'by right of admiration.'
The ethos of the new Cystal Palace was to be the education of the masses, by giving them an 'Illustrated Encyclopedia'. To that end, a historical theme park awaited them, with prehistory in the grounds, and the march of time in ten 'Architectural Courts' . . .
There was an eact replica of the Court of Lions in the Alhambra Court, and an authentic copy of an elaborate Moorish stalactite-honeycomb roof, in 5000 separate pieces of gelatine. this just wasn't enough.. . .this grand design got tangled up with . . . Zoological collections, and freak shows and the Directors concern to make money. The many beautiful illustrations show greenery dripping from every projection and palm trees everywhere. There were bazaars selling everything from shawls to pianos, toys to furniture. . .Attentive visitors in search of enlightenment found themselves confronted by models of grotesque people and collections of stuffed animals, including a hippopotamus. . . One of the iguanadons was 34 feet long, big enough for twenty gentlemen to sit under the mould prepared for it and enjoy a splendid dinner, in 1853.
The palace itself contained 400 tons of glass and 4000 tons of iron. It was twice the size of the Great Exhbition hall with three stories and three vaulted transepts and could bee seen on its perch on sydenham hill from Hammersmith, some 12 miles away, if the night was clear. it sounds amazing, and somehow this is the first I've heard mention of it. It burned to the ground in1936 (there are spectacular photographs of the fire available on line), too late for Mr. Holmes, and has largely been forgotten by history. Let's hope historical fiction and period films can one day bring it back.
* * *
I could never get into [b:Our Mutual Friend, though I wanted to so badly. Bleak House struck my fancy immediately, and remains one of my all time favorites, but OMF, though the book blurb sounded right up my alley, was a slog. I out in down, hoping to pick it up again before I reached my deathbed, but this was more from sheer obstinacy than a true desire to read OMF from cover to cover. Reading Victorian London, however, I kept thinking back to it. More than BH, which takes as its target the whole of Victorian society, OMF, from it's Thames watermen to the wealthy 'dust pile' owner, all described in vivid detail by this fine history, is a novel of London itself. I think Victorian London may have filled in the pieces I need to finish OMF and enjoy it.
Suite Française debuted in English in 2006,and i was immediately drawn to the tragedy of the author's story: Irene Nemirovsky, a talented and prolific author, editor and mover/shaker of the Parisian literary world, was murdered at Auschwitz before finishing her magnum opus. I was so drawn by this tragedy, by the historical import, by the romance of the manuscript discovered in a trunk sixty years after the authors death that bears witness to her remarkable life, that I was sure that it couldn't actually be a good book.
I was wrong. Suite Française is not only a good book it is amazing, all the more so for being a first and incomplete draft.
The first quality of the novel apparent was Nemirovsky's ability to convey the environment. The first movement of the novel, "A Storm in June", details the exodus from Paris that occured immediately prior to the arrival of the German army. Many different families are portrayed so as to give a cross section of the Parisian society fleeing the bombings. This act of the novel is not driven by characters or their development, but their movement and their stasis during the evacuation: to a village, where there are no rooms to stay, to the train station, which is locked, walking down dusty roads, driving until their cars break down, and the reader is there with them. Nemirovsky was able to sustain this illusion by offering contrasting details: "you sometimes hear the whole orchestra, sometimes the violin."
Much of the writing here reminds me of the opening of George Eliot's The Mill on the Floss in that I could not only 'see' the surroundings but feel them. Many authors write moving depictions of color and light and scent, many can lay out a landscape, but few can make you feel the air on your skin the way Eliot does in this passage:
The stream is brim full now, and lies high in this little withy plantation, and half drowns the grassy fringe of the croft in front of the house. As I look at the full stream, the vivid grass, the delicate bright-green powder softening the outline of the great trunks and branches that gleam from under the bare purple boughs, I am in love with moistness, and envy the white ducks that are dipping their heads far into the water here among the withes - unmindful of the awkward appearance they make in the drier world above.(The Mill on the Floss, "Outside Dorlcote Mill", pg. 54.
And here is Nemirovsky, in the bit that brought Eliot to mind:
The windows and shutters were both open. The moon lit up the rooftops in the village; the tiles glistened like the scales on a fish. The garden was fragrant, peaceful, and the silvery light seemed to shimmer like clear water, gently rising and falling over the fruit trees. . . The short June night was fading. The stars grew paler, he air smelled of milk and moist grass; now, half-hidden behind the forest, only the pink tip of the moon could be seen, growing dimmer and dimmer in the mist. Suite Francaise, pg.98
"What interests me here is the history of the world," Nemirovsky wrote in her journal while composing Suite Française, and most of "Storm in June" is not typical of the opening act of a novel: this is fiction for the sake of posterity. Nemirovsky captures the moods of the evacuees: fear, certainly, but also vicious self-preservation, indifference, greed, and exhaustion. These 'moods' are developed further in the characters of the Angelliers and Sabaries and the German officers who billet with them in 'Dolce', the second and last completed movement. One mood that stood out to me, possibly because of my interest in the Great War (more so than the Second World War), and possibly because of the recent death of Florence Green, the last surviving veteran of the Great War (and also possibly because of the influence of Downton Abbey), is the sense of betrayal by fate so many of them feel and express. There is a sense of determinism in their response: as though this war could not have been prevented by men, that somehow their plight was a overdose of bad luck. Here is Lucille Angellier:
The individual or society? she thought. Well, Good Lord! Nothing new there, they hardly invented that idea. Our two million dead in the last war were also sacrificed to the "spirit of the hive." They died . . .and twenty-five years later . . What trickery! What vanity! There are laws that regulate the fate of beehives and of people that's all there is to it. (pg. 263)
This two-fifths of a novel was not only beautifully written but provides essential insight and first-hand observation of the German invasion of France and the occupation, as well as bearing witness to the struggles of an occupied people.
This is the
second third [b:Every Man Dies Alone by Hans Fallada, a fictionalized account of the true story of a German couple who made protest against the war; All Our Yesterdays by Natalia Ginzburg, which told the story of an Italian family who loses their paterfamilias just as Italy allies itself with Hitler, and The Path to the Spiders' Nests by Italo Calvino, about a young boy who joins the partisans in their war against the Nazis set in the mountains of Northern Italy were the others. I'm looking for more novels written from first-hand perspectives of this war (or other wars, for that matter. ) Suite Française is highly recommended. If you have any other recommendations in this arena, please let me know!